The Stepmother

When I was younger, my family was extremely poor. I'm talking, "sit in the waiting room while mommy and daddy give plasma, so we can eat tonight," poor. I'm not trying to belittle the struggles of modern family or give you a sob story for sympathy, but I want you to understand completely what I mean when I say you never stop living with poverty. It doesn't matter if you're worth ten million dollars or ten dollars, you never forget the ache of an empty stomach and the bitter nights when the cold wind would find its way to your bed.

At the end of my senior year, my parents received their big break: dad got a promotion and it tripled his salary. Mom, after years of hard work, finally gained her tenure and job security. We became "middle class" overnight.

When my parents were finally comfortable though, they looked at one another as partners, looked at how they'd been living, and their marriage fell apart. It wasn't the money that changed them, it was that first gasp of air after a lifetime of trying to keep their heads above water.

When you live like that--where every day is a struggle--it changes you; survival was all my parents had ever known and when the risk of drowning was finally taken from their shoulders they discovered what bound them wasn't love, not anymore. It was duty.

They filed for divorce right before my graduation and despite understanding why two people--who used to love one another fiercely--could grow apart, it still filled me with uncertainty about the future.

College was my salvation. The classes were great, my course-load was easy, my job was secure, and I had the opportunity to enjoy a freedom the like I'd never known. At least, that's the way it started. But when the spring semester began, things took a turn for the worse. It was as if someone had adjusted the difficulty slider of my life and everything ramped up to eleven.

Work cut my hours, my social life evaporated, I was under constant siege by homework, tests, labs & extracurricular activities that I never seemed to have enough time for. If I found a quiet moment in my day to talk to my parents, hell, eat, I considered myself fortunate. The isolation quickly became more than I could handle.

It's funny, isn't it? As a teen you fight for freedom from your parent's rule, but as an adult--when you face the shape of the world for the first time--you yearn for that safety net.

It felt wrong to call and ask for help after all they'd been through, but when I finally worked up the courage to reach out to my dad we hadn't been talking for more than five minutes when he dropped a bombshell. He'd proposed to a woman named Jessica.

I was stunned. I guess I'd always hoped--deep in my heart--that my parents would come to their senses and that time would bring them together again, but my father's proposal made me realize the truth, finally. There would be no happy home. There would be no reconciliation. My family had been broken into two shards of glass, never to be whole again.

My mother, when I finally had the chance to call her, didn't seem to mind that dad was getting remarried, in fact she had given her blessing.

When Thanksgiving break came I was an emotional wreck. I felt lost, as if I were wandering in the desert with no stars to guide my way. My dad invited me over for holiday dinner, but I knew it was more akin to a meet and greet with my future step-mother, rather than a casual get together. I thought about telling him no, but if I were honest I really just wanted to see a friendly face again.

I pulled into the drive-way at two thirty four and was surprised to see the house looking much the same as I'd left. The familiarity of it was nice, but I knew the moment I stepped through the front door and saw someone else in that house, that feeling would be gone. It wasn't the family home I'd left anymore.

Dad came out the front carrying a big black garbage bag. Once he spotted me, in my little silver Jetta, the lines of his face widened to a huge grin.

It was time to face the music. When I opened the door and stepped out, he dropped the bag and swept me up in a huge hug.

"How the hell are you?" He laughed. I hadn't realized how much I missed seeing that big dumb smile on his face. I curled my arms around his back and held on tight.

"I'm good, dad. It's great to see you."

He pulled back and looked at me speculatively, prodding my sides. "You've lost some weight, new diet?"

I let him go and smiled wistfully. "I guess you could say that."

"Trying to keep in shape for the girls?"

I shrugged and grinned. "They've just been chasing me so much, it's really improved my cardio."

"Are you sure you're not adopted? Women never chased me when I was your age."

He picked up the bag and we walked up the drive-way, towards the trash-cans.

"I might be, that would explain why I'm better looking--"

"But it also explains why you're not as witty," he interjected. He handed the bag off to me and grunted. "You know the rules: the smart-ass does the chores."

"I have no memory of this rule. My brain no work so good, I guess I am your son after-all, huh?" I opened the lid and rolled the heavy bag inside.

Dad looked around nervously, eyeing the neighboring houses. "Keep your voice down, someone will hear."

I sucked in a deep breath and yelled, "I'm the long lost son of Susanne and Roger Everton, my name is Michael, don't let them lock me up in the attic again!"

He quickly clapped a hand over my mouth. "That's going to cost you a couple hours of work, boy."

"Worth it."

Dad smiled at me and clapped me on the back. "Come on, Jessica has been cooking all morning. She's very excited to meet you."

It was like a dagger in my heart to hear another woman's name come from his mouth, uttered in this place, my sanctuary. He must have seen my expression shift because he squeezed the top of my shoulder softly.

"I know this is a bit awkward. If you're not up to meeting her you don't have to. I can ask her to come back, after you're gone, give us some time to talk."

The offer was tempting. I had a lot of bottled emotions that I needed to get off my chest, but when I looked up at his face, his eyes held the faintest hint of disappointment.

"No, sorry, just a lot on my mind lately. I'd love to meet her." I lied.

Dad looked at me and opened his mouth, as if he would say something, but he just smiled and nodded his head instead. We walked up the porch-steps together, the wood creaking underneath our feet. As I opened the door and stepped inside, a wave of wonderful smells hit my nose; roasted meat, fresh baked bread and something sinfully sweet.

"Jessica, we have company," dad called from the entry-way.

Nothing had changed inside the house either. The wood floors, like rich coffee, and the cream-colored batten board walls held the secrets of happier memories. They spoke the song of yesterday and it was such a sweet voice that it made my heart ache to hear it. To look into the living room and see the same furniture, arranged in the same way, made it all the more painful when another woman's voice called out from down the hall.

"Oh, is he here?"

I took a deep breath to steady myself as the door to the kitchen swung open and a stunning woman stepped into the hallway.

My jaw dropped.

Jessica was lovely beyond words and much younger looking than I'd imagined. There were faint lines on her cheeks and at the corner of her eyes that hinted at her age, but if you passed her on the street or in the supermarket, you'd think she wasn't a day over twenty-five. The apron masked her curves well, cinched as it was about her slim waist, but even from a dozen feet I could see the outline of enormous breasts strain against the fabric.

"You must be Michael, I've heard so much about you," she said. Her red lips, sumptuous and perfect, curled into a warm smile.

A million different thoughts were racing through my head but before my tongue betrayed me and uttered something wildly inappropriate, I shut my mouth and awkwardly extended a hand.

"Uhm..."

I cleared my throat and smiled back. "You must be, Jessica. It's nice to meet you."

She laughed and lightly brushed my hand aside. "We hug where I'm from, after all, we're going to be family soon."

Before I could react or protest, Jessica wrapped her arms around my back and nestled against me. The full weight of her massive breasts crumpled into my chest. A realization struck me like a hammer blow: the apron was hiding much more than I'd anticipated. As both a virgin and a "boob-guy" this hug was more than my delicate brain could process. Mentally, I shut down.

By the time she pulled away I was certain that I was a drooling mess, but if she noticed her expression didn't show it. Her eyes were such a cool blue, almost cobalt, that I had trouble looking away.

It's safe to say that first meeting with my future step-mother destroyed all expectations.

***

Dinner was awkward. I guess that's to be expected when you're trying to personally come to terms with the fact that your father's wife was a knockout, but I think I muddled through it without embarrassing myself too much.

In other news, this was my very first awkward Thanksgiving, so I guess--looking at it solely as an optimist--I get to cross off a major life milestone. It only took twenty-two years!

Dad tried his best to tie the conversational lapses together in a neat little bow. He jumped into every awkward pause, laughed at every silly joke and continually asked questions you couldn't escape from with monosyllabic answers: how was school? Are you dating anyone? Any new friends? Hobbies? How was work? He was trying so hard to make me feel at ease that the poor guy was practically sweating by the end our meal.

Turns out Jessica was a fitness instructor at a local gym. My dad signed up after the divorce, said it was nice to just get out of the house every now and again. They'd made polite banter for months before he'd finally worked up the courage to ask her out for coffee, coffee turned into dinner, dinner into a relationship and the relationship into a proposal.

My future stepmother, now that she was out of the apron, wore a forest green sweater that did nothing to hide her bust. I sat there nodding my head, staring at a basket of rolls in the center of the table, not trusting my eyes to look elsewhere.

After dinner was over I rushed upstairs as quick as I could, citing next semester prep-work that needed to be finished. As I closed the door to the bathroom, I found I couldn't stop thinking about Jessica's tits. I knew it was wrong, but I couldn't help myself. They were the biggest I'd ever seen.

Judge me all you want, but when you spend thirty minutes looking at a woman like that, whose sweater buttons were held together by some herculean feat of strength, you would be in the same predicament. Before I'd even realized what had happened, my hormones kicked into gear and the crotch of my jeans bulged out uncomfortably tight.

I needed relief. That's all, I told myself, then these thoughts would go away. I wouldn't keep sexually objectifying my father's fiancé.

I searched the bathroom vanity, looking for lotion, then I opened the linen closet door...inside was the biggest bra I'd ever seen, messily thrown to the back of the second shelf.

The cups were the size of dinner plates and so full that even with them pressed up against me earlier, I never would've guessed she was this big. I was dumbfounded. The tag on the bra read 34M. It was the first time a simple number had left me speechless.

Without thinking, I undid my pants and let them fall around my ankles. I wrapped the silken cups of my step-mother's bra around my swollen cock and squeezed. It felt incredible. The tip throbbed and gushed a small river of pre-cum that trickled down the bulging veins. It was enough lubrication to let the fabric glide over my skin with little effort. I bit down on the edge of my lip, stifling a low, guttural moan.

I started thrusting my hips. Harder. Faster. It was wild and animal. There was no shame anymore, just raw need. I couldn't stop myself from making noise. I moaned out loud. Fuck it, they were both downstairs and wouldn't be able to hear me, I wanted to enjoy this.

My legs began to shake. Everything was bubbling to the surface. In my mind, Jessica was slamming those heavy tits down on top of my thighs, begging me to cover them in cum. I was too focused on my own pleasure, had I not been dogmatically chasing an orgasm I would've heard the footsteps in the hall.

The bathroom door swung open and my future step-mother stood in the entry-way. We both stared at each other, too stunned to speak. My mind was racing, trying to find words or some excuse to make this go away. My cheeks went hot as I watched realization dawn across her beautiful face.

The cup of her bra fell from my hand as I went to cover myself. The surface was covered in thick white splotches.

"Jessica...I-I..."

When she knelt to pick it up, a wave of blonde hair fell over her face. She just stared at her bra, hands shaking. I couldn't see her eyes, but she had to have been furious. I sat up and tried to think of a way to make this right. I opened my mouth without knowing what I'd say. Then she pressed a finger against my lips.

She looked at me, her eyes filled with heat and what I could only describe as hunger. The smile on her lips was ravenous. She dropped the bra and fell to her knees, pushing my thighs apart. I was stunned. I didn't realize what she was doing until she wrapped delicate, soft fingers around my dick and began to pump.

Her touch was perfect. She started low on my shaft, fingernails gliding, seeming to follow the veins up, before slowing underneath the swollen tip. When her hand fell down my length, it pulled ever so slightly at my skin, before the pooling mass of pre-cum made the journey effortless.

The pleasure was too much. My hips were rising from the surface of the bath-tub trying to meet her hand, trying to push myself over the edge that I'd been so close to falling off of, before I was interrupted, but she didn't let me change the tempo. Jessica folded forward and the hot weight of her massive breasts pinned my thighs.

"Let's play a game," she whispered, she lowered her finger from my lips and undid the top button of her sweater. A mound of creamy cleavage was revealed and the sight of that plunging black neckline made another flood of pre-cum drip from my swollen head.

"If you make a sound, I'll slow down...but if you manage to stay quiet--" she trailed off, letting the pace of her hand finish what she was going to say.

My legs were trembling. My balls were filled with heat. I was so close, but I had to just bite the inside of my lip and stop myself from moaning. My pre-cum dripped off down her knuckles and rolled against my balls.

The bathroom filled with the sounds of her excited breaths and the squelching noise of an expertly given hand-job.

"Oh," she purred, "you're doing well. I think you can handle a more..." her smile turned almost sinister as she undid the last two buttons of her sweater. The sight was more than my brain could handle.

Her cleavage had been pushed into a massive, pale mound by a soft blue bra, the cups of which strained impossibly against her bust-line. The faster her hand moved, the more pronounced the ripples on her chest became. The sight broke me.

"Oh my God..."

When the speed of her hand slowed to a crawl, I realized my mistake with a frustrated groan. The apex of my orgasm, which had seemed inevitable, faded away, but the pressure, the need only grew in concert.

"Oh, too bad..." she cooed. "You didn't listen to your step-mother, you bad boy." Her fingers plunged beneath my sensitive head and pumped repeatedly. I fell back against the wall with a thud, my eyes glazed over and bulging, but I didn't make a sound. I needed this too badly.

With a delighted moan she hooked the band of her bra with a thumb and pulled it away from her chest. I didn't realize what she was going to do until she enfolded my wet cock between her breasts and squeezed them together. Everything went white. It was unlike anything I'd ever felt before. I had to clamp a hand over my mouth to stop from screaming.

Jessica licked her lips, seeming to relish my predicament. The fabric of her bra kept me perfectly trapped between the wet valleys of her breasts and as she moved, the entirety of her bust squeezed my swollen girth in a tight, yet soft tunnel of pure, molten heat. I couldn't stop her even if I wanted to. She had turned my body into her personal toy, a vessel of cum for her sole amusement.

"Since you followed my directions so well I think you need a reward," she said, her voice a husky moan.

She began to rock harder, faster, her hands dug into the flesh of her mammoth breasts, causing the skin to squeeze together. It was ecstasy and bliss wrapped in pure, unadulterated pleasure. My mouth was paralyzed. My hips were thrusting of their own accord, despite being trapped as I was beneath her.

I was over the edge before I realized it, lost in the mesmerizing swell of her cleavage. A well of heat erupted from the base of my shaft and ran to the throbbing head. Then the dam broke completely.

The first rope of cum splashed high on her chest and she let out an excited little gasp. All that built up pressure became an explosive pleasure and it was being extracted by a goddess.

I didn't think anything in the world could feel as good as this did, but she proved me wrong when she wrapped her soft, pillow lips around the tip of my cock and started to swallow.

My body folded in on itself and my muscles seized. I flooded my step-mother's mouth with rope after rope of thick, endless cum. She let out a muffled moan and her lips started to bounce up and down my head, drawing more and more out of me, leaving smears of red in her wake.

After what felt like an eternity, she released me from her mouth with a soft pop and slid my cock from between the cage of her heavy tits. It was covered in spit. She stared at me with heated, smoky eyes and a teasing smile. Without another word, she got up, wiped cum from her chest, slid her sweater back on and opened the door to the hall.

I laid there when the door was shut, still twitching, still thinking about what had happened. It was the single most gratifying sexual experience of my life. If I focused on solely that, everything was fine, but it wasn't fine. This was my father's fiancé, one step removed from a member of my own family.

I didn't leave my room for the rest of the night, the shame of what I'd done, the weight of it, kept me shackled upstairs. I was afraid that if I looked my father in the eyes, the truth of what I'd done would come out and if I looked at Jessica, I worried that something else would come out entirely.

Lying in bed, an hour or so later, I told myself that it could never happen again, I knew it couldn't, I knew it in the depths of my heart, but a different part of me, a more primal part, didn't care. It only focused on the greater pleasure.

I'm ashamed to admit, I jerked off before bed, thinking of what my step-mother and I had done, till the burning lust had abated and I was finally able to fall asleep.

***

The next morning I'd made up my mind to leave and go stay at a friend's house for the remainder of break. If I wasn't there to be seduced, there was no way it could happen again, so I gathered my stuff, waited for my dad to leave and slipped out into the hall. I hated the idea of not talking to him, hated making him think I'd just abandoned him, but I knew the lie would hurt far less than the truth ever could.

When I came downstairs the sunlight was just beginning to trace its way through the living room windows and pool in golden spots against the wall. I'd gotten up early in the hopes that I would be awake before Jessica. I didn't know her schedule, but what little I did know about fitness instructors told me she wouldn't stay in bed for long. When I got to the bottom of the stairs, I set my travel bag on the landing and froze when I heard a key fall into the front door lock.