Trophy Wife 7

I am 31, married to a much older man -- your father. Some might refer to me as a "Trophy Wife." You and I maintain a semi-combative relationship. You're bitter that dear, old dad married a woman so much younger than he after your parent's bitter divorce. I enjoy teasing you with my sexy body, knowing you're attracted to me. I mow the lawn in a bikini; do what little housework I do in as little as possible; workout in boy shorts and a sports bra in the living room.

You come home from school one day not long after your 18th birthday to the sound system blaring something terrible. Muttering, you turn it off, and start calling out for me as you make your way through the house, confused because my car isn't in the driveway. All of the lights in the house seem to be off but there is more music coming from your father's bedroom. Further irritated, thinking I turned on the music and then left the house without turning it off, you grumble as you enter the bedroom. Once there, you see the light in the bathroom is on. Even more annoying. So wasteful, so useless, so

dumb

.

You push the bathroom door open and realize your mistake immediately. The shower is running, the sound having been drowned out by the music; you can dimly make out my naked body through the shower door. Fog swirls around my wet form, playing peekaboo with my skin. The angle of my left shoulder, the tightness of my right hamstring, the ridges of my spine curving into the roundness of my tight bottom. Your cock hardens immediately, emotions swinging between pique and desire. With a huff, you move to turn down the music to a more tolerable level. As you start to leave the room, you catch sight of me again and pause. Water flows over my breasts as I rinse my long, brown hair. There's no harm in looking... No one will ever know. And this fucking tease deserves it.

Filthy whore married my dad for his money...

Fuming over angry, little thoughts, you grow more aroused. Your hand idly rubs your dick through the slick material of your gym shorts. Noticing that I'm shaving, you realize that you have more time than you thought. You slip down your waistband and pull out your cock, stroking it while your thoughts continue to ricochet between yearning and loathing. You think about hate fucking me, throwing me around, pounding your frustrations out on my pussy; spraying my face with your cum and leaving me unsatisfied; depositing cum in all of my holes. Suddenly, almost unexpectedly, an orgasm rips through you with a shudder, semen spurting all over your hand and the bathroom floor.

The haze of desire gone, anxiety overcomes you. What the fuck did you just do? She's going to finish her shower while you're wiping it up. Maybe leave it? No. It's everywhere.

Fuck fuck fuck.

"David?" I call out your father's name, having heard something (you, moaning your release, perhaps?). Suddenly, before you can even tuck your shrinking cock back in your shorts, the shower door is open and I'm looking at you, shock on my face. I stare down to your cock. Then at the floor smeared with cum. A smirk spreads across my face; rivulets of water snake down my body. Your eyes can't help but to follow one drop over my breast, alongside the tight nipple hardening in the cold air, down my belly, only to lose it when it dips between my thighs. Your cock starts to grow hard against your will.

"Oh Jack...," my voice rumbles husky from my throat. You spin away, quickly pulling up your shorts. "Wait!" I call out, my voice now firm. You freeze. Anger, lust, embarrassment swim through you. "You can't expect me to clean up your mess, you naughty boy." You stay turned away, unable to face me. "Do you do this often? Watch me in the shower while you stroke your cock?" A short pause. "Do you think about fucking me while you do it? What would your father think?!"

I taunt you. Your anger grows; you grate out, "This is the only time this will EVER happen, you vapid, gold-digging whore." My eyes narrow. You jerk a towel from the rack and kneel down.

The sound of the shower fades. "Jack. Don't wipe up that cum." You pause, confused, but don't look up to meet my eyes. I continue, "You're going to lick it up."

"No, I'm not," you say decisively, glancing up. Your brown eyes run up along my shapely legs and catch on my smooth pussy. The bright pink-tipped fingers of my right hand stroke up and down my slit, sliding over my clit. Your eyes continue their journey and see my other hand squeezing my left nipple.

"Yes, you are," I return, just as decisively. "Or I'm going to tell your father. And we

both

know who he will believe." Anger broils inside of you, seeming to both consume and fuel your desire. Your cock is rock hard; the thought of licking your cum off of the bathroom floor for me doesn't diminish your erection. It's dirty and kind of gay and you hate it, but something seems short-circuit in your brain as you watch me massage my pussy -- you feel yourself bending over, your body moving almost of its own volition, eyes never leaving me until they absolutely have to... to lick at your cum.

You shudder at the first taste. It is not a pleasant one; an odd combination of flavor and texture. I step out of the shower and move past you. You feel drops spatter your t-shirt as I pass. "Don't stop Jack. Your father will be here any moment and you don't want him to find you like this." You keep licking, hating it, overwhelmed with lust and anger.

Then, unexpectedly, your sports shorts are ripped down from behind and your raging hard-on falls out. You yelp and lurch upright, to your knees. My hand finds the back of your neck to push you roughly to the floor, smearing some of the cum on your face. I grate harshly, "KEEP LICKING." My other hand reaches between your legs to stroke your dick from behind.

You shudder again and again as I caress your hot, aching cock.

I tell you what a dirty, naughty boy you are. That you must

like

vapid, gold-digging whores. I ask you if you've ever fucked a girl; laugh derisively when you shake your head with a jerk. Every time you go to lift your head to speak, I push you back down and threaten to tell your father if you don't behave. Finally, the cum is all gone, laved away by your tongue. You gasp and blurt out, "I'm done! Let me go!"

I chuckle and release you. You pause for a moment, not sure what to do, surprised that this nightmare (which has you aching as you've never ached before) is almost over. You stand up, tugging up your shorts as you turn to leave.

Which is when you see I have moved to the bed, where I lay with my legs spread, moaning as I stroke my clit. You stare for a moment, again, seemingly caught in my gaze. "Come here, Jack."

You don't move. I stop fingering myself and lean up on my elbows, arch a brow. "I said come here." You start towards the door. "I wouldn't," I say. You turn towards me again. "Come give "mommy" a kiss. You deserve it for a job well-done."

You grate out, "You're. Not. My. Mom," but move towards me all the same, a fish reeled in by the ache between your legs. The shorts drop behind you, forgotten.

I move so that to kiss me you have to climb between my legs and lean over my body. When you're there, my hands wrap behind your head and my legs swing up behind your hips, pulling you flush against me. I start to rotate my hips against your hard cock and coo with delight as my lips meet yours. I'm soaking wet and your cock slips around easily. All you can think about it plunging it inside my whore cunt. You grit your teeth as I nibble at your lips. I taunt you.

"What's the matter Jack? Isn't this what you want? To fuck your father's wife? Here we are, in his bed. So,

fuck me

."

You start to pull away. I laugh and crawl around you to stand by the bed, looking down at you on it. "That's what I thought... still a little boy. Well, fine. I don't want you to fuck me, anyway. I just wanted to see if you are man enough to take what you want. You're not." I turn towards the closet to find clothes. "Get out."

The rage boils up in you, spills out in insults and expletives as you stalk towards me. You completely lose control. My eyes widen; my pulse jumps. Before you know it, you've tossed me face down on the bed. My shrieks of rage fly in the face of the abuse pouring from your lips.

"STOP, Jack! I said STOP."

"Shut up, you stupid whore, I'm taking what I want. You spread your legs to get in this house, I'm just taking

my

due." You hold me down with a hand pressing my face into the mattress and jerk my hips up to plunge balls deep into my pussy.

I yell, "No! No! No!" over and over again. My hands swing back to swipe at you, hot pink fingernails scoring against muscular thighs. You take control of my arms as you hold them over my head with one, long-fingered hand. The other hand grasps my shoulder to create more leverage, burying your cock as deep as you can, punishing me. You pump furiously in and out of my dripping cunt. You believe I'm enjoying it, gasping and quaking on each stroke, even as my words tell a different story. "Jack, please, listen to me! I'm sorry I was mean to you! I won't tell your father, I promise! Just stop!"

I shudder under you, hips bucking into your harsh thrusts, and you know I've cum from your abuse. Aftershocks cause my hungry cunt to contract rhythmically, confirming your suspiction. My pleasure enrages you; you fuck harder, taking it out on my pussy, just as you had fantasized. "Fucking slut, I thought you didn't want this? What kind of sick bitch comes from getting

raped

???"

I continue to deny the truth of my pleasure, pleas for you to stop raining from my lips, even as my pussy continues to quake around your rod. "I'm not cumming, Jack! You're hurting me! Why are you doing this???" I cry, tears rolling down my cheeks. If you hadn't been so intent on the roiling well dichotomous feelings fucking me inspired in you... If you weren't so eager to coat my insides with your spunk... You might have wondered at my ambivalent response.

"You're lying, whore. I can feel how wet you are. I can feel how your pussy is swallowing up dick. Don't worry, there's more where that came from." You flip me over, one hand still holding mine above my head, the other now around my throat. My legs part, expecting you to "force" your way into me once more, but instead it's my lips that are brutally separated by your cock. You sink your penis in all the way to the base; push until the resistance gives way and your entire length rests inside my bruised throat.

I gurgle my protest around the pulsing meat in my mouth, drool seeping from the edges of my lips. My eyes water as my throat works against this harsh invasion, more moisture coating my damp cheeks. "That's right, slut, take it all. Every inch. And you better not fucking bite me." You shove in and out, ignoring my grunts when your cock hits the back of my throat and slides down on each thrust. The tip of my flits over the tip of your penis on each deep stroke. One of my hands cups your tight balls, massaging to your rhythm.

You close your eyes as you fuck my mouth harder and harder. Suddenly I'm awkwardly crab-walking backward as you drag me by the hair to gain a better angle, continuing to fuck my face as my hands scramble for purchase. My hands grip your ass to help my balance. My face, throat, and chest are a mess of spit, sweat, and tears. The sight excites you and your thrusts shorten. "Yes, bitch, use that mouth. Make me cum!"

I shout as loud as I can around the cock pumping in my mouth; protest or pleasure, I'm not sure anyone watching could have said. Three short jerks and my moist hole fills with sperm; excess leaks out of the corners of my mouth to mix with the bodily fluids already smeared over my face and upper body. You pull out, but you're still hard. My eyes widen, my body shudders, my legs part.

Using the cum and spit coating your cock, you stroke it, staring at my sloppy face. Your smirk at my open legs causes a blush to rise to my cheeks. I start to close them. "No! Open your legs for me. I want your cunt again."

You slide into me. I whimper, arch into it. You hump me like an animal; grunting, sweat dripping onto my face and into my mouth. I plead for you to stop even as my legs settle around your waist and grip your hips, arching up into those painful thrusts. You lose count of how many times you make me cum, forcing your dick into me again and again, before your third load finally boils up from your balls and you explode deep in my pussy.

And then... clarity parts the haze of anger and desire. You know that you've done something terrible. "Oh God Mia. Oh God. What have I done? I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." You pull out and collapse against the pillows, crawling backwards to get as far as possible from me where I'm shuddering on the bed. You start to catch your breath, when you realize that the shuddering isn't crying. "Mia?" I lean languidly up on one elbow and you see that I'm... chuckling. Mirth ripples up through my belly and out of my bee-stung lips.

What the fuck...?

I flop over on my back so you see can your semen leak out of my pussy. "You sick bitch. You wanted that. You made me do that!"

"Oh Jack." I rise and slink across the room, where my phone sits in its dock. I pick it up and walk back to the bed, cum sliding down my thighs unimpeded. You watch me approach in horror. Suddenly, the sounds of my frantic voice crying out, "NO NO Jack. Please NO" echoes loudly in the room.

Your heart stops in your chest. You flush; a chill creeps up your spine.

Oh god oh god oh god.

"My sweet, sweet step-son. Don't worry. I won't tell anyone anything about this." You sigh, hot and cold waves of anxiety cresting over you. "IF... you behave." I shake the phone, smear a finger in your cum and lick it, before I continue, "You're mine now. I'll let you know next time I want to get fucked." Despite your feelings of despair, your rod twitches, beginning to rise again. "Now get out, I need another shower before your father gets home."