Bimbo Stepmother

Bimbo Stepmother.

Hey all, 'Rabbits' Warren here again. We may have met when I told you about gluing my stepmother to our kitchen bench and then fucking her. That was the loss of my virginity. My virginity was given to a stuck-up, arrogant bitch who had teased me mercilessly for almost two years up to that point. At the end of that story, our housekeeper, Alana Condon, knocked on my door. I didn't go any further with that story because there wasn't that much to say. I was still a recent virgin and had no idea how to make love, so my tryst with Alana wasn't much to write about. However, so many have written to me about that story, asking what happened next, so here it is.

It turned out that Alana didn't know much about sex either. We kind of fumbled our way through, and I'm pleased to say that we both had several mutually satisfying orgasms. The story ends, right?

Heh heh heh. Well, it seemed my stepmother enjoyed having my enormous 10.5-inch cock in her slutty pussy so much that instead of teasing me by twerking her voluminous ass at me, Sofie would place her hands on the bench and plaintively say in her heavy Colombian accent, "Rabbits, I iz ze stuck again. Can you help your Mama?"

I don't know what the dumb bitch was thinking, but I'm guessing she thought because she hadn't fallen pregnant to my father, she could replace his impotent seed with mine, and he'd be none the wiser. Unfortunately for her, Dad had had a vasectomy before he married her. It was his test. He wanted to believe the thirty-five-year-old Sofie was with him for love and not because she wanted to escape Colombia and he was a ready meal ticket.

So, when the inevitable happened, and Sofie announced she was pregnant with his child, Dad lost it. He screamed at her as his face turned purple, and the vein that indicated his anger throbbed on his forehead. He called her a slut, a two-dollar whore and many other more graphically descriptive words. His death came when he demanded to know who the father was. I'm sure Sofie didn't mean to drop me in it because, although she glanced at me guiltily, she continued to insist the baby was Dad's.

Dad turned on me. "You?!" He spat disbelievingly. "I didn't think you had it in you." He took two threatening steps towards me before his eyes rolled back and he collapsed to the floor.

I stood frozen momentarily before rushing to him. "Dad? Dad?" I asked, but I knew from his collapse and suffused face he'd suffered a massive stroke. He was probably dead before his body hit the ground.

Sofie phoned for an ambulance despite feeling for a pulse and not finding one. She looked at me despairingly before asking, "Why does he not think it iz hiz baby?"

"Because he had a vasectomy before marrying you," I explained. "He guessed you only married him because he was rich and not for love. If it were love, you wouldn't care if you never got pregnant. But if you were a gold digger, Dad knew you'd get pregnant to someone, anyone, as soon as possible. And if you did, he knew you were fucking around behind his back."

"But I didn't," Sofie protested.

"Pretending to be glued to the bench and twerking your ass as you plead with me to fuck you doesn't count, huh?" I heard Alana gasp behind me. I turned to see tears welling from her eyes before she ran from the room. 'I wonder what's up her ass?' I wondered. We'd only fucked the one time, and that was over eighteen months ago. I told her she could visit whenever she wanted to try my 10.5-inch cock again, but she hadn't. So, her loss, really.

Sofie fled, crying.

The ambulance arrived, confirmed my father had passed away, put him on a gurney, and left. Because it was an unexplained death, we received a visit from the police as well. However, the officer stated that as long as the coroner found nothing amiss, that would be the end of their involvement.

Several days passed as the three house occupants came to grips with Dad's death. Sofie was much more distraught than I thought she'd be, and I began to wonder if she'd genuinely loved my father. Even though he was an irascible old bastard with a caustic tongue and an abrasive attitude, he seemed to engender respect from others.

I realised, now he was dead, that Dad had never had an unkind word for me. Yes, he was a hard taskmaster who expected instant obedience to his orders, plus he almost never gave compliments, but he acknowledged hard work and rewarded it appropriately. His problem with me was that I seemed feckless to him. Either incapable or unwilling to get a real job and earn my way as he had. However, despite constantly berating my lack of ambition, Dad hadn't belittled or insulted me. 'Tough love' was his way, and I didn't know how to cope other than by turning away in anger.

After a week had passed, I was restless and unsure how to proceed. I knew I needed to contact someone to see about finalising Dad's affairs, but I didn't know who. I entered his office, his sanctuary. Somewhere, under threat of corporal punishment if I did, I'd never been in before. I sat on his big, plush wooden chair and looked at what was on the desktop. Everything was spick, span, and neatly ordered, as I expected. Other than a diary, a notepad, an old-fashioned Rolodex, and a top-of-the-line computer, there was nothing else on the desk.

I opened the drawers but didn't see anything that struck me as useful. However, the second drawer, which was empty except for two packets of copy paper, felt 'off' to me. When I looked at the drawer from the top, the perception of its depth clashed with how it looked from the side. I wondered. Then, after taking the copy paper out, I felt around the bottom. A small chrome button was in the back corner of the shelf's floor. I pushed it, and the shelf's bottom came loose.

Inside this hidden compartment, I found a wooden box. Inside, that was what I assumed to be a safety deposit box key and a bunch of papers. I swallowed when I realised the top bundle was a sheaf of Bank Bonds. A quick flick through them, and I estimated their total worth to be upward of three million dollars. I put them aside. There was another sheaf of papers that outlined my father's current investments. They were worth more than five million. The last item was an A4 envelope with 'Will' written on its cover.

I was about to open it when the phone on Dad's desk rang. I stared at it, fearful that Dad was calling because he knew I was in his office. I shook that ridiculous thought off and answered. "Hello?"

"Warren Dreyfus?" The caller queried.

"Depends," I nervously replied. "Who's this?"

"I am William Thackeray, your father's lawyer. I need you, Ms Vergera, and Ms Condon to come into my office so we can get your father's will sorted and out of probate so you can access his money."

"I get why Sofie needs to come in," I said quizzically. "But why does Alana need to?"

"Because she's mentioned in your father's will," Mister Thackeray explained.

"Oh. That makes sense. When?" I asked.

"I've cleared a spot in my schedule for 3:00 p.m. tomorrow. Does that suit you?"

"Yes," I agreed. I had no idea where the keys to Dad's Merc were, but if I couldn't find them, we could always Uber into town.

I opened the envelope and saw it was, indeed, Dad's Will. I looked it over, but it was written in typical lawyerese, and I had no idea what most of it meant. I did note, though, that my name was under an underlined passage titled 'Sole Surviving Relative'. I surmised that meant that most of what my father had gathered in his life was now mine.

I turned on Dad's computer, but it required a password I did not have, so I turned it back off. The walls were bare of anything except one framed photo. I took it down and realised that although it was small, only 4 inches by 2 inches, it was taken on the day my parents had married. Tears fell as I realised that he must have loved my mother very much to have kept this memento for all the years since she'd left.

After gathering my thoughts, I went to find my stepmother and Alana. Sofie was in her room, bawling her eyes out. But being the typical self-absorbed bitch that she is, her wails weren't for my father but for what was to come of her. I had an inkling then of just how devious my father had been when he married the gorgeous Colombian television star. Sofie mumbled something about a prenuptial agreement that said if she had an affair on Dad, then she was entitled to seven-eighths of fuck all. I guess she figured he'd never discover that she let me fuck her regularly. I told her to wash her face and meet me in the kitchen.

I found Alana in her room, and surprisingly, she was crying, too. Initially, I thought Alana was crying about losing her employment like Sofie. However, when I sat on her bed and said, "Hey," she wrapped her arms around me and wailed that Ray, my father, was the only man other than me who had treated her decently. She'd been terrified when she travelled from Vietnam to work for him that he was expecting to fuck her as well as use her housekeeping skills. But Dad hadn't even once looked at or talked to her predatorily. Instead, he'd purchased her English lessons and had paid for her to do a makeup and nails course so she'd have skills when she left his employ.

I was discovering that my dad was a far nicer person than I'd given him credit for. It made me feel ashamed that I'd let him down. After all, after my setback when I was drubbed from College, I'd given up and hadn't even attempted to redefine myself with another career. Dad had hinted several times that I should accompany him to his office and learn the stockbroking trade, and I'd declined every time. Alana eventually released me, and we joined Sofie in the kitchen.

I explained what I'd learned from the phone call and how we needed to be in the lawyer's office downtown at 3:00 p.m. Alana looked hopeful for the first time since she'd discovered my father was dead. Sofie, however, burst into a fresh bout of tears. I think she knew what the lawyer would say. She could pretend that she wasn't pregnant, but I suspected my father had covered the possibility of his dying before her whoring ass showed a baby bump, and she'd be out of his will.

It turned out that I was right. The lawyer welcomed us to his office and expressed sorrow for our loss. William described my father as a brilliant man. A philanthropist who had donated millions of dollars to cancer research and brain injury studies. Another thing I had no idea my 'asshole' dad had done. Then he came to the crux of why we were there that day.

He took out Dad's and Sofie's prenup and asked if Sofie was prepared to allow a doctor to examine her and confirm she was without child. Sofie's tear explosion confirmed what I suspect he already knew--Sofie was pregnant, and the child could not possibly be my father's. William remained silent, but he put the prenup agreement aside and shuffled the papers he had in his hands.

"I'm assuming your tears indicate that you are pregnant, Ms Vergera?" William asked politely.

"Yes!" Sofie wailed, her thick Colombian accent heavily apparent.

William skimmed down to the relevant part of my father's will, but before he could speak, Alana asked curiously, "Aren't you going to ask who the father is?"

"Who the father is bears no relevance to today's proceedings, Ms Conlon," William said drily. "Mister Dreyfus had a vasectomy before he married Ms Vergera. He waited until two samples of his ejaculate tested sperm free before he asked her to marry him. Then, he insisted Ms Vergera sign a prenup, saying if she had an affair while married to Mr Dreyfus, then the prenup would come into play. I will now read the relevant passages of Mr Dreyfus' and Ms Vergera's prenuptial agreement and the corresponding section of Mr Dreyfus' will."

Mr Thackeray cleared his throat before reading, "In the case that it is proven that the wife of Mister Raymond Dreyfus, one Sofie Vergera, has had an extramarital affair, then all previous agreements become null and void. Ms Sofie Vergera will receive the amount equivalent to one first-class air ticket to Bogota, Colombia. She is allowed to take one suitcase full of clothes and one smaller bag in which she may place the jewellery that Mister Dreyfus has given her as gifts."

He looked over his reading glasses at Sofie as she wept. "Of course, you are entitled to challenge this prenup. However, if you lose, the court costs come from the amount put aside for your air ticket. If that is insufficient to pay the costs, your jewellery will be sold until the bill has been defrayed." He hesitated while Sofie's sobs turned to bawls and then added. "The corresponding item in Mr Dreyfus' will: If Ms Sofie Vergera is still of good standing in our marriage, then I gift her three-quarters of the value of my estate. If she has breached the terms of our prenuptial agreement, then the terms laid out in said document is all she is bequeathed."

Mister Thackeray continued. "From the remainder of my estate, I bequeath one hundred thousand dollars to Alana Condon on the proviso she remains as housekeeper to my home. Her college tuition is to be paid from the estate, and enough money is to be put aside to provide one first-class ticket to Hanoi per year."

Alana's sobs joined Sofie's wails, except, of course, Alana's were tears of gratitude.

Mister Thackeray turned to me before solemnly announcing, "Because Ms Vergera has been unfaithful to your father, part ii of his will applies. I bequeath the remainder of my will to my son, Warren Dreyfus." He looked at me expectantly. When I didn't reply, he took out another wooden box and handed it to me. I opened it to find a list of passwords to Dad's computer and various websites. Also, there were several other keys and a list of the banks where Dad had safety deposit boxes.

I remained silent as I signed in all the spots necessary to complete the will reading and to inherit everything my dad had left me. Then, I guided the weeping women back to the car. When I got home, I opened Dad's computer and logged into the various sites he'd left passwords to. By the time I calculated everything Dad had left me, I realised I was worth upward of one hundred million dollars. I had no idea what to do with all that money, but I knew I wasn't capable of managing it yet. I phoned Mr Thackeray.

William greeted me warmly on the phone and said he was sure I'd call. He listened to my request and suggested I phone Peter Winston from Dad's old firm. However, before I could do that, I needed to work out what to do about my stepmother and Alana. Alana had joined me in my bed every night since the reading of my father's will. However, her lovemaking had an almost desperate edge to it. It was almost as if she was sure I'd kick her out despite what Dad's will had said.

My stepmother had virtually locked herself in her and Dad's bedroom. She seemed to think if she didn't come out, then I wouldn't have her deported. I had some thoughts about what to do, so I phoned William Thackeray again. He confirmed that Sofie was a citizen and couldn't be deported unless she committed a serious crime. Also, she was pregnant with what I assumed was my child. I'd have a paternity test done when the baby was born, but I was sure what the result would be--she bore my child. I'd come to believe that Sofie loved my father, and she'd thought a baby was something that would bind them together forever. If only she'd confided her wishes to Dad. However, I was wrong, as I soon discovered.

It was in the middle of our post-death struggles that I discovered a letter inside a folder in Dad's filing cabinet. It read, "My darling Raymond. The scans today confirmed that the lesion in my brain is cancerous and inoperable. My mind is," there was a series of unintelligible gibberish writing before it cleared again. It continued, "I've packed my car and have taken ten thousand dollars from the bank. Please do not look for me, my love, for I cannot stand the thought of my mind, the thing you always said you loved most about me, dying in bits and pieces before you. Please, if you love me, let me live the rest of my life, no matter how short that life is, knowing I spared you and our son that. Promise me that, Raymond, my dear."

Dad had written, "I promise," beneath it.

I sat, looking out the window, unseeing. Every assumption I had about my father had proven false. The reasons for which I believed my mother had left were wrong. The way I'd behaved and treated my father was wrong. I realised that I was no better than Sofie--a spoilt rich brat who did not deserve his inheritance. I sat in the chair and wept for hours.

However, there was still something that didn't gel. There were still locked files on Dad's computer that I hadn't accessed. I hunted through his password lists until I found the codes. I opened the first file, and my blood ran cold. Dad had had proof for years that Sofie was unfaithful to him. Photos of her meeting with various men. Pictures of gifts her many lovers had given her. Details of when she was absent from the house and where she'd been seen. The truth was that my stepmother was a lying, cheating whore. I could see only one reason why Dad hadn't divorced her: The fool loved her.

As my tears dried, my anger grew. My first thought was to buy her airfare back to Bogota and toss the slutty, cheating whore out on her admittedly sexy, voluptuous ass. However, there was her baby to consider. Although I had proof positive that she'd slept with many other men, she hadn't gotten pregnant until after I'd started fucking her. I chose to wait until I'd confirmed the baby's paternity before making a decision on her future.

In the meantime, however, there were changes that I thought needed making. The slutting whore who was my stepmother did not deserve to continue living in the splendour of the master bedroom. She didn't deserve the king-sized bed with the luxurious mattress and linen. She didn't deserve a walk-in robe stacked with hundreds of outfits she'd never worn or had worn once. She deserved to look and be what she was--a bimbo who had fooled my father into loving and marrying her.

I kicked her door open and marched into her bedroom. I found Sofie sitting at her vanity, carefully applying her makeup and dressed to the nines. The continuous sobs I'd heard were emanating from her phone, which was placed on the pillow on the bed. 'So much for her weeping for my father,' I thought as I took in her appearance. There was no doubt my stepmother was a gorgeous piece of ass. However, that didn't make up for her being a cheating, conniving bitch who had fooled my father. "Going somewhere?" I asked mildly.

"I need to meet some friends to talk about my sorrow at losing the only man I have ever loved," Sofie tried.

I smiled mirthlessly before picking up her phone. There was a series of back-and-forth messages on her Tinder account. Having a Tinder account was damning enough--to be actively chatting with someone? I would have thrown her out on her delicious ass there and then, but the child. You know? It wasn't the child's fault its mother was a cheating whore. I opened the camera app on Tinder and dropped my thick 10.5-inch cock out. After taking and sending the picture of my cock, I typed, "I do hope you're into dick girls?" and then sent that, too.

Sofie stared at me, not daring to say a word, but I could tell she was nervous and unsure what I'd do next. I waited to see the guy's reaction, and as I expected, he immediately blocked her. "First meet, huh?" I callously asked. "Hadn't seen your undeniable charms before and didn't know you don't have a cock?" My stepmother remained silent, although she was shaking and clearly scared of what I would do to her.

I ignored her as I walked into her walk-in robe. I selected an orange backless, deep Vee-neck halter top and a dark brown, low-waisted, pleated micro-miniskirt. On my way out, I spotted some strappy, nine-inch high-heels and took them, too. I handed them to Sofie. "If you're a slut," I told her. "And clearly you are. Then I expect you to dress like one. Until I manage to purchase some genuine bimbo-slut outfits, you will dress in something as revealing as these clothes at all times except when you're sleeping."