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Cascade Crypto Carnage #4:Stains of Envy
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Chapter 5: Stains of EnvyMonday, October 31—Halloween, though out at Alpine Meadows Ranch, the holiday felt like a distant whisper amid the endless evergreens and crisp mountain air. The ranch sprawled like a labyrinth of temptation: the main house with its hidden nooks and crannies, the cluster of outbuildings tucked into the woods like forgotten lovers, and those secret underground levels that hummed with Dave's experiments. Sarah had dashed off at dawn to the equestrian center, her plump body poured into skintight breeches that hugged her thick thighs and juicy ass like they were painted on, her long dark hair in a practical braid today—no pigtails, but those hazel eyes had flashed green over coffee, promising a witchy-night reward when she returned. "Don't let the ghosts get you, cowboy," she'd purred, nipping his earlobe before her truck rumbled away.Dave lingered in the kitchen, nursing black coffee, his mind on the Yak crystals downstairs—tweaking the formula for a slower release, maybe, to stretch that pussy-warming bliss. Jeff was out cold upstairs, victim to another all-nighter of video games and cheap beer. But Carmen? She was a ghost herself today, haunting the edges of the ranch like a woman possessed. The spying episode from yesterday had cracked something open in her—a raw, throbbing jealousy that coiled tighter with every stolen glance at Dave's broad back as he moved through the house, every echo of Sarah's moans replaying in her skull like a cursed loop. Why her? Carmen seethed inwardly, her slimmer curves—5'5" of desperate softness, pert C-cups straining today's outfit of a cropped tank and frayed denim skirt—trembling with unmet need. She wasn't as lush as Sarah, not yet, but the hunger carved her sharper, made her prowl.It started in the sunroom off the great hall, a quiet corner with wicker chairs and bookshelves groaning under leather-bound ranch histories. Carmen slipped in around 9 a.m., phone in hand, heart pounding like she'd run a marathon. The jealousy was a live wire now, sparking fantasies of replacement: her on her knees, not Sarah, gagging on that 10-inch monster while Dave growled praises meant for her. She locked the door—unnecessary in the empty house, but the thrill of secrecy amped her up—then sank into the oversized armchair, skirt hiking to bare her thighs. No panties today; she'd ditched them after breakfast, the cotton already damp from a dream of Dave's hands pinning her down. Her phone unlocked with a swipe, pulling up her favorites folder: a curated filth from late-night scrolls on sites like Literotica and those anonymous Reddit threads where women confessed their spying kinks. Today, it was a video titled "Sister's Secret Watch"—a brunette peeking through a cracked door, fingering herself to her sibling's husband railing his wife, the camera catching every jealous whimper, every slick plunge of fingers mimicking the cock she craved.Carmen hit play, volume low but the moans tinny and urgent in the quiet room. The on-screen voyeur's face twisted in envy—just like mine—as she rubbed her clit in frantic circles, hazel eyes glazing over. "Fuck... Dave," Carmen whispered to the screen, legs spreading wide, one foot hooked over the armrest. Her pussy was shaved bare this morning, a whim to feel more exposed, more ready; the lips were already puffy, slick with arousal that beaded like dew. She spat on her fingers—messy, desperate—and delved in, two digits curling deep while her thumb ground her clit. The video's sister gasped, "Harder, fuck my throat," and Carmen echoed it in a breathy whine, hips bucking. Jealousy fueled the fire: I could take him deeper. I'd beg for his cum like a slut. Her free hand yanked up her tank, pinching a nipple hard enough to sting, the pert mound flushing pink. It built fast—shame twisting with bliss—and she came with a shuddering gasp, pussy clenching in wet spasms, a small squirt arcing out to darken the chair's cushion. She slumped, panting, a little wet spot blooming on the fabric like a guilty signature. Mine, she thought, wiping her hand on her skirt before slipping out, leaving the evidence behind in her haze.By noon, the itch returned, sharper now, the spying high fading into a gnawing ache. She wandered to the old tack room in one of the outbuildings—a dim, hay-scented space with saddles on racks and bridles dangling like forgotten toys. The door creaked shut behind her, and she perched on a wooden stool, phone propped against a boot polish tin. This time, it was audio porn from a podcast she'd bookmarked: "The Lurker's Lament," a woman's voice husky and confessional, describing hiding in linen closets, ear to the wall as her brother-in-law's grunts mingled with her sister's cries. "I came so hard, knowing it wasn't me... but pretending it was," the narrator moaned, and Carmen mirrored her—skirt flipped up, fingers plunging sloppy into her dripping cunt. Dave's voice... that growl when he cums. She rocked on the stool, thighs quivering, the wood creaking under her. The orgasm hit like a wave, another gush soaking her inner thighs, dripping to leave a shiny puddle on the dirt floor. She laughed breathlessly after, a manic edge to it—leaving my mark everywhere, like a bitch in heat—but didn't clean up, drifting out with skirt askew, the wet spots her invisible trail.Afternoon dragged her to the library annex, a cozy sitting room tucked behind the main house—plush velvet sofas, a fireplace cold and waiting, walls lined with Dave's eclectic collection: crypto whitepapers next to vintage erotica. Carmen's jealousy peaked here, the room too close to the master suite upstairs where she'd heard them last night, Sarah's pigtails bouncing in her mind's eye. She curled into the window seat, cushions soft under her, and queued a Literotica audio adaptation: "Spying on the Alpha," a tale of a desperate sister-in-law creeping through vents, masturbating to the sight of the hung husband claiming his wife. The narrator's voice dripped filth—"His cock was a weapon, stretching her sister wide while I fingered my jealous little hole"—and Carmen lost herself, skirt bunched at her waist, three fingers now stretching her tight pussy, the heel of her hand battering her clit. "Oh God, yes—Dave, fuck me like that," she murmured, eyes squeezed shut, picturing his blue eyes on her instead. The build was brutal, her body betraying the envy with a violent clench—orgasm ripping through, a full-body squirt this time, soaking her thighs and the cushions in a warm flood. Panting, she peeled off her skirt—too wet to wear—and then her panties, the pink cotton thong utterly drenched, clinging translucent to her folds before she wrenched them free. Can't go back like this... In her post-climax fog, she tossed them aside, under the window seat cushion, thinking she'd grab them later. But the ranch called—dinner prep, Jeff stirring—and she forgot, slipping upstairs in just the tank and skirt, bare and sticky.Dave noticed the absences first—subtle shifts in the house's rhythm, like a draft from an open window. He'd been chopping wood again, shirtless under the gray sky, axe bites echoing his thoughts on the Yak: Kasia's pussy spasming untouch... Carmen's eyes lingering longer. By late afternoon, he wandered inside for a beer, sweat cooling on his skin, jeans low and snug over that ever-present bulge. The sitting room drew him— a book on quantum ledgers half-read on the side table—and that's when he saw it: the faint wet spot on the window seat cushion, darker velvet glistening like an accusation. He frowned, leaning in, the musky-sweet scent hitting him faint but unmistakable—woman, aroused, fresh. His cock twitched, thickening against his thigh as curiosity pulled him closer. Lifting the cushion revealed the prize: a tiny pink thong, crumpled and soaked through, the crotch panel darkened to near-black with creamy arousal, a few stray dark hairs curled in the fabric.Dave snatched it up without hesitation, the soft cotton warm in his palm, and brought it to his nose—deep inhale, no shame in the privacy of the empty room. Carmen. He knew instantly: that sharper tang than Sarah's vanilla warmth, laced with desperation, like ripe fruit on the edge of rot. Her pussy scent flooded his senses—salty-sweet, fertile, the kind that screamed fuck me raw—and his body responded like a beast unchained. Blood rushed south, his 10-inch cock surging to full erection in seconds, straining the denim seam with painful insistence, the head leaking pre-cum to darken a spot on his boxers. "Fuck... little slut's been busy," he muttered, voice a gravelly rumble, free hand palming his shaft through the fabric, stroking the outline as he sniffed again, deeper. The jealousy in that scent—raw, unfiltered—made it intoxicating, visions flashing: Carmen lurking, fingers buried, moaning his name while he railed Sarah. His hips bucked into his fist, breath hitching, but he stopped short, tucking the panties into his pocket like a trophy. Not yet. But soon.He adjusted himself—cock a steel bar now, tenting obscenely—and headed to the kitchen, the thong a secret weight against his thigh. Carmen was there when he arrived, chopping veggies for Sarah's return, her cheeks flushed unnatural, skirt riding high on her thighs as she shifted. Jeff lounged nearby, scrolling his phone, oblivious. She glanced up, hazel eyes widening a fraction at Dave's disheveled state—sweat-slick chest, that bulge more pronounced than usual—and her pussy clenched, a fresh trickle wetting her bare folds. Did he find...? No, impossible."Need a hand, sis?" Dave asked, voice casual but laced with that manly timbre, leaning against the counter close enough for her to catch his scent—woodsmoke and something darker, muskier. His blue eyes held hers, a smirk ghosting his lips, and he shifted, letting the pocketed thong brush his leg deliberately.Carmen swallowed, chopping harder, her adorable face pinking. "All good, big guy. Just... keeping busy." But under the counter, her thighs squeezed, the ghost of her earlier squirts making her slick and needy. If he knew... God, I'd drop right here.Dinner was a tense affair—Sarah home late, radiant in a witch's cape over her riding gear, pigtails reemerged for the holiday, hazel eyes green as she kissed Dave deep, hand grazing his bulge possessively. "Missed my cowboy." Carmen watched, fork stabbing her plate, jealousy a hot coal in her belly. Later, as the group scattered—Jeff to games, Sarah dragging Dave upstairs with a giggle—Carmen slipped back to the sitting room, heart sinking at the empty cushion. The panties were gone. He took them. The realization hit like foreplay, her hand diving under her skirt in the dark, fingers circling to the thought of him sniffing her shame. Upstairs, Dave pressed Sarah to the bed, cock raging from the scent still clinging to his pocket, but his mind wandered to the lurker downstairs—Carmen, you filthy little spy.The night deepened, wet spots drying like secrets across the ranch. Kasia texted Carmen: Wine tomorrow? Spill about the big dick. But Carmen's reply was delayed, lost in another hidden corner, phone glowing with fresh porn. The Yak shimmered in the lab below, waiting for the spark. And Dave? He lay awake beside Sarah's snoring form, thong in hand, stroking slow to her scent—planning the hunt.(To be continued...)
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Posted on : Oct 30, 2025
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