Evil Stepmother

I, Harley David (I love my parents but hated their sense of humor in naming me, especially since I don't ride a motorcycle), met the woman I thought was the love of my life when I was twenty seven years old and she was twenty five. Sarah Johnson and I had chemistry from the first time that we encountered each other. We were a little unlikely as a couple from the physical standpoint because I'm six feet four inches (193 cm) tall and weigh 230 pounds (104 kg) and she's five one and ⅔ (she's very proud of the "⅔ inch" ha, ha, although I don't know why someone would measure themselves to that degree of accuracy and it's a weird fraction for height), that's 157 cm, and 110 pounds (50 kg). However our personalities meshed perfectly, we had lots of interests in common as well as different ones, and we had about the same intelligence.

Courting Sarah and getting her to marry me would have been a piece of cake except for one impediment -- her evil stepmother, Belinda (a great name for a witch, don't you think?).

While evil to me, Belinda was loved by Sarah. Belinda was only nine years older than Sarah, and only seven years older than me, so they had more of a younger-older sister relationship. Belinda had married Sarah's father Norm two years after Sarah's biological mother died, and she and Sarah developed a close relationship. While Belinda never tried to be a disciplinarian she is excellent in manipulating people and in my opinion had an almost Svengali like control over Sarah.

Belinda doesn't look anything like Sarah. First of all at five feet eight inches tall (the same height as Norm) Belinda is six inches taller than Sarah. Her weight I found hard to gauge because she never wore particularly stylish clothes around me, but she certainly wasn't significantly overweight, if at all, but certainly was much heavier than Sarah's petite 110 pounds. While Sarah is the epitome of cuteness in my opinion Belinda's face is pretty ordinary, although she does have stunning ice blue eyes (I consider them haunting but to be fair most other people consider them stunning so I'll go with that) and although disguised by her wardrobe what looks like a pretty decent body. I think that she married Norm for his money because physically Norm is no prize -- Sarah's looks completely take after those of her biological mother Janice from photos that I have seen of Janice.

Anyway, it was always a mystery to me why Belinda didn't like me. I think that I was respectful whenever we interacted, and I never said anything mean to or about her, but I did question Sarah on occasion about her attitude. Sarah never had a real response either because she didn't know or chose not to tell me.

Eventually I convinced Sarah that despite Belinda's misgivings that I was the right guy for her and we married about eleven months after we first met. Unfortunately because of Belinda's objections and Norm's wimpiness we eloped and got married by an Elvis impersonator in Vegas.

I tried my best to stay away from Belinda -- and because he was a wimp, Norm -- during our marriage. I thought that it was a great marriage when Belinda was not interfering. We both had good jobs, made more than decent money, and had a sterling sex life filled with both romance and physical satisfaction. Then after we had been married a little more than two years things changed precipitously.

***********

I came home from work one Friday at my normal time to find Sarah crying in the living room of our nice three bedroom house. I immediately rushed up to her and earnestly inquired "What's wrong honey?"

With a venomous reaction that she had never displayed before she moved her body away from my extended hand and said "As if you didn't know, you bastard," then took off and ran sobbing into our bedroom.

I couldn't think of what the fuck I could have done to make her so pissed at me; we never before had anything close to a disagreement that could even be considered a "fight" and I know that I hadn't forgotten an important occasion, destroyed any of her possessions, or even left the toilet seat up after peeing. I knocked on the door, called to her through it, and tried to get some clue as to what was going on. All she did was scream "Go away, leave me alone you bastard," every time that I asked her to communicate.

I finally gave up, made myself some dinner, and ate confused and silent with a pit in my stomach. Of course I could have easily broken the latch on the door by kicking or shouldering it, but that would not have helped the situation. So after another couple of unsuccessful tries I went into the guest room to sleep. Fortunately I had some casual clothes there so I could wear something aside from my business suit Saturday morning because I still couldn't get access to my bedroom.

At some point on Saturday when I was mowing the back lawn I saw Sarah's car leaving the street we lived on. I turned off our electric mower, went inside, and found nothing except for some clothes, toiletries, and some electronic equipment of Sarah's missing. There was no note, no communication whatsoever. I called her cellphone and it was off. I left a message with the hope, but no expectation, that it would even be received let alone responded to.

After I finished with the lawn I called all of Sarah's friends and co-workers that I knew. I acted nonchalant in my phone calls; none of them had any clue where she was or what the problem could be (I was very subtle in my inquires and didn't mention her crying or swearing at me). Finally I took a deep breath and called Belinda and Norm's land line and when there was no answer there Belinda's cellphone, also not answered. I left a message on the land line.

Sarah never returned Saturday or Sunday, nor did she, Belinda, or Norm call me. I went into work Monday thoroughly confused and depressed. I had no clue why my perfect marriage was apparently on life support.

Early that afternoon I finally got further proof that my marriage was on life support (at best) when while I was at my desk at work I was served with divorce papers. Unfortunately the divorce papers only indicated irreconcilable differences, no other reason. Since we had never even had a fight, and Sarah made no attempt at "reconciling," I didn't know how it was possible to have irreconcilable differences.

What the divorce papers did do was to make me go on the offensive; I wasn't playing defense any more. I always took that approach in athletics, including Division I college basketball, and it always had worked well for me in the past.

The first thing that I did was to get in contact with a divorce lawyer that one of my co-workers had used. He recommended her as the epitome of an Orca, one that killed sharks for fun. Her name was as appropriate as her reputation Athena Killem. Anybody who was on her wrong side always considered her surname two words and imputed an apostrophe before "em".

At Athena's suggestion within two days after I was served I countersued on the grounds of mental and emotional cruelty and served her through her attorney since we didn't know where she was and she worked in a secure facility that only authorized persons -- process servers not among them -- could get access to.

On my own -- Athena simply said "I never heard what you just asked" when I questioned her about it's legality -- I removed all of Sarah's precious possessions still in our home -- including two paintings and a dozen llardo figurines that were her most prized ones -- from our house, as well as my most prized possessions, and put them in a month-to-month storage facility that I had a friend rent for me so that it wasn't in my name.

It turned out that the countersuit and the removal of possessions from our house were both good calls. Those acts were the only thing that got Sarah -- albeit through her attorney -- to give me any information about what the fuck was wrong. The information I was given was a series of photocopies of photographs dated a few weeks ago that supposedly showed me fucking another woman in what allegedly was a hotel room in Detroit where I had gone on a two night business trip a week before I found Sarah crying.

I knew that the photos were faked since I had never had sex with another woman since I met Sarah, but I had to concede that it sure looked like me and the man had no tattoos, birth marks, or any other distinguishing features that would prove that it wasn't me, and the photos lacked clarity except for where my head, face, and shoulders were.

I immediately presented the photocopies to an expert in Phtoshopping®. After a couple of days she informed Athena and I that they undoubtedly were fakes but she would have to see digital copies or excellent photographic prints to testify to that effect. Sarah's attorney refused to provide them.

The litigation proceeded quite acrimoniously for a few weeks without much being accomplished until there was another break. Through her attorney Sarah wanted to know where her paintings and figurines were -- she apparently had gone to the house when I wasn't there and noticed for the first time that they were missing. Through my attorney I denied knowledge but said that there was hope that I could figure it out if Sarah met with me; otherwise, too bad.

It took several threats from her attorney, and counter-threats by Athena, before she finally agreed to meet.

When we did meet in a park at noon on a Tuesday it was clear that our time apart had not been good for Sarah's appearance -- maybe that was also true for me, but I hadn't noticed. I tried hard to explain to her that the photos were fakes and that if she would provide digital or good photographic copies instead of the photocopies that I could have an expert prove it. After about the third time that I made that plea she finally responded, again with venom.

"Belinda told me that you'd try something like that. She won't release them from her possession because she knows that you'll do something to doctor them or get some expert to lie."

That lit a lightbulb in my head.

"Is Belinda the source of your photos?" I inquired, trying not to have the anger in my voice that I really felt.

"Yes; she got them from a PI that she had follow you in Detroit because she knew that you were cheating on me," she snarled, with her arms crossed.

I tried to talk to Sarah about how Belinda had always disliked me and was trying to break us up by fraudulent means, but it was clear that Belinda had brainwashed her.

Just to throw Sarah a bone I told her that I'd located the two paintings, but not yet the figurines, and I would have them delivered to her. She refused to tell me where she was staying but told me that I could drop them off with Belinda.

During the meeting I subtly affixed a tracking device with an eighteen hour battery life onto the side of her purse and had hired my own PI to track her that day when she left work -- something that I had not been able to do since she apparently wasn't driving her car into work.

I was royally pissed when the next day my PI presented me with her report. Sarah was staying at the townhouse of Dirk Ostermann.

Ostermann is an asshole who is a friend of Belinda's who worked in the same secure facility as Sarah, although in a different department. I had met him a half dozen times, mostly when Belinda was around, and didn't like anything about him. Now the marriage was definitely over and all that remained was the revenge.

************

Since I had been asked by Sarah to deliver the paintings to Belinda's house that Friday morning I made plans to do just that -- and to get the reason from Belinda as to why she destroyed my marriage. I hoped that I wouldn't kill her, but that was a possibility. For some stupid reason that I will never understand before I went to her house I took a couple of anti-anxiety pills which I thought would keep me rational. I never drank alcohol or took any pills except an occasional aspirin any time before in my thirty years on earth, so why I did so then I have no clue. I partially blame that decision for what happened next.

I went to Belinda's house about 10:30 a. m. with a nasty attitude, resolve to get answers and perhaps dish out some punishment, but with a hazy mind undoubtedly due to the anti-anxiety pills. I carried the paintings (both about 10 inches by 16 inches, close to golden rectangles) in a case designed for that purpose. I knocked on the front door two different times. No answer.

I went around to the back of the house. I couldn't see anyone on the first floor but when I tried the knob the back door was unlocked. I went in.

I left the paintings in the living room, saw no one on the first floor, and went upstairs where the bedrooms were. I heard the shower running in the bathroom of the master bedroom. When I brazenly walked into the bathroom it was clear that Belinda was in the shower.

While the shower stall glass was frosted, there was no doubt from the shape of the person in the shower that it was Belinda. Suddenly a new idea hit me; this is the first part of why I, rightly or wrongly, blame the anti-anxiety pills. I removed all towels and clothing from the bathroom and threw them on a couch in the master bedroom, then waited.

After another three or four minutes -- apparently the witch really liked long showers -- the water was turned off. Belinda stepped out of the shower stall removing a shower cap and fluffing her hair. She didn't see me for a few seconds. When she did she was startled and quickly glanced around for a towel or article of clothing and saw none. She made no attempt to cover her nipples or crotch with her hands.

I was shocked by her body. The very first thought to pass through my addled brain was "That's the best fucking female form I've ever seen in my life!" Her round D cup tits with prominent nipples were perfect. Her hairless crotch had a clit so prominent it almost looked like a small dick. Her labia were moist and inviting. Her thighs were sculptured, her stomach flat, her hips almost providing an hourglass shape with her torso.

"What the fuck do you want?" were the "dulcet" words that came out of her mouth.

"I came here to deliver Sarah's paintings as she instructed me to," I said. What I didn't' say was "Now I have a different reason to be here."

"That doesn't give you the right to invade my privacy; now where are my fucking towels?" she snarled.

I heard what she said but I wasn't really concentrating on it. Instead my addled brain was virtually screaming "Fuck her, fuck the witch comatose."

I quickly approached her. She tried to slap me with her right hand. I caught it with my left hand and also grabbed her left wrist with my left hand. As she screamed I bent over, put my shoulder on her waist, and lifted her up so that I had her in a fireman's carry as I released her wrists along the way.

As I turned and walked toward the bedroom she was pounding my back with her fists but I almost didn't feel anything at all. I was too preoccupied with grabbing her thighs and round ass with my hands as I carried her. I flopped her down on her king sized bed and with quickness I hadn't displayed since playing basketball in college snapped up what was obviously one of her bras laying on the bed.

I was much stronger than Belinda and more motivated than I could remember. In short order I had her on her knees with her wrists tied securely to the headboard with her bra. As she tried to get loose and swore at me I casually disrobed, not surprised at all that my cock looked and felt like a piece of titanium. I got behind on the bed, easily avoided her attempts at backward kicks since she had no leverage, securely held her hips, and started licking her pussy from behind.

It was clear that Belinda was trying to not get aroused -- she was completely unsuccessful. After about five minutes of licking and an occasional finger on her clit, she was no longer screaming but moaning. Now it was time to release many things at once.

As I impaled her snug pussy with my hard phallus I was looking for many things. I was looking for revenge, dominance, perhaps humiliation of her, and sexual satisfaction. By that time I hadn't been laid in more than two months after being used to four or five times a week, and despite the fact that I considered her an evil witch Belinda had a consummate body. Once I was buried I was also clearly appraised that she had a spectacular cunt.

Once I got a rhythm going I released her hips and latched on to the outstanding supple manifestations on her chest and lightly twisted her nipples with a thumb and finger while squeezing her tits with the other fingers. The witch was multi-orgasmic to the extreme. I'm sure that she had at least two mild orgasms, and two powerful ones, as I plunged and squeezed away. When I felt my balls start to boil I released one tit and moved that hand to her clit and flicked it several times. Her pussy clamped down on my cock like a vice as she screamed in ecstasy causing me to spew more seminal fluid into her pussy than I could ever remember ejaculating before.

The witch passed out. Despite the fact that she was limp I continued reciprocating in her pussy and mauling her tits, even through a series of aftershocks. Finally I withdrew and flopped down beside her. Only then did she start to rally. She turned her head toward me and mumbled "You bastard," and then groaned as another aftershock rocked her nether regions.

I decided that she needed to be restrained in a different position so I looked around the bedroom closets, found a few of Norm's ties, released the bra binding her to the headboard, flipped her on her back, and retied her hands to the headboard with Norm's ties. She was too wiped to even try to fight, and was completely compliant.

Once she was completely quiet and securely tied, and had survived the last orgasmic aftershock, I kneeled next to her. "How can such a deceitful, fraudulent, manipulative, witch be such a great fuc? Can you tell me that, witch?" I snickered.

"Bite me," she snarled.

"OK," I replied and started lightly biting first her tits, then her labia. She groaned in pleasure. After it seemed like she had yet another orgasm just from my playful bites I asked "Why did you destroy my marriage? Why do you hate me?"

She had no response; she just tried to look away.

By then -- in no small part inspired by my eyes boring in on her perfect female form with my jism slightly leaking from her pussy -- I was hard again. I ate her pussy despite the fact that I had just fucked it, trying not to ingest my seminal fluid, and then I mounted her, put her calves and heels on my shoulders, and then slowly penetrated her again.

This time as I fucked her brains out she rippled her pc muscles. When I injected my largest second load ever in my shortest recovery time ever, she was like a fucking milking machine pulling ever milliliter of seminal fluid that I generated into her snug pussy.

After we both recovered from our latest set of superlative orgasms I quizzed her about where Norm was and when he was coming home. She remained silent. I looked on the desk in the adjoining workroom and found her calendar. This was a three day weekend and according to the notes on her calendar Norm was away Friday night until Tuesday afternoon visiting his son in Boston, many, many miles away.

I brought the calendar into the master bedroom and showed it to Belinda. "Holy shit, witch; you know what that means. I have four more nights and three more days to do whatever I want with you."

"I'll turn you over to the cops," she snarled.

"I think that I can work around that," I smiled. Then an idea hit me. I looked in the drawers in her night stand until I found a vibrator and a butt plug. "Outstanding," I smiled as I held them up for her to see. I proceeded to straddle her, turn on the vibrator, and touch her clit with it.