Note from the author: This particular work features heavy bisexual play. Consider yourself warned.
*
My stepmother and I had never gotten along. Dad had brought her home when I was a little more than twelve years old. Some parents can put their differences aside to ensure that their divorce is quick and painless so that it does not affect their child. Mine weren't so thoughtful.
I was a difficult child, I can admit that, lashing out at everyone around me. Mother, father, teachers, no one was safe. Especially not a new addition to the family who wasn't exactly fond of me. Don't get me wrong, though, Bea was far from the perfect stepmother. She married my father, not me.
Hateful, divorced parents and an inattentive and jealous stepmother made for a very tumultuous upbringing. It didn't help that my father had sole custody because my mother decided to move halfway around the world. Anyways, that all changed when I turned twenty-three. I had just graduated from university and moved back into my dad's house. It was a ranch in the middle of the mid-west. Unlike most of my peers, I didn't scorn country life, I loved it. The peaceful, tranquil life that you lead in a small town was much better than the hectic, smog filled existence that one leads in a city. In the concrete jungle you're surrounded by people but are always alone. In my little home town I had more than enough room to breathe and everyone knew my name. I had done a lot of growing up in the few years I had spent away from home and I had resolved, long ago, to bury the hatchet with my stepmother. Enough was enough. There would be no more forced conversations, tense civility or passive aggressive bullshit. If I was going to build my life in that town, in that house, then it would be a proper one. If I had to be the bigger man and make the first move then so be it.
The barn next to the main house was a glorified stable-slash-chicken coop. We weren't a poultry farm, but Bea kept the birds as a sort of hobby. I found her tending to them one chilly Wednesday evening. A lot of emotions washed over me when I saw her bent over tending to her birds. I had wanted to fuck her for a long time. At first it was because I hated her. I spent my early teens viciously stroking myself to the thought of roughly making her mine, pinning her to the barn floor and fucking her raw while her mascara ran down her pretty little face. As I matured, however, I saw things from a different point of view: hers. Bea didn't hate me, she just had no idea what the fuck to do with me. She was twenty-six when she married my father who was thirty-five at the time. His family didn't make things easy for her either. See, my dad was as white as snow while Bea was fully, completely, one-hundred percent Indian. Prejudice can be a terrible thing. At thirteen I hated her, at eighteen I wanted to get away from them both, and at twenty-three I wanted to have a real relationship with her. Sure, she could never take my mother's place and that was probably a good thing because I still wanted her badly. She was far from the most attractive woman in the world. She had a beautiful face with an arrow straight nose, perfectly cared for eyebrows and full, dark lips but her and my dad had had one kid together, my baby brother, and her body had never really recovered. The taut abs and firm breasts of their early married years were long gone. She had prominent love handles, her tits had a slight sag, noticeable when she wore her loose tops, and her wide ass was more fat than fit. None of that mattered to me. I wanted her regardless.
She was wearing a knee length leopard print dress that exposed the back of her dark brown thighs as she bent over. I stood there, leaning against the hard wood, hungrily staring at her lightly exposed form. When she finally noticed my presence, she regarded me with suspicion.
"David," was all she said.
Her voice was determinedly civil. Over the years it seemed like every time the two of us had tried to have a conversation it had resulted in screaming and stupidity. The end result was that when we both spoke to each other it was in a clear, hard tone. That all had to change. I was back in that big ass house permanently and things needed to get better.
"Hey, Bea, how's everything?" Far from making her more at ease, my forced joviality only raised her suspicions.
She cocked an eyebrow, gathered up her things and made to leave without making any further reply. I noticed that she wasn't wearing a bra. Her brown tits swung heavily as she walked toward me. I shook my head, pushing away the lust and anxiety.
"I don't hate you!"
Straight and to the point. Perhaps a bit too blunt. She stopped, staring at me, and, for a moment, I thought that I had made a fool of myself. I said fuck it and let the words flow out of me.
"Let's be adults, alright? You and I have never gotten along. Ever since I was a kid and you married dad we've barely tolerated each other. I know that I was a difficult child and I know that you had to put up with a lot of shit from my dad's family. I just want to say that. . .I don't hate you. We're both here to stay. I figure that it's time for us to have a real relationship, don't you?"
An eternity of silence followed my words. Her mouth open and closed repeatedly, she shifted her weight from one foot to the other and back again. I couldn't resist letting my eyes fall to her plunging cleavage. There was a single bead of sweat glistening on her right breast.
"I don't know what brought this on, David, but thank you. I don't hate you either and you're right. It's about time that we both begin acting like adults. I'm going to go get started on dinner. Maybe we can talk more after we eat and I have a shower?"
Shower. Without thinking, I found myself staring at her tits again. My heartbeat quickened when I noticed that the very edge of her dark areola was visible. Bea followed my gaze and cleared her throat, snapping me out of my trance. For a moment I panicked, thinking that I had offended her, but reflected on her face was confusion and amusement, not displeasure and offense.
I smiled like a cad. "A shower. Right. That sounds great, Bea. I'll see you inside."
Bea rolled her eyes and smiled before turning away from me and making her way out of the barn. "See you inside, David."
Bea had been married to my dad for over ten years and that conversation we had after dinner was the first time that I can remember us actually talking to each other like decent human beings. It was a short conversation. My dad sat in the living room watching, but not paying attention to, the television. Mostly she just said that she was sorry for not being able to be a proper mother for me and she agreed that we should start over. We hugged for the first time that night.
The next few months were some of the happiest times I can remember spending in my father's house. The dense cloud of anger and resentment had been lifted, it was as if a huge weight was lifted off of everyone's shoulders. Bea danced around the house, doing her chores with a renewed sense of passion and zeal. My work in town improved as well. In addition to the easier situation at home, Bea proved herself to be an able domestic helper. For the first time, she helped me with my laundry and started making sure I had food. I used to eat her cooking under duress alone. Not that it tasted bad. Like I said, I was a difficult and unbearable teen. The greatest improvement was seen in my father's attitude.
I hadn't given much thought to how much old man Daniel must have been suffering in silence, unable to bring peace to his own house. Thinking back, it must have been an extraordinarily difficult situation for him to be in. It's not like he could pick a side between his wife and his only son. That, for certain, is a decision with no positive outcome. Back in the day, when I thought that adults had life figured out, I resented him for not doing more. Now I know that he did all he could. It was a terrible, fucked up situation all around. As far as he was concerned, he was in heaven. The two most important people in his life had finally started getting along. Despite all of this, however, I was suffering.
It turns out that Bea was an affectionate person all along. She would kiss me on the cheek and hug me every chance she got. They were all innocent gestures, of course, but the effect they had on me was profound. Every time I felt her tits against my chest, felt her bare thigh scraping against my skin, or her hot breath on my face, my dick would get rock hard and, let me tell you, the only thing more amazing than the sudden change in my family's atmosphere was the lengths I would go to slightly satiate my lust. One morning, I woke up early and went downstairs to get a drink of water. I found Bea in the kitchen wearing a floor length see-thru nightie that gave me a clear view of her underwear. She wore full-back black panties that shaped her fat ass and no bra. Her double-d breasts were light brown and had a slight sag. She had large, dark areola complete with firm nipples. I stood in the darkness, like a fucking creep, hungrily drinking in her semi-nude form. She was unaware of my presence, freely flitting about the kitchen getting breakfast started. I would have probably stayed up there for hours if my dad didn't cough. Thinking that it would be best to not get caught perving on his wife, I cleared my throat, alerted her to my presence and walked downstairs as if I had awoken mere moments ago. She yelped, covered her tits and ran past me to put on something decent. I've been getting up early since that night. I start my days drinking the cup of coffee that she makes for me while staring at her underwear out of the corner of my eyes. Yes, she kept wearing the see-thru nightie and that confused me. Did she know what she was doing, how much she was turning me on, or did she simply see nothing wrong with showing me her bra and panties? I didn't know which it was. She had always liked to dress skimpily.
The more my lust grew, the bolder I became. I spotted a frilly, purple thong in the laundry once. All I had ever seen her wear was full-back panties. Black, red, white, yellow full-backs. This purple thong had sent me over the edge. I whipped out my hard cock and wrapped the lace around it, stroking myself furiously to completion right there in the middle of the hallway. I shot my thick white cum into the fabric and decided to keep that thong for my use. It excited me to wonder if she would notice its absence.
Soon after the incident with the thong, I got it into my mind to watch her take a shower. That bout of stupidity was prevented on all three occasions by a locked door. My lust refused to be abated. I had to see her nude. Everything culminated with me standing outside of the bedroom she shared with my father, drawers around my ankle, pumping my cock while listening to them have sex. It was pathetic. This door was kept locked as well and neither my father nor my stepmother were moaners. I pleasured myself to completion while listening to the sounds of the fucking bed rattling. That's how fucking horny I was.
After I came, when the post-nut-regret had set in, I collapsed on my bed, staring at the ceiling. I couldn't continue to live life like that. I would have given in to the temptation and tried to bed Bea a long time ago if it weren't for one thing: my father. I loved the old man with all of my heart and I couldn't wrong him like that. Something had to be done, though. I made my decision and took my dad out to dinner.
We sat opposite each other at a table littered with empty plates and shot glasses. He knocked back another shot of tequila and slammed the glass on the table.
"Fuck yeah! That shit hits the spot!"
I downed my shot, wincing at the bitter taste, and placed the glass gently against the wood. I remained sober because I had to drive. All of the empty shot glasses were his doing. Daniel liked his tequila.
"I don't know how you can stomach this stuff, dad."
Dad hooted and howled like a frat boy. "Sometimes the best things in life can be a bit bitter, son. Always remember that sweet shit rots your teeth."
I waved over the waitress and paid the bill. We made our way out of the restaurant. Dad slurred his words slightly but he did not stumble. He could hold his liquor. I was nervous when I saw how in control he was. I was hoping that the alcohol would have had a greater effect, made him more pliable. What I had planned would have gone a lot better if he was drunk. That way, if I pissed him off too much he wouldn't remember it the next day. We sat down in the car and relaxed in the warm seats. Summer was at its end and the first chill of fall was already here. Dad reached over and ruffled my hair.
"I love you, son. I really do."
