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SPECIAL CUDDLES


Alice B. Handcock

SPECIAL CUDDLES


He looked at me with the love only a stepson can give you, as he pushed his hard, throbbing cock inside my naughty, wet, MILF cunt!

He was a big boy, that was for sure. He had some moves too. He ground his hips around, letting me feel the full girth of his mighty cock, the veins and ridges rippling my clit, sending electric shocks of pleasure and forbidden joy to every erogenous zone in my body.

I stroked his muscular chest, my manicured fingers rising and falling over the ridges and valleys of his triceps. I felt his back, the tension clear as he drove himself into my wet, gaping cunt.

I knew that this was what we both wanted. What I had known would happen since the moment I met him, my wonderful, erotic, step-son.

“Fuck me harder” I ordered.

He did as he was told. He was a good boy!


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


The day had started like any other. I had made him his breakfast, and we had sat at the breakfast bar, his Dad, him and myself, and gone over the order of the day. As usual, Steven his father, was off to work in the city. He had a short drive to the metro station, followed by a dank and sweaty commute across town to the software house where he worked. He was a successful man, and I was grateful to the Gods that had first crashed us together.

Literally.

It was some fifteen years ago when I had missed the red light and driven my beat up old Buick into his Mercedes at that road junction. It had put the seal on an already shitty day. I had been fired from one waitressing job too many, and sworn that this would be the last one I ever took on. My eyes were puffy and misted up when I kangaroo hopped into the back of his automobile. Crying and driving never makes for a good combination. The anger on his face, the warpaint of disappointment as he clambered out of his car, pausing to check the damage to his fender, melted when he saw me, quivering and blubbing in my driver’s seat. He could see that I was at the very end of my tether, about to do something maybe even more stupid than ram-raid another motorist. He broke into a big smile as he bade me wind my window down.

“Hi. My name’s Steven” he said, in the friendliest of tones. “I guess we have to swap insurance details. If I say that I backed into you, will you go for dinner with me?”

It was the smoothest pick up line I had ever gotten. I melted before him, bursting out in full-blown tears. Everything flooded out of me. My husband leaving me. My rent arrears. My lack of job, and life satisfaction. He just soaked it up as he leaned over into my window, writing out his number and leaving it on my dash.

Our date, and the subsequent three month courtship, was like a dream. He was the perfect man, treating me at all times like the lady I had forgotten I was. We were married, and I was installed as a loving housewife, and mother to his four year old stepson, Gerry, all within three months.

Steven muttered his appreciation for the home-cooked breakfast I had fixed him, as I did every morning. Although there was no need for me to rise so early, I always made them both a hearty meal before they went out. In truth, it was as much for myself as for them. Some days I hardly spoke to anyone during the day. The girls at the gym pouted, and some of them smiled at me, but even after fifteen years I didn’t feel like part of their set. To them, I thought, I would always be white trash.


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