My Stepdaughter Enjoys Sex with Mom

I had sent my stepdaughter off to a private school on the other side of the country when she was eight. I just didn't like the local public schools. I let her go to the localized schools for the first few years, but when she kept coming home obviously unhappy, I sent her off. For months I was wracked with guilt. At the time I felt it was in her best interest since she was starting to hang around with some of the "mean girls" and other unsavory types. She wasn't the most attractive girl at school, and I was afraid she would start to get involved in drugs so she could fit in. But I did worry that she would resent it. Now, ten years later, after having aced her grades at both the small private academy and at college, the company for whom she worked was downsizing. My baby was coming back home. Money wasn't an issue since she made good money at her job and had a lucrative side business.

Patti's father and I divorced shortly after we sent her off to the academy after having fight after fight over the school and a lot of other things. Bob hated that I was successful in my business and making more money than he was. I always suspected the reason for our divorce was much the same bullshit as his first failed marriage. I'm the one with the acumen to run my own enterprise. It was my income that allowed us to live in a 3500 square-foot house, a mansion compared to the house in which I grew up. When we bought it as happy newlyweds, it needed quite a bit of work. But it was my money that went into renovating it. We fought over my spending habits, which he thought were excessive, despite a ballooning savings that would see us well into retirement. Finally he left. I carried on with my world and felt all the happier without him. Besides, there were other considerations that made me want him out of my world.

The day came when Patti's plane was to land. Although I really didn't want to see him, I called Bob out of courtesy. He had claimed for years that he was crazy about her, that he loved her more than life itself. Yet when I told him his stepdaughter was coming home today, he seemed to shrug it off, saying he had an important meeting he couldn't get out of. I didn't know how Patti was going to react about her father not being there, but I determined to let her make her own inferences and to see him if she wanted to.

When she stepped off the passenger stairs, it took me a while to realize it was my stepdaughter. She looked the same, but far. Not just the age that was different. There was a confidence about the 19 year old woman. As soon as she ambled into the terminal, I ran up to her, unsure how the reception would turn out. My fears were put to rest the moment she laid eyes on me. There was that ever-present smile full of optimism. Gone was the paunchy little girl who walked with a slight slouch, replaced with a buxom beauty whose face was that of a self-confident woman. Gone was the extra weight, replaced by a flat stomach and what seemed to be a perfect figure. After looking at this goddess-like young woman, I was really glad Bob decided not to show up. Patti's new measurements would drive any man mad, father or otherwise. In my mind's measuring tape, she looked to be a full 38 at the bust, thin waist at about 25 and 36 inches at the hips. My little girl had blossomed into a gorgeous woman that obviously worked out. I was glad my taking her to the gym when she was a youngster while I worked out paid off. And her face looked damn-near perfect with high cheekbones and a killer smile.

"Mom," she squealed as she threw her arms around me. The embrace lasted longer than I expected. She seemed genuinely happy to see me.

Was it my imagination, or were her erect nipples pressing through her blouse against me? For a moment I had the playful thought of groping her to see if her panties were wet, but I didn't seriously think my stepdaughter would appreciate my hand between her legs. But still I could feel my face flush, which I passed off as relieved that Patti wasn't pissed at me for sending her off 11 years earlier.

"My little girl has grown up. And so beautifully, too."

The drive back to the house was filled with furtive smiles and small talk. Patti talked about the job, the people she'd left behind, and how much she looked forward to having her business take off in her home-town. I just let her ramble on, thinking how good it was to have her home. I did mention how well my own business was doing, but only in passing.

When we arrived at the house, we sat on the couch. A little more small talk, then I decided to address the elephant in the room.

"Has your father visited you at all in California?" Did he at least call? I was surprised he didn't seem to be interested that you were coming home."

She smiled wryly, then said she saw him twice. "Once on a video call, then once in person," she said, almost waving it off as not worth talking about.

I was puzzled, but since Patti didn't seem to want to talk about it, I didn't push. When she was ready, I was sure she would tell me what happened., if something did happen. One thing my stepdaughter couldn't do well when she was a child was keep a secret. And judging by how her forehead was sweating when she mentioned her father's visit, and how it seemed like her chest was about to burst when she spoke about him...it was at least still partially true.

I thought back to when I realized Bob was not a good fit in my life. We'd been married nearly 10 years, and I thought we were happy. But then I found him in bed with my sister, doing things to her that I taught him. He was doing her doggy-style, occasionally pulling out and slapping her ass...hard. I had taught him that because Bob couldn't keep from cumming within minutes of starting to screw me. I watched him do this for a while, till he tried something new with her, and that was pull it out and walk around to her head and wave his cock in front of her lips, begging for a blowjob. Bob always liked his blowjobs. When we were married, I drank his cum at least once a week. But never did he try to stick his manhood between my lips after being inside me. I thought to myself it would have been an interesting variation, as I always licked my fingers and palms while masturbating. I liked a woman's musky scent and creamy juice, even if it was my own.

Shortly after that, things rapidly went downhill. The affair with my sister, and a few other women, continued until I finally confronted him. Instead of arguing or apologizing, he just went upstairs and packed. The next day, all his stuff was gone, and a scant three months later we were divorced. I never asked him for a dime, but I wasn't going to complain about it when he offered me a nice settlement that I was sure was given more out of guilt than a sense of obligation.

I spent the next several months in nearly total isolation. Maybe it was depression, but I threw myself into my business, seeing it grow exponentially, and quickly, going to bed early, then playing with myself till I was sated, then fell asleep.

I shocked myself when one of those nights I found myself fantasizing about my sister, pretending it was her hand between my thighs, and envisioning her lips kissing me down there. Even though she and I no longer spoke (ever since the affair, the only time my sister and I talked, the conversations were short, stilted and to-the-point) she was still my sister. Not to mention I wasn't a lesbian, though I was starting to think I might be, or at least thought about experimenting with bisexuality. I found myself getting out more and more, going to local area all-female business meetings and wondering how good some of those women were in the sack. I kept berating myself for thinking that way, but some of those women wore tight jeans or skirts that left little to the imagination...and damn they were hot. Some of them obviously spent time at a gym, and some who didn't, but still I wondered how adventurous they were. Eventually I stopped having that "talk" with myself and just let my mind wander. I still didn't think I wanted to be a lover of my own sex exclusively, but maybe bi wouldn't be so terrible. I hadn't let anyone except my own hands and a few toys, in my pants since Bob left, but I was satisfied that another person was not what I craved in my life. I was sure I would tire of having a vibrator or a dildo sliding in and out of me, but for now it took care of my need.

That first evening with Patti in the house, I felt friskier than usual for a weekday. Normally I would concentrate on business until the weekend, then let every pent-up sexual frustration loose, and enjoy multiple orgasms Friday night and through most of the day on Sunday. I tried thinking about other things to get my mind off my "V" as I heard it called in a recent commercial, but still the throbbing need wouldn't quit. Finally I gave in to the animal want and the building wetness between my legs, reached into my nightstand to find the most realistic-looking vibrator I could find. I had 3. One was a 2 inch "bullet" that I used to take the occasional edge off if I was expecting a weekend business meeting. The second was a 7 inch hard plastic number for when I just wanted some down and dirty. And the third, my favorite, was close to 8 inches with ridges and bumps and even a pair of molded "balls" at it's base. I had bought this at a toy boutique in town. I remember it came with a harness, an accessory I never expected to use, thought of throwing out, but kept like buried treasure at the bottom of the drawer.

I undressed and nearly sprinted to the shower, thinking about, but deciding against having cold water cascade down my body. After drying off, I realized I'd forgotten to get clean underwear. An old habit I'd had since childhood kept me from walking in the house without clothes. It didn't matter Patti was the only other person in the house. I eased into my dirty panties, looked at the rest of the clothing on the floor, said to hell with it, throwing it into the laundry hamper.

I suddenly wished I had taken a cold shower, because I was growing more horny. Despite my panties being already soaked, I could feel the juice trickling from the labia, the wet cloth bunching between my legs, making me shiver as it teased my clitoris. I laid on the bed, hoping I was exhausted enough to just go to sleep. I knew that I couldn't just will myself to slumber, but it wouldn't hurt to try. This was a mistake, because the more I tried to turn the mind off, the more it wandered to unexpected places. I thought of my stepdaughter. The first thing I saw in my mind's eye was her as a young girl, and a smile ran across my face as I saw Patti riding her tricycle in our front yard. But just as quickly as the memories started, they morphed to thoughts of the ride home from the airport. Whether or not it actually happened, I recalled how her breasts heaved, stiff nipples straining against the blouse. I tried to cut off those thoughts, or at least change them to something less "dirty." But the more I tried, the more I enjoyed the story building in my mind. Then I looked down at the panties daring me to remove them.

I pushed the panties down my thighs, took them from my ankles, brought the underwear to my face and pressed the crotch against my nose. I still enjoyed the musky scent emanating from the silken fabric. My mind wandered to some of the women in those meetings, wondering if their odors were very different from my own. And if they were, would I find the smell as intoxicating as that wafting from my own panties?

I reached over to get a toy from the nightstand, but put it down after getting it out. Reaching my left hand to my breasts, I began squeezing and kneading. With the right hand I teased my throbbing love canal by walking the fingers to the mound, playfully bouncing the tips on the shaved skin. Finally I eased my palm between my legs and felt the sopping flesh with the open hand, curling my index finger inside as deeply as I could. I screamed silently (or so I thought) as the first wave of orgasm crashed through me. I was surprised I came so quickly, but I needed so much more.

Giving it little thought, I removed my hand from the pink folds and licked the cream from it. No one would ever know how much I loved the smell and taste of my own juices, the intoxicating smell filling my senses as I practically licked the fabric dry. As much as I delighted in the sensual experience, nearly every time I had satisfied my need, I felt dirty and freaky for it, throwing my panties into the laundry and swearing I would stop. But I was far from being done cumming this night. I happened to look to my right and practically jumped out of my skin. Standing in the doorway was Patti, her arms crossed and a wry smile on her full lips.

"I, um, uh, I was just getting ready for bed," I stumbled, feeling foolish, both for having been seen by my own stepdaughter frigging myself and for feeling like I was doing something wrong.

"I see that, mom," Patti said, the smile growing broader.

After I gathered my composure, I asked her how long she'd been there.

"Long enough to see that you need some help."

"Oh honey, I know that I do. I have been thinking of seeing a therapist about..."

"I didn't mean like that, silly," she said, closing the door behind her and sitting next to me on the bed, one hand on a hip and another cupping my face gently. "Mom, don't tell me you feel bad for liking the taste of yourself and the smell of your panties."

"You have been there that long?"

Patti had a quizzical look on her face, her lips twisted in a confused smirk. "I have only been here since I heard the cries coming from your room."

I laughed, feeling ridiculous for thinking I'd been able to scream quietly, without opening my mouth.

"But I did notice your panties laying near your head. Now unless you wear your undies weird, there would only be one reason to be where they are," she said, her smile now almost beaming. I laughed, the foolish feeling melting away.

The grin disappeared from her face, replaced with a serious look that I thought looked like lust. "Mom, while you were playing with yourself, were you thinking about me?"

I didn't know how to answer. I stammered while trying to think of something clever to say.

"Shh shh...mom, it's okay if you do." She turned red, though the embarrassment faded nearly as fast as it had appeared. "Can I tell you a secret?"

I nodded, unable to speak as the hand that had been on her hip moved surreptitiously up to my navel.

"I diddle myself pretty much every night, and fantasize what it would be like if they were your fingers or even your..."

I didn't give her a chance to finish the thought. I grabbed her arm and pulled her down, our lips brushing, then mashing together with a need

I'd almost forgotten I had for another warm body touching mine.

For the last time tonight I let my thoughts get in the way and began to speak hoarsely, barely able to say anything. "Maybe we shouldn't..."

"Oh shut up, mom," she said, pressing her lips against mine. "I dreamed about this on the whole trip here."

But after that first kiss, I pulled away from Patti away, feeling a wave of guilt, my need being overwhelmed by it. "Patti, you don't know how much I need this, but I'm just not ready to sleep with you. Please give me some time."

My beautiful, sexy stepdaughter whimpered, but just turned away from me. I couldn't see her face, but her shoulders were heaving and could hear her quietly sobbing. My heart was breaking, both for her and, watching her perfect ass shaking gently, for me not getting what we both needed so badly. My feet were frozen as conflicting emotions welled and ebbed. I wanted to walk over, tell her how much I wanted her and run my index finger up and down her ass, but keeping that desire at bay, knowing there was no going back, wondering how letting my lust get the better of both of us would change our relationship. Would Patti still be just my stepdaughter or also my lover? Or could we just enjoy each other one time?

"I'm sorry Patti. I'll see you in the morning," I said as I closed my bedroom door behind me. I'd let her sleep in my room for the night. I went to her room, despite there being two other bedrooms. I wasn't sure how much sleep I would get, anyway.

I laid down on the pillow where my stepdaughter had placed her head. The freshness of the fragrance of her shampoo floating from her pillow told me that the girl hadn't just walked into my room after she heard me screaming. Had she planned on bedding her mother? I thought again of the smooth skin covering her body. I began throbbing again, desire again rising up, seeming to start from my toes and racing through my heaving body. My hands again worked their way down to my soaked crotch and began reaching my fingers into the inner recesses, pinching the erect organ that seemed to sprout from my pink flesh.

It didn't take me long to climax again, this time being careful to be silent.

I decided to check on Patti, opened the door to my room and put my hand on her soft shoulder. "Patti, are you asleep?" There was no answer, and since I had come down off my horny high, I laid next to her, put my arm around her and let myself stop thinking. It wasn't long before I was nearly asleep, no longer caring if I dreamed about Patti's naked body atop (or below) mine.

When the sunlight streamed through the shear curtains, my eyes fluttered open. There was no bare body next to me. I hit the exercise machine, did my cardio and core-strengthening routines then went into the shower as I'd done the night before, as much to wash the sweat off as to wash the stickiness on my inner thighs and the thoughts of Patti's taut body from my mind. I succeeded with the one, but the other still deep inside my head.

After I dressed, I went downstairs, calling for the young woman that I so desperately wanted, but was determined not to pursue. There was no answer. Back upstairs I peeked into her room without results. Where the hell was she, I wondered. Had she left the house feeling unfulfilled? I hadn't looked to see if she'd packed her things, but did it matter? Did she decide to go back to Utah, or where ever the hell she left her previous life? Was our relationship as tenuous as I thought before we met at the airport? I went back to my room to look for clues and realized my hard plastic vibrator was missing from the nightstand I'd left it on. "What the hell?" I rifled through the drawer, quizzically asking where I'd put the pleasure stick. It wasn't as useful as the toy that looked like the real thing, but it served it's purpose. Had Patti thrown it out in a fit of despair? If so, would it be in the trash?

Although I knew that nearly every woman in the world had at least one joystick (even those who had a good marriage with lots of satisfying sex). Hell, everybody needed some alone time. Men and boys needed time spent with their favorite magazines or videos or a pair of their favorite woman's panties, as much as women needed solo moments with their favorite playthings. There was always the fine hunk next door or that sweet piece of ass up the block that someone fantasized about, even if they never acted on those wishes. My ex didn't understand that, which is one reason he's no longer in the picture. I couldn't stand that sexist prude pretending to be morally superior to nearly everyone on the planet.

Wait...I was accusing him of being a prude? What the hell did that make me? Here my stepdaughter just wanted a night of unbridled pleasure, and I denied her of that. I reasoned that I had withheld sexual gratification for both Patti and myself because we were related, if only by marriage...but I wondered if I was just embarrassed because I almost let myself forget she was a sexy beast of a woman instead of just my flesh and blood. Why did I deny her getting between my legs? We both wanted the same thing; to get off one night, I reasoned. But would one night be enough? And why should it be sufficient? Did she want to be my lover? Did I want to be hers? I recalled many times we'd been mistaken as being sisters instead of mother and stepdaughter. Would it be any more right if we were sisters?