My Lover's Stepfatherbysr71plt©
This must be it; this must be when Shawn finally takes me.
That thought raced through my mind as Shawn brutally attacked my lips with his. We were stretched out on my dorm bed, me on my back and him covering my body with his. His tanned and muscular body, a gymnast's perfectly chiseled body, was undulating full length on mine. He held my arms above my head, his strong hands wrapped around my wrists, as I gripped the slats of the headboard and arched my pelvis up to him, willing his hard cock, stroking across my belly, to move down between my legs. I wanted him inside me so badly. I moaned for him and was begging for him to take me at last when he shut off my pleas with his lips and searching tongue.
His tongue invaded my mouth just as his hard, thick cock had done before he pushed me back on the bed.
I had never done this with anyone before. He was my lover. My first. He had come after me. I'd been reluctant at first. But he was just too beautiful, too persistent, too arousing. He had told me we wouldn't go all of the way—him fucking me—until he knew that I really wanted it.
Well, I had really wanted it for weeks now. I had told him so; I had done everything I could to show him it was what I wanted. But it hadn't happened.
Maybe it would happen now, though. I had brought him to the brink when I had given him suck. I could tell that he was about to explode. But he didn't. He withdrew and pushed me down full length on the bed on my back and made full-body love to me. I was the one about to explode now.
Shawn rose off me and turned me on my stomach, and he held me close, still trapping my arms above my head with the strong grip of his hands holding my wrists. I felt his cock move down the small of my back. I cried out for joy and turned my face to his, and he was deep kissing me again. His hard cock was between my ass cheeks, in my crack, rubbing across my hole as he stroked up and down across my hole.
I lifted my pelvis to him, willing the cock to enter me on an upward thrust. Not caring that I wasn't prepared to receive him, not caring that he was barebacking me. Beyond caring for anything but for that last barrier to be crossed, for my lover to totally possess me.
I felt him shudder, and I felt the wetness of his ejaculate spinning up the small of my back, and he collapsed on me with a long sigh of satisfaction. His lips went to the hollow of my neck, as my hopes collapsed in another night of "almost," and not quite enough.
Shawn sucked on my neck, marking me as his—to take whenever he wanted, but not before—while I tried to suppress my own shudder. Mine not the product of release but of frustration and disappointment. When I was able to control myself, not wanting to whine or start an argument, or in any way move back from the brink we had almost crossed, I whispered the question I knew he'd understand, because I had asked it before.
"Why? Why not, Shawn? I've said I was ready."
"Not here, baby," Shawn whispered back. "Not here in this room. I want the first time to be special. Don't you?"
"The first time will be special, Shawn. I've told you that. All it needs to be special is that it needs to be you. You've overcome all my inhibitions. I surrender. But to you; only to you."
"Soon, love. Just not here. Not in a college dorm room. The place needs to be memorable—and separate from our everyday lives. Soon. Very soon. Give us a kiss."
* * *
Soon came three weeks later, at spring break. Most of the guys were going to Daytona Beach. But Shawn and I were going to his family's remote house near Oriental, North Carolina, on the inland waterway inside the Carolina Outer Banks. It really wasn't all that far a drive for Shawn and me down Route 17 from Old Dominion University in Norfolk in his new Thunderbird, but his family was coming down from New York and Boston. Oriental was really remote, far out on a peninsula with only one road in from New Bern. Shawn said they had the house there because of the good duck hunting in the marshlands on the fringes of the Pamlico Peninsula.
"My stepfather is an avid game hunter," Shawn said. "Nothing he likes better than bagging fresh game."
"Your stepfather?" I asked. "Your father, then, is—"
"Dead, yes," Shawn said. "He shot himself right after my mother divorced my stepfather. I don't see much of her. She lives in Europe somewhere or in South America. Who knows from moment to moment?"
"Your father shot himself after your mother divorced his replacement?"
"Yeah," Shawn said. "It's not all that complicated. My father and stepfather were in business together. Their company builds skyscrapers across the Northeast. My mother went from one to the other—to my father's best friend and partner, and my father didn't get around to making a statement about that until after my mother dumped my stepfather."
"And you stuck with your stepfather rather than your mother?"
"He's the one with the money. So, of course I did," Shawn said with a mischievous smile. "Now, enough of that. You haven't noticed that Willy is taking in the sights."
Actually, I had noticed that Shawn had pulled his dick out of his pants and was driving down Route 17 with one hand on the wheel and the other stroking his cock.
"I really shouldn't be driving with one hand, Gabe. Help me out so we don't get a ticket." And with a grin, he pulled my face down to his lap, and I gave him head at 60 miles an hour down the East Coast.
"Take good care of it now, and it will take especially good care of you tonight, Gabe."
At last, I thought, as I took very special care of him in the North Carolina sunshine while cruising down Route 17.
* * *
The Morton's house just a couple of miles outside Oriental must have been the seat of an early plantation on the inland waterway. The main house was an imposing, if not an oversized wooden structure with a southern colonial portico and six thick white-plastered columns holding up a full-length porch over the front verandah. The room Shawn led me to was large and grand, one of the corner rooms with French doors out to the second-floor porch. From these I could see down to the water and could make out pleasure craft taking the inland passage back up the coast from Florida to summer quarters in New England.
The bed was a huge, dark-wood four poster, whose highly polished corner columns were crowned with wooden pineapples, which Shawn was quick to tell me was the southern symbol of hospitality.
"I've wrangled you one of the best rooms, Gabe," he said, brushing the back of his hand up and down my arm and giving me goose bumps of arousal. "This is where your desires will be fulfilled, if you are as welcoming as these pineapples symbolize."
"Of course," I whispered in a hoarse, desire-filled voice. "Now?"
"No, not now. Joe wants us to picnic with him down by the water now. He's in the mood to bag some game and wants company before he sets forth. This room is for later. For you to experience an initiation beyond your wildest dreams. Now, isn't this better than our dingy little dorm room?"
"Yes," I answered in a small, thick voice. "But, Joe?"
"Oh, Joe's my stepfather. The others aren't getting here until late this afternoon."
"Yes. His three brothers. The rest of the firm of Morton and Stabler. The Morton brothers. I'm afraid I have to hold up the Stabler part all on my own now."
"Hey, you comin' or not?"
The voice was gruff, deep, an edge of impatience. A voice not to be denied. Shawn had a hand on my arm, and I felt him give a little shudder. There was something in his face, something that I couldn't categorize. Just the sound of the voice appeared to have subdued him, changed him somehow. He wasn't as brash and expressive as he had always been in my presence.
"Stepfather Joe calls. Ours is to obey," Shawn said with a sigh. He took my arm and pulled me out through the French doors and to the edge of the porch.
We looked down onto the fore lawn of the house, and I saw him.
Joe Morton was obviously a formidable man. A king of industries who went straight for what he wanted and usually got what he went for. He was wearing camouflaged hunting gear with high rubber wading boots, obviously prepared to chase down whatever game he shot down over the marshlands. A heavy shotgun rested comfortably in the crook of a brawny arm that handled the weight with ease.
He was a good six and a half feet tall and was, by no means, a small-boned man. Plenty of meat on this man, most of it gristle. It was obvious that he didn't run his empire from behind a desk but with constant supervision at the top of unfinished skyscrapers. He had a rough-looking, squarish, florid face that probably had seen more of its share of barroom brawls, and he was bald, although the thick, dark hair on his forearms suggested that only his head was hairless.
"You comin' or not? Is that him then?" Joe Morton had turned his gaze on me, and I felt myself shuddering at the power in his voice and gaze.
"Yes, Joe. We'll be right out as soon as I swing by the kitchen and get the cooler. And yes, this is Gabe. I told you I'd bring him. Gabe, my stepfather, Joe. It's all fine, Joe. It's a go, we'll be right down."
I helped Shawn carry the cooler, which was pretty heavy with beer bottles in addition to a picnic lunch, down to the water. Joe had picked out a grassy place under trees with broadly reaching branches overhanging the water, where there was little verge between land and water, just a drop of a couple of inches. Not much in the way of sea vegetation on the margin right here either, although not far in either direction, tall grasses and cattails marked a transition zone of marshy land. There was a pier going a good fifty feet out into the water from here too, with a fair-sized boat house at the end, so it appeared that this was where the family moored their boats and they probably periodically had the water dredged in this strip of land. We were just around a bend of trees from a line of sight from the house.
We might as well have been the only three people on earth in this isolated spot on the remote Pamlico Peninsula. It was the height of the afternoon, and I could see sails far out in the Pamlico Sound, but certainly no one was able to see us.
We were shaded here under the low branches of the trees. The ground was mossy and soft. Shawn threw out a large blanket, plunked the large cooler in the middle of that, and started pulling out sandwiches and beer. The sandwiches were great, but the free-flowing beer was even better. Shawn and Joe were drinking Bud, but Shawn insisted that I drink my favorite, Corona, which he said he'd brought especially for me.
Eventually, Joe went off to do his hunting, and Shawn and I began to make out on the blanket.
The beer was going to my head. I must have drunk more of them than I thought I was. It wasn't long before I was pretty woozy and everything seemed to be happening in slow motion and in a blue haze.
Shawn was being unusually amorous, and I did nothing to stop him. He'd said we'd finally fuck for the first time in my room in the house, but if he took me here and now, that certainly was fine with me.
We were naked and Shawn was sitting on the blanket, facing the water. He had pulled me down to where I was sitting, facing him, on his thighs, with my legs straddling his hips. We were kissing and he had a hand wrapped around both of our dicks, holding them together, and was stroking them slowly. We were both hard as a rock and I was panting for him, pining for him to take me at long last.
We'd never done this before, and I loved it. I loved it even more when he pushed me down on my back along his legs and lifted my pelvis up to his face and was giving me head. I moaned and groaned for him, and he kept playing my cock until I spouted for him too. We'd certainly never done that before.
I was in a daze. I had no idea how we had changed position so that I was bent over the cooler on my belly, my buttocks presenting, ready for the plowing, but there we were. And Shawn was on his knees behind me, and his hands were spreading my cheeks and his tongue was at my asshole.
I writhed and sighed and grunted for him. He was going to do it. He finally was going to take me. I only wished I wasn't so drunk. Why was I so out of it? I'd never gotten this drunk before in my life. I was at the moment of fully coupling with my lover, and I was too drunk to do anything but lay there and take whatever he gave me.
Shawn moved around to in front of me. He went down on his knees and took my head in his hands and guided my lips to his cock and slowly slid into my mouth.
But what was that? Shawn was at my head, but I also had hands on my hips. Big, strong, callused hands.
I was almost lifted off the cooler in shock and surprise and pain, as I felt a bulbous pressure at my asshole—a club pushing to enter my virginal ass. I tried to retreat from the assault, but the hands were holding me fast at the hips and Shawn was now pinning my biceps in a vice grip, holding me down, belly plastered to the plastic top of the cooler, butt waving in the air.
I wildly pulled my head away from Shawn's cock and looked around to behind me, as best I could. I opened my mouth in a primeval cry that caused a flutter in the cattails nearby, and a covey of ducks took to the air, as Stepfather Joe's thick cock breached my sphincter and rose inside me, grabbing for the very center of me, possessing me, taking my virginity.
He was still wearing his camouflaged vest and those high-topped rubber boots, but he was otherwise naked. Big, heavily muscled, hairy, powerful, filling and stretching me to the limit.
And unrelenting in his deflowering of me. Together, the two men were just too strong for me, and I was too far gone from the beer—and not just from the beer, I groggily realized, but also from whatever they had put in the beer.
Joe was virile and strong and long-lasting and hard and thick and long. He fucked and fucked, while I weakly writhed and took him long and deep in relentless thrustings. It wasn't long before I gave over to the pleasure enveloping the pain. What was gone was gone. At this point, any release from the frustration was freeing. I still wanted Shawn; it would just now have to be later rather than sooner. Shawn pulled my face back down to his cock and I sucked him to completion, trying to convey to him that he still was my lover, and had spilled my seed myself before Joe was finished with me.
The haze overpowered me before Joe had withdrawn, but when next I returned to some semblance of consciousness, I was stretched out on my belly on the moss beside the blanket and Joe now was fucking Shawn. Shawn was on his back, with his legs spread, and Joe was crouched between Shawn's legs and pumping away inside his hole. Now that I could see the power of what Joe had between his legs, I almost swooned at what I had taken from him. Shawn's head was lolled to the side, facing me, and I could tell by the expression on his face that he loved this congress with his stepfather. Even in my groggy state, the truth of who was whose lover here and why Shawn hadn't taken me before now seeped into my brain.
After they were finished, Shawn helped me up to the house and upstairs and sat me down on the bed. He brought out another Corona and forced the cool beer down my throat. I was zoning out again as he took my head in his hands and guided my mouth to his invading cock, face fucking me to his completion. He stretched me out on the bed on my back and was tying off my wrists above my head at the headboard.
Then he turned and walked out of the room. Still not taking me properly and fully.
My mind swam around with no focused thoughts until I fixated on the sensation of being penetrated again. I opened my eyes, or at least thought I did, and all was dark. Still, I thought I got some sense of being in that large bedroom on the second floor of the Oriental house. My legs were being spread by brawny hands, and I could make out a big, barrel chest hovering over me. Neither Shawn's young, sculpted muscles, nor Joe's hairy chest. Definitely not Joe—a full head of hair. Older than Shawn. I was being plowed, filled and pumped. I whimpered and protested, but I was too weak and groggy to put up any sort of resistance and I was bound. I heard a groan and felt a shudder and then relief as the pressure in my bowels lessened.
I drifted off to sleep only to partially awaken, on my side this time, to being encased by strong arms by a body stretched behind me. My leg was being lifted, and I almost was startled into full consciousness as a club thrust itself into my channel and began churning away. I started to scream out in indignation and surprise and pain, but a hand went over my mouth and pinched my nose, and I couldn't breath. I was fighting for breath and unsuccessfully trying to pull away from the hot rod rising up my channel, only serving to pull a throbbing tool deeper inside me, when I blacked out.
The dream was so vivid that I could have sworn I was completely awake while I was being fucked a third time in that dark room. This time I was on my belly, apparently turned and retied at the headboard, and there was a heavy weight on my hips and hands holding down my upper arms, as again a hard tool was plowing my channel in long, deep strokes.
* * *
The click of the bedroom door woke me the next morning. I was stretched out on the bed, naked and sore. Sore of muscles, but mostly sore inside my channel. I had no illusion that I had finally been fucked. But everything was hazy. Had Shawn and I made love? It seemed like I had been fucked repeatedly, but somehow I didn't feel Shawn had been doing any of it. I was confused. But I no longer was tense from the frustration of not being fucked, because I definitely could feel that it had happened.
I looked over to where there was a wing-back chair in front of a fireplace. There was a small side table next to the chair and a breakfast tray on top of the table. I decided that was why I had heard the door click. I'd received breakfast.
I had to admit I was hungry. I painfully pulled myself off the bed, took a pair of jeans from my suitcase, pulled them gingerly on, and went over to the tray. I was pouring a cup of coffee, when I heard the braying of more than one dog out on the front lawn. Taking the coffee with me, and sipping as I went, I went out on the porch and over to the railing.
I arrived there just in time to see five men striding down the lawn toward the water, with three hounds nipping merrily at their heels. Four of the men were dressed as Joe was the previous day, prepared for a day of hunting. One of them was Joe Morton and three of them were almost carbon copies of him—undoubtedly the remaining Morton brothers. The head of hair on one of them brought back a painful memory. They must have arrived yesterday while Joe was fucking me down by the pier. I wasn't all that dumb. The "nightmare" of the previous night was getting a lot less hazy. I'd been drugged and bagged by the Morton brothers. It wasn't only ducks they hunted down on the remote Pamlico Peninsula.
The fifth figure, dressed in khaki slacks and a red T, was Shawn. Shawn, my erstwhile lover. A procurer of virgins for Joe and his brothers. Joe his real lover. Shawn broke away from the other four and headed around to the side of the house as the four brothers jauntily walked toward the marshlands, their shotguns slung over their broad shoulders, ready to continue bagging game.
I ate and dressed and slowly descended the broad staircase to the first floor, bowlegged and fighting the pains deep inside me that screamed at each step—pains not only inside me but also in my conflicted emotions. I should be angry and indignant, but I had wanted to be fucked—and now I certainly had been.