Spring Break at Homebywet_special©
This incest story's characters are wholly fictional. There are bisexual females and straight males. They are young, good looking, and uncommonly well-endowed. There are erotic passages amidst a plot that tries to put all of the incest within a halfway believable framework, accompanied at times by alcohol. The plot is meant to be believable, yet not incredibly realistic.
The plot mentions a history of father-daughter incest, some of it is non-consensual. No actual love scenes. No one was a minor when it took place. I sympathize with all victims of rape and abuse. There is a time and place for social crusades that address these problems, just as there is a time and place for stroke smut. Rest assured that this is the latter, and enjoy if you will.
Also, I would like to thank Rex Brookdale for all the time and effort spent editing this story.
Women were a mystery to Sam. He could see exactly what his dad, Victor, found so appealing about a character like Lilah, but he could only guess at what made her tick. Sam had grown up in the house in which his step-mom now lived with Victor and himself. She had moved in just after marrying his dad the previous December. At first, her overt sex appeal had upset Sam on so many levels, only some of which he'd, as yet, become aware. Victor's work took him abroad on business, leaving his son to nurse a few grudges against his dad's new flirty second wife. It seemed up to Lilah to help him understand, and to teach him some valuable lessons.
First on Sam's list of grudges was Lilah's replacing Gloria in the family nucleus. Gloria was his mother who for the past two years had had to live in a nursing home in Chicago, a two-hour drive away. The situation seemed as simple as a banner on a billboard that announced in huge letters, 'My dad tossed my real mom to the curb, to bang this hot piece of ass'. To Sam it was obvious that Lilah was using Victor; but then, Sam sometimes wondered if perhaps it was mutual. As if to show her off, when Victor was home he always threw parties or took her out. After they had married, Sam had supposed she might tone down her attire. He'd wanted to believe in his own father's good judgment, and had stayed out of Victor's business. Thus, during their engagement, Sam had kept his mouth shut. After getting to know her better over the past months he wondered why he had ever imagined that she might wear something as tame as a pair of 'mom' jeans. She was almost twenty years his dad's junior. Some days, while sifting through all of the things on his list, maybe that was the biggest problem.
During the first days after she'd moved in, Lilah was everywhere no matter which way he turned, wandering around the house, standing out like a rainbow lollipop in a diabetic ward. When he thought she wasn't looking, he gazed at her sexy, pouty red lips, big dark eyes, and long eyelashes. She wasn't tall, yet there was nothing to complain about. He'd taken as many surreptitious glances as he could of her large firm breasts, long legs, and tight butt. She wore a lot of sexy outfits, and enjoyed fiddling around with her hair, changing her look several times in one day, from cute to fabulous, depending on her mood. Sam's mood often made him prefer to describe her as someone who enjoyed dressing like a slut.
Once, in a fit of exasperation, he had actually told her to her face that he couldn't tell the difference between her and a whore. Granted, she had been a major distraction to him all afternoon, strutting around the house in her heels. He'd turned up the volume on the tv to try to distract himself from staring at her, when he had first heard her approach. Then she had stopped next to the sofa; he'd looked at her, and just blurted it out. Lilah had been shocked at first, but then asked why. Another woman might have brought the matter up to the boy's father, but Lilah seemed too self-assured to be afraid of a nineteen-year-old boy. Instead, she had shut off the tv, sat down across from him on the ottoman, leaned forward, and for the next hour had had Sam's undivided attention.
Lilah knew she was sexy as fuck (if you asked her, she would have used the terms 'young' and 'attractive'). She had spent years grooming herself for Mr. Right. In the process, she had discovered that she really enjoyed the feeling of looking her absolute best. Thus it had become more than just a habit of arranging her hair and applying makeup. She no longer felt comfortable if she looked even the slightest bit shabby, and worked hard to maintain her toned physique of which she was unabashedly proud. To his credit, Sam tried to put himself in her shoes, figuratively speaking, and had realized that perhaps she had a point. He himself liked to work out and was proud of his own burgeoning muscles.
It had been a brisk and sunny Saturday. Sam was on Spring Break. With nothing to do nearby, given that they lived in a rather rural suburb, his plans for the day had been simple: to kick back and watch a few of his favorite movies, and maybe nab a swig of liquor when no one was looking.... Hot damn, he thought, suddenly looking up from where he lounged on the couch, watching the initial credits and title roll across the tv screen. She looked drop-dead gorgeous in a frilly skirt and purple blouse.
"Hey, want to watch that movie in the bedroom?" she asked.
"Nah it's okay, I've already started."
"Are you sure? You can't really watch it with all that glare in here. Come on, I'll watch it with you."
"Sure." They had a nice projector in the bedroom.
A few minutes later, they had moved into the bedroom and were watching the movie's opening scene. Then, when they were only ten minutes into it, Lilah excused herself to go take a shower. He was a little disappointed, but chalked it up to the mysteries of the fairer gender, for which he was gaining a new-found respect.
As she showered, his attention drifted from the movie, and he began to listen to the splatter of hot water in the shower just beyond the door. He envisioned it cascading off of her perfect curves and then pelting the marble floor. He imagined seducing her there, and in his mind's eye he watched the two of them fucking like porn stars under the hot spray, first with his cock deep in her pussy, then fucking her glorious tits. As he fantasized, he stroked his growing erection; there seemed no harm in having a little chubby while she was away in the shower. He imagined her mouth on his dick, struggling to take in his shaft. Then she would confess that she wanted anal, and he would vigorously oblige her. Her shower had ended. The door opened, and Sam quickly drew his hand away from his crotch. Had she seen? He doubted it.
"Sorry, Sam, I forgot to get some clothes first," she said, as she emerged from the shower room amidst a cloud of vapor. She hurried past the screen with only a bath towel wrapped around her body. Her toned legs carried her gracefully and swiftly across to the walk-in closet, where she'd stepped through the doorway and closed the door behind her. Much of her wardrobe of skimpy outfits, elegant dresses, and lingerie, hung at the ready. She dropped her towel to the floor and turned on a fan. Cool air rushed over her body, and she sighed with pleasure.
Lilah couldn't help but feel a strong attraction to her stepson. He worked out, and he was handsome. He minded his schoolwork, but found time to listen to her talk. The more they talked, the more their rapport seemed to grow. He eschewed pop culture in his pursuit of social and political awareness, which was very important to Lilah. She liked to talk to him, and no matter how long she went on, he never seemed to tune her out. She wasn't positive, but she thought he was into her. Maybe he even thought about having sex with her. She only hoped that it was true, because she was going to make it happen if she could – Victor be damned. Lilah convinced herself for the umpteenth time that Sam had to be secretly attracted. Who was she kidding, doubting herself? He had never mentioned that she looked pretty, yet she had felt his eyes on him whenever her back had been turned. Had he been watching her out of suspicion, or admiration? Was the sexual tension entirely her creation, or was he hiding his own impulses and desires? She had known that a strait-laced boy like Sam, who still hung his honors graduation certificate in his room, wasn't going to make a move on his own step-mom, no matter how she looked or dressed.
Slipping on a comfortable bra and checking herself out in the mirror, she perused her now-substantial rack thanks to some augmentation surgery last year, and marveled for the thousandth time at her glorious globes. They had been a labor of love, literally. A plastic surgeon had done them for free while carrying on an affair with her. She fondly remembered the first time she had locked the door to his office and bent over his desk. He'd almost had a heart attack, and then subsequently had given her breasts the utmost care. They were full and round and soft, and she absolutely loved them. As for the rest of her body, she took care of that at the gym and by careful dieting. She reached for a fuchsia t-shirt and pink boy-shorts covered in lace frills. They matched her pink and purple nails. She put on a pair of lavender leg warmers, then checked herself in the mirror once more. Something was missing – she needed heels, and opted for a pair of four-inch stilettos, then pulled her leg warmers down over her ankles leaving her toes and the edges of her heels visible. She took a moment to apply some quick makeup and turned off the fan. After a final review in the mirror, turning and twisting to make sure her boy shorts weren't riding up too high, she strolled into the bedroom, casually plopping down on her side of the ultra-soft king-sized bed.
"I hope you didn't expect me to pause the movie," Sam said.
"It's alright, I've seen this movie before. Still love it, though."
Despite his misgivings, he had found that Lilah sometimes reminded him of his older sister Annabelle. So much so, that he had accidentally called her Annie several times already. Both were beautiful, and worldly, and smart as whips. Annabelle had a special place in his heart, and he frequently felt the loss of her presence since she had moved out. She often visited, however, and they were in touch via social media. Lately, Sam had found himself attracted to his sister, and relished the moments when she'd touched his hand or shoulder while they'd talked. When he'd browsed the pictures she'd put up on her social web page, of her with her hot friends, she was the best-looking girl of the bunch.
Sam didn't know anyone at college, though he made friends in class easily enough. At the end of the day, he came home to homework, and to his weird family situation. The awkward problems at home seemed to barge in on any attempt to pursue a relationship, like a bunch of embarrassing relatives at a family gathering. As a result, he remained a virgin at 19, mostly of his own volition. He didn't like to dwell on it, since part of him would have jumped at any opportunity whatsoever to change his status. Despite not broaching the subject with her, he'd come to view Lilah as someone who seemed to understand his dilemma.
Almost as if on cue, he felt her take his hand. He hadn't flinched in the slightest. Instead, he'd found himself reciprocating. At that moment, the cop in the movie was telling his wife he would be working late again.
"Sam, is that girl hot?" she'd asked him.
"The wife, or that lady?"
Sam thought the lady character turned up at the oddest points, as though she was stalking the main character. He refrained from mentioning it. "Yeah, I guess so."
"Is that why you have a boner?"
Sam hadn't known what to say. He'd been caught.
"Or does it make you feel uncomfortable that we're holding hands?"
"No, I don't mind it."
"Good. I want us to be close, you know. You don't have to act strange around me."
"Maybe we could be a little closer?" she offered.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, like this," she said, scooting closer to him to lie down in the middle of the bed, their shoulders only inches apart. They were no longer holding hands so much as touching forearms together.
"Is this okay?" she whispered.
They watched the movie for a few more minutes. She was so close to him. He was acutely aware of her breasts and the way that they rose and fell as she breathed. His eyes drifted to her thighs, and the bit of fluffy pink boy shorts hugging her sex. He wanted to roll over and fuck her brains out, no longer caring if it was wrong. Then again, he didn't dare. He felt so confused by his own naïve thinking, that he'd come to believe that Lilah was just acting normally. He told himself that she was just trying to make him feel more at ease by spending a little time with him. To this narrative, he then added the rationalization that although she might dress in provocative clothing, still she was really a faithful wife, and so it followed that she could do both with impunity. Lilah was a good woman, and very special.
His dad, however, was someone about whom Sam had no trouble grasping the unvarnished truth. He knew Victor had a womanizing streak a mile wide. Sam had recently found this out when sneaking a peek at Victor's email while he was away on business. It turned out that his dad regularly received email from hookers in Bangkok, and their correspondence went back for years. Spying on Dad's tawdry dealings had felt weird at first, but now Sam no longer felt any compunction to stop. The things that grabbed his attention most were the pictures the girls sent of themselves. They depicted fairly young girls with ripe figures, either bursting out of skimpy little costumes, or just plain naked. They often blurred out their eyes or faces. Sometimes two girls posed, fucking each other while wearing strap-ons. Usually they were in schoolgirl outfits, or ridiculous nurse costumes. All of them were sexy as sin. Included with the photos were price quotes, listing what services were included. Mostly written in broken English, everything was always direct and to the point. "Cum as many times as you can," he once read. "This girl very deep suck girl, limited time discount," wrote another one. He stared at a particular hooker's picture several times; she had a very cute face, with cute bangs, and posed with her lips slightly parted. He wished he could meet her. The girls Victor liked were apparently so much in demand that they could pick and choose their clients; yet he seemed to get them, and to get whatever he wanted from them. In their messages, they recalled their encounters with him and promised to do all of the things they had done before. They had described dressing up in their nurse costumes for him, getting high on drugs in his room, and then having decadent orgies. It sounded like paradise on Earth.
Sam could almost understand his father's cheating ways. The thing that bothered him, aside from Gloria's situation, was the mystery behind his sister's sudden departure from the house. She and Victor had seemed to have some sort of falling out, yet when he asked her about it she had never revealed what had happened, saying only that he was too young for her to explain in a way that he'd understand. Time passed, and soon the matter became old news.
Even though Victor had remarried at the age of 45, he remained a womanizer. That, Sam knew, would never change. Doubtless, he was cheating on his wife. It was a crying shame to cheat on a woman who was so lovely and warm ... and faithful. He couldn't imagine cheating on someone as hot as Lilah.
Coming out of one reverie, Sam slid right into another when Lilah shifted to lean her head lightly against his shoulder. Her silky black hair was so lovely, he mused. The scent of her shampoo wafted in his nose. Between thinking about Victor's Thai hookers, and having Lilah next to him on the bed, Sam was sporting some pretty serious wood. He told himself to calm down, and promised himself that as soon as the movie ended, he'd go back to his room and beat off.
The movie had its funny parts, at which she sometimes giggled. He wasn't laughing so much, though. She got up on one elbow to look at him from beneath her thick, dark eyelashes.
"Is something the matter, Sam?" Before he could answer, she rested her weight on his chest, pressing her fleshy bosom against his stomach. He felt her hip touching the straining bulge in his jeans. She pretended not to notice.
"Hey, I can't see!" he protested.
"Were you really watching it?"
"If you wanted to watch something else, why not say something?" He again said nothing, so she sat up on the bed and faced him. "Is everything alright in school?" Still no answer. She paused to think. "Or, is something on your mind? A girl, perhaps?"
"Or a boy?"
"I'm not gay! Jeez, Lilah!"
"It could be a friend, or a bully who is bothering you. Still, if you are gay, there's hope for you yet." She'd grinned and laid her hand on his bulging crotch.
"Whoa, hey now," he said, starting to sit up, but she put a dainty hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down. "Hey, just a minute now – hope for me yet?" he retorted. "Are you accusing me of being attracted to you?" Sam tried his best to sound incredulous.
Lilah looked straight into his eyes with the coyest of smiles. "Either that, or you have a thing for Denzel here."
"Trust me, I—"
"So then, why the hard-on?"
Sam said nothing, and looked away.
"Don't want to talk? Fine, let's finish watching the movie." She lay down again, this time making sure their bodies touched from their shoulders to their calves. She walked her fingers over his hips and then settled her hand over his crotch again. Sam made as if to get up, but changed his mind. Part of him wanted to see how far his step-mom was going to go. "That's it, don't run away," Lilah had cooed, looking into his eyes as her hand felt its way around his fly. She unbuttoned his jeans and reached down into his pants. Her fingers encircled his shaft. "Oh my! Still hard," she cooed, stroking his thick meat. "I can tell it's big. Can I see it, or would that embarrass you?"
Sam lay perfectly still. His breathing, however, had become labored, and gave him away.
"Well, I'll take that as a yes," she said melodically. She unzipped his fly and raised his mast. It was almost as big as her forearm. "Oh my, oh my!" She exclaimed as the massive phallus hardened and swelled before her eyes.
"Are you seriously—?" he began to ask, but she put a finger over his lips. "No, this is wrong," he began again but stopped, mesmerized, his eyes following every move of her ruby lips. Two things flashed through his mind: first, Sam had never had a blow job. And secondly: oh god ... it was at that moment that he realized that all of his pretense was for naught: she had been well aware of his crush, all along. His thoughts went no further, as by now she was kneeling by his shoulders and bent over his waist, her cute face poised over his totem pole and moving to take him into her mouth.
She brought her mouth down around his tip and licked his glans, tasting his sweet precum. She could tell she was going to have to open wide, and stretched her jaws a few times, then wiggled her ass in the air as she took her first few licks. His cock flexed with anticipation. She crooned with delight and began to lick his shaft from top to bottom.
Sam watched as she pushed her mouth down to envelop his meat. Her mouth felt wet, and a little cool—pure heaven. Her head bobbed up and down, and the ends of her hair tickled his stomach. He felt her lips and her moist tongue, the walls of the inside of her mouth. Every part of his being was focused on the pleasure. His entire blood supply seemed to be surging to the tip of his dick. His breathing sounded ragged, as he gasped over and over with each new sensation. Glancing to his right, he saw her cute ass, high in the air. If he stretched, he could just reach her with his right hand and squeeze her tight, smooth buns. In a daze, he looked back down and saw her bobbing up and down, halfway down his cock.