Huge F-Buddies Read online Stephanie Brother

Categories Genre: Erotic, Romance Tags Authors:
Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 69122 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)

Read Online Books/Novels:

Huge F-Buddies

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Stephanie Brother

Book Information:

What’s better than one F-Buddy…four, of course!
I go from trailer trash to rich princess with just one scratch of a lottery ticket. I think that I have everything I need in my life, then my absent father turns up and shakes my foundations.
When he invites me to stay, my planned summer of fun becomes a vacation of discovery. I go from being an orphan to having a family, including four huge stepbrothers. Did I mention they’re huge? Anderson, Jefferson, Carson, and Brayson are my dad’s best players and rivals to my university football team. Tall and broad with bulging muscles and sexy tattoos, it’s all I can do to keep my cool. Oh, who the hell am I kidding? I’m burning up the moment I arrive.
Give me temptation, and I’m all over it like a rash. After all, I’m only young once, and having four F-Buddies is better than just one, especially when they’re under the same roof. Four times better, to be exact!
But then the reason for my father’s sudden presence in my life becomes clear and, I start to realize that my stepbrothers have become a whole lot more important to me than I’ve ever been able to handle.
Books by Author:

Stephanie Brother


My name is Sara, and I'm addicted to sex.

Man, it's a rush. From the first time that you make eye contact to the flirting, kissing, touching, sucking, and of course, the fucking. I love it all.

I know that girls aren't supposed to feel this way. They're definitely not supposed to admit to it. It's not respectable to like sex. It's not respectable to talk about sex. We're taught from a young age that it's something dirty for us. Not for the guys. They can love it and do it as much as they like, but if a woman acts the same way, she's a slut.

Well, I'm calling bullshit because someone has to.

I'm calling bullshit on sex being a dirty pleasure, and also on food being a guilty pleasure. In fact, I'm calling bullshit on the labeling of all the things that are enjoyable as things we're not supposed to indulge in.

Pleasure is a part of life. It's what makes us happy. It's what fills our hearts and minds with joy.

I LOVE sex in all its sweaty, sticky, messy glory. Throw in some whipped cream or chocolate sauce, and I'm in heaven.

The one thing that I don't do is relationships.

Relationships are for people who feel guilty about sex except when it's within acceptable confines; otherwise, why would you saddle yourself with the same dude every day? That's like accepting you're only going to eat one flavor of ice cream for your whole life. Boring!

I want to taste lots of flavors, and I have.

I've had perfect, hot, fun, desperate, affectionate, silly, and intense sex, and it's all been great.

I pick my fuck buddies carefully. They have to be big and strong, with huge hands. I reckon that's as good a way as any of almost guaranteeing a huge dick. They have to be funny and intelligent and interesting. Throw in some tattoos and pretty eyes, and I'm a goner.

Why am I telling you all of this?

It's because you're about to read my story, and I want you to understand a little bit about me before you meet my stepbrothers.

Carson, Anderson, Brayson, and Jefferson are two sets of twins who tick absolutely all my boxes and then some.

Welcome to the world of F-Buddies times four. It's a rollercoaster, but I promise that you're going to enjoy the ride.


I love to tell a story. I’ve always been that way. My mom told me that I inherited it from my Grandpa Jackson, who was a country singer. Not a famous one. No one in my family has ever had more than two cents to rub together. No, he was a back-porch country singer, a man who labored by day and indulged in his love of music and creativity by night. He wrote songs filled with unfulfilled dreams, lost love, and sadness, which I’d listen to without really understanding.

As a kid, I’d carry around a little notebook and pen and jot down once-upon-a-time tales about my favorite toys or animals I’d run into around our trailer park. I was always outdoors without shoes, dusty skin and hardened soles, clothes that had seen better days, and my mind in the stars.

We didn’t have much but Grandpa used to take me to the library and check out as many books as I was allowed each week. I’d devour them, hoping that one day I could write myself into a better story, one that didn’t involve staying by myself in a rusty single-wide while my mom left to get drunk. One that didn’t involve me having to make my own breakfast and drag my own ass to school while she slept off the night before, with or without a douchebag sharing her bed.

I guess that I was cursed in some ways, and blessed in others. Is that the way it works? The universe gives with one hand and takes with the other. My gifts were there in my resilience and my intelligence, and despite having no one to help me, I managed to finish high school and secure a scholarship for my college education.

Anyway, back to the story that I intended to tell you. How I ended up at Eastern as a rich princess rather than a ratty trailer-park reject.

Just one scratch.

One lucky chance, one unbelievable moment when fate tipped my face to the sky and kissed me with all the glory that I’d been missing my whole life.

On my eighteenth birthday, I decided to buy myself my favorite candy bar and a disgustingly good lemon and lime slushy as a treat. My mom had forgotten what day it was, which was not surprising. I used my own money to create some birthday fun, and there on the counter was the display of lottery scratchers. It was the first day I was old enough to play, and the ticket nearest me was a Birthday Surprise ticket with a chance to win a million dollars.