Stacy's Bum (has Got It Goin' On)

Stacy stole through the quiet house with her spike-heeled boots in her hands, padding across the hardwood floor in her stockinged feet. Despite it being three in the morning, the heat remained oppressively humid. Her frazzled hair was stuck to her sweaty face. She brushed it out of her eyes with her free hand, ditched her boots then opened the fridge to bask in its yellow-blue glow and its waft of cooled air.

Having returned to the family home during the Summer break from college, she was conscientiously quiet when returning in the wee hours from a night out, creeping like a thief to the kitchen to raid her parents' food and drink. The riffs from the rock club still rang in her ears and she murmured tunes to herself as she scanned the white shelves for goodies. The silence of the house was suddenly pierced by whining shouts, the unmistakable voice of her drunk mother in a rage.

Stacy cocked an ear to the raised voice transmitting across the dead of night as she improvised a sandwich by the light of the open fridge. From the other side of the house, she heard a door open and her mother and step-father arguing.

"I can't believe you did that!" Her mother bellowed.

"I didn't do anything, you're imagini-"

"I can't believe you TRIED to do that!"

"I didn't! You mad, drunken mare!"

"Pervert!"

"I didn't do anything, I was just giving you a cuddle!"

"I've told you before, if you wanna do that then find yourself a little boyfriend and you can be bum-chums. Just leave me out of it!"

Stacy chuckled as she heard their bedroom door slam. She bumped the fridge door shut with her hip then exited out the back doors with her loaded sandwich on a plate and a bottle of juice. The baked air still vibrated with solar energy, even in the pre-dawn darkness. She plonked herself on a patio chair and awaited her grumbling, dejected step-dad. They often sat out together in the garden at night after her mother had drank herself into a coma or had stormed off in a huff; they'd chat and share a spliff or two.

Stacy was feeling nicely sozzled by the many cheap gins and rums she'd sipped that night but she always (because of her mother's propensity for alcohol abuse) kept an eye on how much she was drinking. Munching on her sloppy sandwich, she was just fancying how a little of her step-dad's weed would be a fine culmination of the night's activities. Sure enough, Dan shuffled out of the open double-doors dressed only in a tee-shirt and boxer-shorts.

"Stupid fucking bitch." He mumbled.

"Bit harsh, that, Dad."

Dan, startled, peered into the darkness. Stacy pressed the screen of her phone and was illuminated by the neon glare.

"Jeezus, it's an apparition from the grave."

Stacy nodded, "That's the look I'm going for."

She was wearing a tight, short, black dress decorated with punky zips and chains and blood-red roses. Her black pantyhose were laddered in tantalisingly situated places. Her lips were painted a ghostly blue and her thick mascara and eye-shadow was smeared into two panda-like smudges. Dan flipped on the patio light. In the remorseless orange glare, Stacy looked a happy, hot mess.

"You look like Lily Munster had a scrap with a rose bush." Dan said, flopping on to the opposite chair.

"I'll take that, she was a hottie!"

Stacy grinned and took a slobbering bite of her sandwich. Dan produced his cotton bag of hash, tobacco and rolling papers and began to put together a joint.

He spoke without looking up, "I suppose you heard all that?"

"Me? Didn't hear a thing. Not a word did I hear about you trying to slip the ol' sausage up Mum's-"

"I didn't. She's just, you know?" Dan mimed glugging from a wine glass, "I wouldn't even attempt it. She's made her views of, of..."

"Anal msfex?" Stacy, muffled by her food, raised her eyebrows tauntingly.

"Yes, well, she's made herself perfectly clear about how she feels about that particular sexual variant."

Dan sparked up his spliff and they sat in silence, passing it between them.

"I've said it before," Stacy smiled, "If you got Mum into this stuff..."

"I know, I know. But what can I do? She just happens to have a taste for the one thing that turns her into a..."

"Infuriatingly disagreeable cunt?"

Dan and Stacy laughed. He reached over and swigged from Stacy's juice bottle. He gestured to Stacy and they shared that too.

"No," Dan sighed, "I don't get infuriated, just annoyed sometimes. You know? When she's nice, she is sooooo nice. And she IS nice most of the time. She's an angel, really, it's just that wine is her..."

"Kryptonite?"

"No. Whatever the pop culture word is for something that turns you into the worst version of yourself."

Distant sounds of traffic, even at this un-Earthly time of the morning, were carried over the sizzling atmosphere. Nocturnal bugs went about their business of harassing the patio lamp.

"I don't know what her deal is. I don't mind it, you know?" Stacy said, picking at her food, "Most girls my age don't. I think."

"What? Wine?"

"Butt-fucking."

Dan took a few moments to allow for his cotton-wool brain to confirm what she'd said.

He replied, "You don't?"

"Nah. Taking it up the ass, it's no big deal. Shall I roll another?"

Dan pushed the bag across the table, she picked it up and began to create just how he'd taught her.

"So... you're all doing it, are you?" Dan asked.

"Not all, not everyone likes it. But, yeah, pretty much."

Dan didn't know how to compute this so he just blinked vacantly and tried not to picture Stacy and her girl-friends, who he'd watched grow up over the years, naked and bending over to present their peachy posteriors. Stacy licked and stuck the papers, watching the weird look on his face.

"I mean," Stacy explained, "You start off making-out at high school, you move on to hand-jobs and getting fingered. Then, y'know, blow-jobs, if you like doing 'em."

"And do you, erm, like doing..."

"Ew, no. Nuh-uh. Because, hygiene?"

Stacy wrinkled her freckled face in disgust and sparked up the reefer.

"Then when you're ready to have, y'know, full sex with a boy," She blew out a dense cloud of herbal fumes, "There are times when neither of you has a condom and... you don't wanna get pregnant, so, there it is. Up the wazoo."

"This is... we've never talked about this before."

"Well, duh! I am hardly likely to tell my parents that I enjoy getting poked up the shithole, am I?"

"I can see how it would be hard to, er, work it in to a conversation."

"Sometime it is hard to work it in. Lube helps."

Stacy grinned, revelling in her step-dad's discomfort and passed the joint across the table after a few more puffs. Dan took it and expressed appreciation of her expertly executed skinning-up skills.

"And, you like it? Anal?"

"Yeah, it can feel nice if you're doing it all slow and, like, tender. Or just down-right dirty and nasty if you want a cheap thrill." Stacy laughed at Dan's raised eyebrows, "I mean I can't reach a climax just by being..."

"Butt-fucked?"

"Exactly. I mean, I have to take myself there, you know, with a toy or my fingers if I wanna come but, er, I don't have to come every time. I, I can't believe what I'm telling you."

Stacy held her hands up to her flushed, sweltering face.

"I feel very flattered that you're confiding in me. I like feeling close to you, Stace. You growing up and going away to college, feels a bit like we lost you, a bit, sort of."

There was a precious, unspoken quiet for a while before Dan, embarrassed at the strength of his own curiosity, pursued the theme, "What do you like about it so much?"

Stacy blushed as she pondered and fiddled with the juice bottle, "Well. The anticipation is... the pressure builds as he nudges it against your hole, pressing, waiting, teasing. You relax your whatsit, sphincter, whatever, then the fat, hard, head pops in and whoosh! Fireworks! So fucking good!"

Dan was rapt by her description.

"The going-in feels so different to the drawing-out. My boyfriend, he is somewhat of an expert in playing around with the different squeals and moans he gets out of me. He delays the pulling-out, sometimes, I swear, it feels just like having a really good, hard dump. Like having a really satisfying shit, y'know?"

"Erm..." Dan gulped.

"The first few times I did it, I was so worried that I was actually pushing it out as he pushed in. I kept picturing all this fudge brownie mess but, no, it all stayed where it's supposed to. That was back with Gordo, not my current beau."

"I remember Gordo, he was a fucking dweeb."

"Yeah," Stacy cackled, "He was, wasn't he? I was so in love with him though. Huuuuuge crush! He cheated on me, with Amelia. He wanted to split up with me but he didn't have the balls."

"He must've been mad. You're perfect!"

Stacy blushed in the dark with a genuinely awkward smile.

"Thank you, Dad." She said quietly.

Dan tried to look unmoved and cool as he passed the smoking joint back again. The eastern sun was shyly peeking over the roofs of the neighbouring houses. In the centre of their garden was a small swimming pool, just wide enough and deep enough to splash around in and pretend you were in a real pool. Dan stood up and sidled over to it, hiding the fully-engorged erection stretching out his underwear. He sat on the wooden edge of the pool, swung his legs over and paddled. The sound of splashing made Stacy envious.

"Oooh, I bet that feels nice," She said, "I'll join you."

She handed him the joint then turned her back. He ogled as she lifted the hem of her dress and began sliding down her her laddered black pantyhose. She bent over to tug them off her sticky, sweaty feet. Her bare behind presented a voyeuristic joy. In an instant he could imagine standing behind her, parting her legs and forcing his rampaging cock between those pert, young, round, firm buttcheeks. Stacy straightened up and Dan tried to look innocent as she sat next to him on the pool's edge. They smoked and dangled their legs in the not-quite-cool water. Stacy leaned her head on his shoulder.

"You love her so much, don't you."

"With all my heart. Jan is a gorgeous woman. You get your looks from her. You probably don't want to hear that though. She puts up with me and all my faults. I can easily forgive her hers."

Stacy looked at her silver-fox step-father and felt a little shame at how attractive he looked through a haze of gin, rum and marijuana.

"I'd better go." She said out loud while her internal voice added, 'Before I want to kiss you.'

She swung her legs out of the pool and danced a quick can-can on the lawn to shake off the water. Dan surreptitiously spied the flash of dark pubic fluff as she pranced in silly poses, smirking. She kissed his cheek and walked towards the house.

"G'night, Dad."

"Night, darling. Sleep well."

Dan watched the way her sinful bumcheeks peeked out from under the hem of her short black dress as she walked away then shook his head at his own dark, depravity once she'd vanished inside the house.

Stacy was tip-toeing towards her room when she remembered her discarded boots and tights. A hung-over mother is not pleasant company and she didn't want to face a bleary-eyed dragon haranguing her over leaving her stuff lying around. She turned back, picked up her boots from beside the fridge and was about to step through the open patio doors when she froze, looking out into the garden.

Standing by the table and chairs, her step-father was holding her dangling pantyhose up to his face. Stacy eased back into the shadows and watched her trusted father-figure nuzzling and sniffing her skanky, sweaty, pee-dribbled hose. Her mouth went dry. Her stomach flipped. She became so aroused that she was shocked at herself. She watched Dan turn the gusset around as he snuffled and snorked.

'That's where my bum would be.' She thought.

Her reeling imagination pictured Dan kneeling behind her with his nose pressed between her moist buttocks, snootling at her grungey asshole.

Dan's prominent and protruding prick was mightily straining the thin material of his boxer shorts. Stacy stepped back silently then made a purposefully noisy show of walking through the doors. Dan whipped the tights back on to the chair and turned his back to her, pretending to contemplate the stars while hiding his erect disgrace.

"Forgot my..."

Stacy picked up her pantyhose.

"Ah. Yes." Dan croaked.

"I'll never hear the end of it if I leave my dirty underwear lying about."

"Ah, no. She would go ballistic."

"G'night, Daddy."

Back in the house, clutching her bunched tights and boots to her chest, she wondered why she'd called him Daddy. She had never called him that before, only Dad or Dan. Once inside her bedroom, she peeled off her clammy dress and sticky bra but still the unrelenting heat clothed her in a fug of imposing stuffiness. She itched with a deep frustration.

'If she was awake,' She thought, 'I could have a shower but I daren't risk waking the she-bear.'

Then she turned her head like a confused dog and listened to the muffled sound of voices, talking, even giggling. Stacy raced out of her room, grabbed a towel from the hallway closet and was soon sighing with deep relief as the cooling jets of fluid ice bathed her fire-smoked skin. She turned her face up to allow the shower to wash away all thoughts and feelings; she embraced the nothingness of pure release from the hell of a merciless Summer suffering.

After the shower, Stacy was glazed by a glistening moisture that chilled perfectly her nerve-endings and heightened her senses. She hung her wet towel in the bathroom and padded out to the hallway closet; she wrapped a fresh towel around her body and took another for her hair when she paused. A repetitive squeaking had caught her attention. She stepped down the hall and loitered outside her parents' bedroom door. The repeating squeak sounded more like a squelch now and a dim thumping joined the curious sounds until her ears tuned in to the mumbling and gasps that were evidence of love-making. Stacy smirked and crept away to her own room.

She congratulated her step-father's tenacity; turning her mother around once she was in a drunken strop was a no mean achievement. Gently drying her body in her room, Stacy grew envious.

'That's my hard-on.' She thought, 'I gave him that! She's getting what I ought to be getting. Where's my sugar?'

She sat on her bed and pressed her boyfriend's name on her phone. She listened to it ringing unanswered. He was in a different time-zone and she calculated that it must be almost five there. Still, no excuse! Where was he when she needed him?? Bastard. Unconsciously, Stacy had parted her legs and was idly fingering her surprisingly wet slit. She lay her chilled body back on her bed. She toyed with her swelling pussylips and brushed lightly over her hot little button.

Her mind unavoidably pictured how they would be doing it; Dan would be on top, she reasoned, what with her mother being a lazy cow. She imagined him: strong arms propping up his taught, unflabby but pot-bellied figure. Stacy's fingers stirred deeper inside her pussy. She wondered if he was thinking about her...about the smell of her... about... she relaxed with a slow masturbating self-massage and drifted off to a creamy, dreamy sleep.

*******

Stacy woke to a morning just as oppressively oven-hot as the night before. Once again, a cold shower was her saviour. Chilled, naked and glistening, she listened to darkly satanic metal music as she perused her bedroom closet for today's outfit. She had taken her favourite clothes away to college and all that remained came from her teenage emo era. She smiled to recall what a morose bitch she'd been at the time, constantly at odds with her misunderstanding mother and all the while her step-dad was the voice of calm reason, placating them both as they raged and fought and butted heads. As she remembered what a considerate and generous guy Dan was, she also fuzzily recalled more recent events; the crotch sniffing in particular was a vivid recollection and her stomach flipped again just as it had when she had spied on him snozzling greedily at her intimately stained nylon butt-stains.

She blushed and her skin prickled to recollect the weird excitement she'd felt. She looked over at her bunched up tights and spike-heeled boots and grinned with malicious intent. She wasn't quite sure what was happening between her and Dan, maybe her drug-infused brain was misinterpreting things. She struggled to peel the clammy pantyhose back up her legs as she plotted an experiment.

Down in the kitchen, Dan was sitting with a jet-black coffee, wearing his work-a-day suit which already looked wilted by the steamy morning warmth. Stacy's mother wore only a dressing gown and an expression of barely repressed tyranny. Stacy recognised that hung-over stage of precarious toleration of her and Dan's presence; one mis-step and her mother would transform into an abusive wolverine. Stacy's teenage skirt was barely decent and her tight black tee-shirt illustrated entirely the shape of her bare breasts. She positioned herself by the coffee-machine so that only Dan was facing her way then propped up her phone on the counter and slyly pressed the 'record video' icon.

No-one spoke on mornings like these, no-one wanted to poke the she-bear. Stacy turned and leaned over to tie the long laces on her shiny, black goth boots. She felt her skimpy skirt ride up high over her bumcheeks and took her sweet time in lacing each boot to give ample chance for her experiment to reveal whether or not her step-father would seize the opportunity to leer at her legs or her behind or the hint of furry gash veiled only by a thin, sheer barrier of black nylon mesh.

Stacy stood up straight, wiped her damp brow, shucked down her skirt hem and checked her phone. There in crystal digital clarity was Dan, lecherously and unashamedly sipping his coffee while enjoying every second of Stacy's 'accidental' show. She deleted the video with a spirit of triumph. She carried the coffee pot and a cup over to the kitchen table and sat next to her cheerless mother. She poured coffee into hers and Dan's cup (neither of them could stand her mother's herbal tea) and grinned brightly, appearing a sunny clone of the woman she sat next to who was twenty years her senior and bloated by too much wine and wrinkled by too many cigarettes. Stacy, in her corrupt and merciless heart, knew that she was competing for Dan's affection with a middle-aged, bad-tempered frump.

She widened her smile and asked, "Can I get a ride with you into town, Dan?"

"Eh?" Dan stumbled out of his reverie and Stacy wondered what perverted ideas were going through his mind.

Stacy repeated her question.

"Oh, sure," Dan replied, "What're you up to today, moonbeam?"

"Hanging out at the mall, meeting old friends. Mostly just keeping where it's air-conditioned."

"Well, I'll be sure to think of you as I spend eight hours in a stifling office, earning a crust."

"Shhhhhhh! Can't you both just shush!? Jesus."

Stacy and Dan exchanged a knowing look as Jan held her aching head in her hands.

Sitting in the passenger seat of their car, Stacy utilised the second reason she had worn her knee-high, spike-heeled boots by pretending that the elongated size meant she had to twist at such an angle that her leg pressed against Dan as he drove. Whenever he had to change gear his hand would glide along her soft thigh, navigating the ladders in her punky pantyhose. She wondered if he realised they were the same filthy pair he had perved over in the early hours of that morning. She noticed gleefully that he let his hand remain on the gear-stick longer than he needed to, keeping the contact between them.

"Am I in the way?" Stacy asked innocently.