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”
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
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.