Oh Fiona Ch. 01


My name is Tom, and just over five years ago my father remarried. My mum had gone to buy some potatoes one August afternoon, when I was eight, and I guess after fifteen years Dad finally got tired of waiting for those damn spuds. I don't remember much of my mother; only that her hair was brown, her smile was gentle, and that she always smelt of fresh laundry and flowers. Needless to say, we changed our laundry detergent shortly after she left.

I had been off doing my Master's degree in Australia when Dad met Fiona, his future wife, at some sordid little diner somewhere in East London at 2 in the morning. What my father, of all people, was doing in East London at 2 in the morning is beyond me. I have heard the story of their meeting, how it was practically love at first sight, a thousand times over and so know better than to bore you with any more details. The point is, after just 37 days he proposed and I was going to have a step-mother.

I was unable to attend the wedding, much to my father's dismay, as the date coincided with my final exams, but headed home after graduation.

When I first met Fiona I'll admit I was a tad taken aback. Dad had said she was a little younger than him, but at only 34 she was still a complete knockout. Shiny blonde hair, a slim figure and a chest that looked to be as perky as those I'd seen on college girls, all made me rather jealous of my dad. I know some people might think it wrong that I was so blatantly objectifying my new step-mum in my mind, but, trust me, if she were your new step-mum, you'd have done the same.

During the first 3 weeks my interactions with Fiona had been minimal. She didn't work but was always popping to the store or chairing some charity committee. You know, Mum stuff. However on the morning of a big interview I had lined up, that all changed.

I had just got out of the shower to find that my suitcase was gone. While I was in the midst of looking for it, there was a knock at my door and Fiona popped her head in.

"Tom dear, oh! I'm sorry." she paused upon seeing me dressed only in a towel.

"Someone moved my bag!" I was embarrassed to be seen like this by her.

"That's actually what I wanted to talk to you about," she said, regaining her composure "I took it downstairs."

"Why would you do that?!" I was annoyed by this point. I was cold, embarrassed, and just wanted to get dressed.

"I just thought your clothes could use a good wash. I didn't realise you hadn't taken out a set to wear today."

"Well I hadn't." I huffed. "What am I meant to wear now then?"

"Alright, there's no need to get your panties in a bunch young man. Come with me and we'll get you some of your father's clothes to wear for now."

I can't say my pride liked the insinuation that I wore panties, but I guess I had been a bit pissy with her. So I had to wear my dad's clothes for a day? It's hardly the end of the world.

I walked behind Fiona on the way to her and my dad's room, and couldn't help but admire the way her hips swayed from side to side and how her white dress clung to her perky bum (which no doubt looked even better due to the 5inch heels she was wearing today). When we got to the closet she spun around so fast that she must have caught me staring. If she did though, she didn't show it.

"We'll have to be quick about this, there's somewhere I have to be." she said in a firm manner.

"Oh, okay." I tried to hide my disappointment, but she saw right through me.

"You didn't think I got all dressed up for you, did you?" she quipped, arching an eyebrow.

I couldn't think of anything to say so I just laughed it off and opened up the closet. What I saw next though took me completely off-guard.

"Holy shit." I whispered at the sight before me.

In front of my eyes was something from the far reaches of my fantasies. Dresses of all colours and styles hung from the top while large pigeon holes held all manner of skirts, tops and shorts.

"That is my closet." Fiona remarks, breaking me out of my trance.

"Oh, um, yes, uh, sorry." I squeeze the words out while closing the closet. I want her.

"Unless you'd rather borrow some of my clothes?" she smirks "my panties are in a drawer over by the window.". Oh, she is evil.

"N, No thanks." I manage to say, though the lump in my throat is getting considerably bigger. I can already feel a tingling under my towel as blood begins to travel south.

"Really? I bet you'd look cute in lace. Or maybe a thong?" She winks before turning back around and opening dad's closet.

It is much more what I would expect: a few suits, some jumpers, chinos, a couple pairs of jeans, and the odd t-shirt -- all very black, grey, brown and blue. Though I'll admit I wasn't really concentrating on much other than the thought of Fiona's lacy underwear at this point.

"So what do you need?" she breaks me out of yet another trance.

You Fiona, I need you. Her back is still towards me as she digs through my dad's clothes. What I wouldn't give to be able to pin her against the closet right now and have my way with her.

"What size waist are you?" she doesn't even turn around.


"Rick is a 36, so you'll need a belt aswell. I'd say you were a medium for t-shirts. What about briefs? Small?" she looks over her shoulder, catching my eye, as she says that last bit. She has a sly smile spread over her face.

"I, um... I, um, actually wear boxers." I can't believe the effect this woman is having over me.

"Rick doesn't have boxers. I threw them all out; they were all raggedy. Besides, I prefer briefs on a man -- keeps his package nice and snug." she winks again, grinning from ear to ear.

"So what will it be?" she continues "your dad's briefs, or one of my thongs?"

I am putty in her hands.

To be continued...

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