This is the story of how I broke every rule in the book of being a stepmom.
Sounds crazy, right? I mean, being a parent doesn't exactly come with a rule book. Being a stepmom is no different. Have a seat, and let me fill you in with exactly what happened to lead up to this crazy new life of mine.
I always knew that becoming a mom would come with its own set of problems. Becoming a stepmom would be harder still. But when Mike proposed, none of those problems mattered to me. I moved into his small house in the suburbs after the wedding and vowed to be the best stepmom I could be to Greg - but Greg had his own ideas.
I never intended to replace his mom. I'm the woman his dad married, the person who now cooks his meals and does his laundry. His new maid, if you will. We barely know each other, and we've been living together for three years now! And it seems like that's how Greg likes it. He comes home from his college classes and goes straight to his room until dinner time. He does whatever he wants and spends Mike's money how he sees fit - and I have to live with that.
It doesn't bother me. Greg is a quiet and respectful young man. He isn't a rule breaker or a deviant. Even now that he's eighteen, he doesn't act like he's a big hotshot - he's just Greg. Sure, I wish we were closer, but until he is willing to further our relationship, I will be nothing more than the responsible stepmother. I'm fine with that.
His dad, on the other hand, is a different story. Ever since his big promotion a few years ago, it seems like he has no time to tend to his wife. He comes home after I've already gone to bed, and in the mornings, he only grabs a slice of toast and rushes out the door. I haven't had a conversation with him that hasn't ended in an argument in a year and a half, and we haven't had sex in two years. He doesn't text or call me anymore - he comes and goes as he pleases. I don't even know if he's coming home to eat the meals I cook or not. I've been suspecting that he's having an affair for a few months now, but I can't find any evidence.
I'll be the first to admit our relationship is strained, but I don't want a divorce. In spite of my rocky relationship with my husband, I'm happy here. As long as I keep the house clean and have a hot meal waiting for him, I can do whatever I want. I'm living the dream!
The only thing that could make this better is if I had a thick, hard cock ramming my pussy a few times a week - a day, even.
If I wanted to cheat on Mike, I could. I'm quite attractive for a forty-two-year-old woman. My long, toned legs and my tits always get second glances when I'm out in public. I'm very proud of my tits. They're round and firm, like melons, but they have enough sag to them to squish between my fingers. My long blonde hair and cornflower blue eyes make me look so innocent - if only those men knew the dirty mind behind those eyes. I do a lot of yoga and Pilates to keep my ass and stomach nice and firm. If I was twenty years younger, I would definitely look into being a porn star. I certainly have the libido of one!
When Mike stopped paying attention to me sexually, I didn't masturbate at first. I'm a good Christian woman and a responsible stepmother; I would never do something so depraved and sinful! Besides, I may have been a bit of a slut when I was younger, but my libido should have dropped as I aged, right? I was all right for a time, but as time passed and my urges grew stronger, I knew I had to do something to keep myself under control.
I started like every desperate, lonely woman does - with porn. It worked for a while. Whenever I was alone, I'd sneak my laptop up to my room, lock the door, and look up videos like "can't pay the pizza guy" and "plumber cleans lonely housewife's pipes". I'd tweak my nipples as the video began until I couldn't take the build up anymore. Then I'd shove my fingers into my weeping cunt and flick one finger against my clit while thrusting two, sometimes even three fingers deep inside over and over until my pussy clenched around them and my hips would buck and I'd squirt all over my bedsheets. Of course, I'd wash them immediately once I came down from my orgasms. After a while, I'd start waiting until an hour before Mike was due home from work. After all, what's the point in washing my sheets five to six times a day?
But soon, it wasn't enough. Watching the plumber nail the housewife over a counter top was getting boring. I started looking up dirtier and dirtier porn, but it wasn't the same. I moved my masturbation sessions from the bedroom to the living room and the kitchen. The risk that I'd get caught was so exciting but it wasn't enough. My orgasms became like a gentle, warm current washing over me, like sinking into a warm bath for a few seconds, and that isn't enough to get me through the hour, let alone the day! I craved more - I needed more. My fingers were great, but I needed more than fingers. I needed something thick and hard, pounding me over and over until I blacked out from sheer pleasure.
But I'm a lonely housewife in a good Christian neighborhood. I can't go to a sex shop or, god forbid, have a toy delivered to the house. My reputation - Mike's reputation - would be ruined! No, I'd have to make do with what I could find around the house. I tried everything from the handle of my hairbrush to the electric toothbrush under my bed. My go-to was to hump the edge of our old washing machine as it rattled away on the old spin cycle, but when Greg complained about the racket and my husband bought a new washer-drier set that was as quiet and gentle as a newborn fawn, I had to find something else, and fast!
That's everything that's happened in the past few years. That's...well, my life, in a nutshell. But that's not why you're here, is it? Let's get to the good stuff.
The answer finally comes to me while I'm unpacking the groceries. I pull a cucumber out of the bag and freeze for a moment as a soft twinge tingles my pussy. It almost feels like I'm holding a cock in my hand - a cold, hard, smooth cock. I squeeze it gently and moan as my imagination begins to run wild.
I'm a lonely housewife sweeping my front steps when the grocery delivery boy arrives. He's tall and strapping, and I can see the bulge in his tight jeans, even though he's not hard. He wants me to sign the receipt. "I can do that," I purr as I run my fingers over his crotch, "but I don't have a pen... can I borrow yours?" He stammers in surprise, and I shush him with a finger to his lips. "Don't worry, sweetie. Let me take care of you."
I press my lips to his and hungrily kiss him, sliding my tongue into his mouth. He responds eagerly, kissing me back hard and dropping the clipboard to grab my tits through my apron. He squeezes and pulls, finding my hardening nipples and pinching them until I moan and gasp.
"Please," I whisper as I unbutton his jeans and jerk them to his knees. "Please, baby, I need your cock so badly. Let me suck your cock." He nods as I pull his cock free of his boxers and swirl my tongue around the tip. I don't even care that I'm in the middle of my front yard and everyone around the block can see me blowing this horny teenager. It excites me to let the world see what a slut I am behind closed doors.
I moan as a drop of precum drips from his slit. Mm, so salty and warm. It's my favorite part of sucking a cock. I try to take my time, licking the underside of the shaft and sucking on the head, but I can't wait any longer. I have to have this cock! I shove it as deep into my throat as it will go, gagging at its thickness and length. It's so thick it fills my entire mouth and I can't breathe. I pull off long enough to take a quick gasp of air and dive right back down again, sucking and licking and moaning with pleasure. I thrust my hand into my panties, desperately fingering my pulsating hole. I need to get him ready to fill me up with his cock, just a few more seconds and -
"Marsha?"
My eyes snap open to see Greg, my stepson, standing in the door to the kitchen with his backpack slung over his shoulder. I glance at the clock above the kitchen door - it's two-thirty, the time he always comes home from his college classes, and here I am in the middle of the kitchen. My blouse and bra are pulled up and my large breasts are swinging freely, nipples engorged and bright pink from the solid pinching I gave them. I'm on my knees on the hard linoleum floor, my right hand is holding the cucumber shoved halfway down my throat, and my left is under my skirt, my pantyhose, and my plain-jane panties with my fingers deep inside my dripping pussy. I can feel my juices flowing down my thighs, and the way his eyes are roaming my practically naked body, I know that he can see it.
My face flushes bright red. I jerk the cucumber out of my mouth and hurl it across the room as I struggle to my feet, yanking down my shirt and pulling up my panties and panty hose. "Greg - I - " He doesn't say a word, just turns around and rush up the stairs to his room. Humiliated, I use some paper towels to clean myself and the puddle I made on the floor and finish putting away the groceries.
I can't believe I got caught masturbating in front of my stepson. And in such a humiliating way! I must have been moaning like a bitch in heat to even attract his attention enough to make him come to the kitchen when he first walked in. Oh god, how long had he been watching? How much did he see? Will he tell Mike? What will my husband do when he finds out my stepson caught me on my knees swallowing a cucumber and fingering myself to orgasm like some dirty little slut?
I'm still majorly turned on. I've only recently discovered my love of the risk of getting caught, and then to actually get caught! Oh, I almost cum right here and now. The realization that I got caught showing off my most private moments sends my pussy twitching and aching for more. But I don't have time for this. I have to go up and talk to Greg! I have to fix this before he tells his father!
With a pounding heart, I trudge up the stairs. I pause when I get to his door to smooth my hair and straighten my skirt. I must look like a nervous wreck. That won't do. I'm a responsible stepmother, and a responsible stepmother exudes confidence and authority. Taking a deep breath, I push open his door. "Greg - "
Greg is sprawled out on this bed, bookbag forgotten on the ground beside him. His pants are shoved down to his ankles, and his hand is wrapped around the biggest cock I have ever seen in my life. My eyes are drawn to it, entranced by the way his knuckles gleam as he strokes up and down, squeezing at the tip. His hips buck with every stroke. His mouth is open in a slight "o" - I can hear his heavy, labored breathing. Precum gleams as it trickles down the head of his cock and over his fingers; I realize I'm licking my lips and leaning forward, swaying as if I'm drawn to it. "Oh yeah," he groans as he begins to stroke faster. "Oh fuck yeah - "
I close the door and lean on it, my knees weak. I can't believe it. Mere minutes after seeing me masturbate, he's jerking off - was he that turned on by what he saw? No, it can't be. Surely he was already horny when he got home and seeing me gave him an excuse to escape to his room. No, he's not masturbating to me. He can't be.
