Note to readers: As with all my other stories, this one starts out slow, but it will blossom with a lot of action as the story develops. It should be read before my related story, "Getting to Know My New Stepdaughter". For all you readers out there, but especially those of you who are voting on stories, please read this and chapter two before you pass judgment, thinking that the story is lacking in sexiness.
*****
When I got engaged to Mary two years ago, I didn't even know she HAD a daughter, much less two of them – twin teenagers who would eventually come live with us and fuck me every day right under their mother's nose.
The first I heard about the girls, Evie and Jenna, was just before our wedding. Mary and I were at a restaurant, eating dinner together and going over last minute details of the reception, when she told me she'd just received word that neither of her daughters were going to be able to attend the wedding.
I almost spit out my iced tea. "Daughters?" I said. "What daughters?"
It turned out Mary had twins from her first marriage. After an amicable divorce several years ago, her ex got a job working for an oil company in Indonesia. The job perks – free housing and free private schooling at an elite English-speaking school for foreigners and diplomats' kids – were so attractive that both mother and father agreed that it was sensible for him to take custody of the girls, then ten years old.
Mary had only seen her daughters a couple of times in the years since then. The problem wasn't that her ex was opposed to visitation or anything like that. It was just that the expense and logistical problems of sending children on multi-stage trans-oceanic flights made visitation difficult verging on impossible. When the time came for our wedding, the girls, then sixteen, said they felt uncomfortable traveling alone halfway around the world, and anyway, they had mid terms or something, I forget what.
Mary didn't talk about her daughters much. When they hit various milestones – their sixteenth birthdays, or when Evie won an academic award – Mary gushed about them, about how dear they were to her, about what perfect, angelic children they were, about how wonderful it was being a mother. But frankly, it seemed to me that motherhood had died on the vine sometime during the nine years that mother and daughters had been apart. I got the impression that, beyond birthdays and Christmas, the girls hardly every contacted her. The girls weren't active on facebook or any other social media, so Mary didn't even have that minimal contact with them.
So you can imagine that I was somewhat less ecstatic than Mary was when we learned that the girls, now nineteen, planned to come back to the US and wanted to live with their mother and me. They'd both been accepted into the local university, and it made sense that to minimize expenses they would live with us rather than have both parents shell out the money for dorms or apartment living.
The plan was that the girls would arrive separately. They attended different secondary schools in Indonesia. Jenna's school term finished in time for her to attend fall semester in the US, but Evie's school term was out of synch by several weeks, meaning that she wouldn't be able to join us until after Thanksgiving.
Regardless of the scheduling problems, Mary was over the moon with happiness that her sweet little daughters were going to live with her again after so many years. I think unconsciously she still thought of them as ten year olds, and when she spoke about them she talked about going to the movies together, buying them sweets, or cooking the girls' favorite meals. She envisioned doing activities with them that were appropriate for small children, not college freshmen coeds.
Somewhere in the house, Mary had up-to-date pictures of Evie and Jenna that the girls dutifully sent her every year, the sort of generic school pictures that parents' drawers are littered with. In the photos, both girls looked perky and well-scrubbed, with Jenna wearing a black dress that contrasted with her naturally blonde hair, and Evie wearing the uniform white blouse and green plaid skirt of the missionary school she attended.
But those modern pictures were stuffed in a drawer somewhere. The picture on our mantle, the one Mary looked at every day, was one of her and the girls taken years earlier, before they had even entered puberty.
***
When Jenna showed up it was even worse than I expected. At the sound of the doorbell, Mary ran to the door and flung it open wide. In her mind's eye, I think she saw a perky, well-scrubbed, slightly larger version of the little blonde ten year old girl she remembered.
I saw something different. When the door opened, I saw a nineteen year old goth girl dressed in a tight-fitting black t-shirt and skin-tight black pants with strategically placed rips at the knees and thighs. Her red lipstick was so dark it was almost black, too. Her blonde hair was dyed jet black. The sneer on her face would have killed a squirrel at ten paces.
"Hello, Mother," she said, her voice dripping with venom. She looked at me and smiled, the sort of smile that Satanically possessed children give in horror movies. "And are you my new Daddy?"
I have to say that, objectively speaking, Jenna was incredibly hot. But to be attracted to her, you would have had to chloroform her to get rid of that sneer. She was more than a head shorter than me, maybe five foot two, and though she was petite she was still incredibly curvy. She had a tight waist and her slightly flared hips made for a perfect hourglass figure.
But most of all, what drew my attention was her tits. Her enormous fucking tits. Mary was a full-busted woman with 36DD tits, but Jenna's breasts made those look ordinary. I later learned that Jenna wore a size 32F, and I can say from personal observation that her tits overflowed even that prodigiously sized bra.
Altogether, Jenna presented an incredible package. Small, slim, and busty with pale white skin, a perfectly round, tight ass that she loved to show off, a wide, expressive mouth, slate grey eyes and sultry dyed black hair that almost made you want to throw her little body on the ground and start humping her. The clothes she wore were so tight that you could see the outline of her camel toe and the nipples poking through her bra and tight t-shirt.
And yet, for all that, she was almost the opposite of attractive. The hostility in her voice when she greeted us was an incredible turn-off. And the sneer that she managed to include when she called me "Daddy" was clearly meant as a deliberate insult.
I looked over at Mary to see her reaction, but it was obvious that my wife had not picked up on the waves of hostility that emanated from her daughter.
