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The Adventures of a Step-Mom Ch. 01

By: funnygent



I'm packing my suitcase up in my bedroom. It's sitting on the end of my bed, and I'm having trouble getting it to close - so many sexy outfits and such a small suitcase!

I'm leaning over it, pushing down on the top with all my weight, bouncing up and down hoping the latch will catch. I can feel my breasts moving slightly in my tight baby blue halter top; my back is arched and I can feel my short linen skirt riding up in back. The skirt is white, and I'm wearing a white silk thong to match. Just out of the tub, I am clean and fresh, soft and smooth all over - except this damn suitcase won't close!

Then I hear a slight noise behind me. Still bent over the suitcase, I crane my head to look over my shoulder, my long brown hair getting in my eyes. In the doorway behind me is my older step-daughter's boyfriend, a tall, muscular college kid with a blonde crew cut and a devilish grin. I realize that he has been there for a few minutes, and that I have been giving him quite a view.

As our eyes meet, he springs to life, striding through the door and standing beside me where I struggle. "Oh, Mrs. C, your husband told me to come up and bring down your bag for you ... are you having trouble?"

"Yes, Jake - it won't close - guess I overpacked. Again."

Jake leans over me now and puts one hand on the top of the suitcase to push it down. I feel his other hand on the small of my back and a slight pressure, as if he is using it to balance himself. We push together but, as we do, I feel that hand work its way over my rounded rump, turning so that the fingers point down and curl lower and lower between the globes of my ass. I look up at his face through my hair and he is smiling into my eyes. 

"You know, Mrs. C., I've been noticing that you like to show off your body whenever I'm around." I am about to deny it when his hand slides still lower, now meeting the flesh exposed by my short skirt, brushing my tightly pantied mound from behind. "I mean," he continues, "it's kind of obvious really, obvious that you want some more attention than your old man has been giving you."

The tips of his fingers have found my pussy through my silk panties, and they begin a slow, urgent circular motion that works my pussy lips and bears down on my clit. I can't help it - a sigh escapes me and I push back against the top of the suitcase onto his invasive hand. 

Jake chuckles. "I knew it. You need a real man, don't you Mrs. C? Someone who can make the most of your many ... assets." with his other hand he reaches under my chest to my breasts where they dangle like ripe fruit in my halter top. As if sampling a cantaloupe at the store, he tests each one in turn, squeezing them, evaluating their weight and shape and warmth. My hips are bobbing slightly now, riding his hand on my wet and hungry pussy. I moan.

His inspection complete, Jake gives a satisfied grunt. "Yes, indeed. You are one sweet piece of meat, Mrs. C. I do believe that when you get back from Cancun, I will be helping myself to some of this." He gives my breast a sudden, painfully hard squeeze. "Would you like that, sweet meat?"

My hair now completely obscuring my flushing face, I hesitate and then nod mutely. I'm in shock, stunned into silence, but I do know one thing for sure: my pussy doesn't ever want his hand to stop!

But then he straightens suddenly, giving my exposed ass a hard, sharp slap. "Good girl," he says. "In a week or two, there won't be any part of you that I don't own." Then, almost casually, he throws himself down on the suitcase, the latch snaps closed, and he lifts it off the bed and sweeps out through the door and down the stairs. We're ready to go.

All the way to the airport, while my husband drives and my two step-daughters argue in the back about Coldplay versus Green Day, I stare out the window and feel the prickly ache on my breast where Jake squeezed it so hard and the heat in my crotch where he had rubbed my pussy with such mastery and confidence. Whatever I think of that incident (it wasn't more than sixty seconds in my own bedroom, with my step-daughter's boyfriend staking a claim to my body while my husband and both step-daughters waited just downstairs), I am wholly possessed by two clear emotions, as powerful and urgent as any passion I have ever felt: I need a strong, dominant man to take me, decisively and roughly, as his very own; and I'm not sure I can wait until we get back from Cancun!

The Adventures of a Step-Mom Ch. 02



[Having enjoyed the aggressive attentions of her step-daughter's boyfriend, Miranda accompanies her husband and step-daughters to the airport for a flight to Mexico. There, she catches the eye of another, even more attentive, man.]

We arrived at the airport, checked our luggage, and went straight to the gate. We found a row of empty padded seats; my husband disappeared behind his newspaper while the girls went window shopping at the retail stores down the corridor. I sat and pretended to read a novel, the thrill of Jake still jangling on my nerves. Here I was, a married woman and respectable step-parent, 35 years old and to all appearances a modest, upstanding member of my community. So when I caught the handsome older man seated across from me staring at my breasts in their halter top, my slim waist and long bare legs, why did I shift my weight slightly, uncross my legs, and slowly open my thighs to offer him a glimpse of my pantied mound? Our eyes locked briefly, then his gaze returned to my pussy, a wolfish smile playing about his lips. I spread a little wider and enjoyed his attentions.

Why? I guess I have always enjoyed older men, enjoyed the pleasure they take from looking at my body. When I was quite young I had a long physical relationship with a man twice my age. He ran a day camp I had attended for years, and my last summer as a camper we found ourselves briefly alone in the basement of an old church assembling a box lunch for a field trip to the zoo. I didn't know much about sexual attraction then, only that he often looked at me when it wasn't exactly necessary, his eyes lingering on my developing breasts, my hard flat belly, and the rounded swell of my ass in my khaki shorts. I liked him looking at me, and made sure I was never out of his sight for long.

That morning we worked side my side, slathering peanut butter on white bread and stacking the finished sandwiches on a sheet of paper towel. First our hands touched, then our shoulders, then his big strong hands were on me, on my waist and hip and ass, gentle, probing, a slow progression that I could have stopped at any time, no harm, no foul

But I didn't stop him. His arm encircled me, his other hand closing over my hard young breast. I looked up into his eyes and he smiled: I was all his, and he knew it.

The next spring he hired me as a counselor, and I visited him at his home for training. I never did learn much about being a counselor, but over the next few months he taught me a great deal about how to be a woman. He taught me how to kiss, to nibble his lips, nuzzle his neck, and then open my mouth wide to accept his thick wet tongue. He taught me how to offer my breasts to his hands and mouth, how to stand so that he had free access to my hips and ass and thighs. I learned how to tease his penis to attention with my fingertips, how to take his cock in my small warm mouth and swirl my tongue on it until it was almost too swollen to suck. In return, he kissed and licked me, spreading me on his desk and pushing tongue and fingers deeper and deeper into my pussy, stretching me, making me a suitable receptacle. In time, he mounted me - slowly, gently, and showed me how to submit to the second most important physical surrender a woman can commit for her man.

All the while he was teaching me about my own body - its pleasure centers, its functions, and its appeal to men - and how his masculine strength completed it. Was he teaching me something new, or simply confirming something I already instinctively understood - that my body was for male pleasure and, if I learned to offer it with skill and passion, I was fulfilling my truest calling as a woman? Frankly, I didn't care. I belonged to him, and whether kneeling between his thighs to offer him my mouth, or bent over the arm of his sofa while he slowly, powerfully used every corner of my tight hot cunt, I felt a joy that was far more than merely physical. In those moments, he would whisper to me, telling me I was his best girl, his little slut, his dirty fuck toy - and I could hear in his voice a fierce pleasure and pride that, by themselves, were all the reward I'd ever need.

He made me his courtesan, and he fucked me silly.

Twenty years later, sitting in the bucket seats in the airport lounge, I beheld another older man who saw something attractive in me, and I offered him something in return as I had been taught to do. The bulge in the lap of his suit trousers told me that I was definitely appreciated.

After a few minutes, I stood up and made my way to the unisex restroom at the end of the corridor, a facility for families with a stall and a sink and a changing table. I suppose I knew he would follow me; as I walked through the door he crowded in behind me, pushing me into the room and clicking the lock on the door. I turned to face him and he pushed me up against the opposite wall where the changing table was folded and enveloped me in a rush.

"That was quite a show you put on out there," he rasped. His hands were on my shoulders, pinning them to the wall. "You are quite a tease."

"I guess so," I whispered, pushing my hips against him. His cock was very hard against my belly. "I'm glad you enjoyed it."

His hand ran up the back of my thigh, pushing my light linen skirt up over the swell of my ass to bunch around my waist. The wall behind me was cold against my ass cheeks. ""Oh, I did," he said. "Let me show you how much." He swooped in to kiss me, our mouths opening together, a loud slurp as I sucked his tongue into my waiting mouth. 

In a second he had fumbled his trousers open with one hand while, reaching under and behind my ass, he snatched my thong to one side. I lifted one leg, my thigh rising over his hip and pressing against his side, my knee coming to rest under his armpit. There was no need to speak - the frenzy of lust had carried us off. With one smooth thrust of his hips he pushed his cock into my waiting pussy, levering up and up until my foot almost left the floor.

I let out a moan and rested my chin on his shoulder. I knew there was nothing for me to do but take his thrusts as deeply and as smoothly as I could. I could feel his breath on my neck, ragged and urgent, as his cock churned into my pussy, to my cervix, and knocked at the door of my womb.

"You whore," he moaned. "Take it, you fucking slut - take - my - cock!" With every word he thrust harder. Squeezed breathless against the wall I felt my cunt opening to him, accepting his iron meat, pleasing him. I had to grip his shoulders with both hands as his thrusts flung me up and down again, his thick shaft pummeling my engorged clit. In another moment, he gave one last thrust, deeper and stronger than the others, and suddenly I felt the hot, thick flood of cum deep in my belly. Knowing he had arrived gave me my orgasm, and we strained and quivered there against the wall for what felt like hours as he drained his load into my willing womb.

Then he was off me, hastily adjusting his cock and zipping his fly. Then he reached up and cupped my chin, holding my head still against the hard tile wall and looking straight into my eyes as I panted. "You're a very good bitch," he said. "Very useful, indeed."

I smiled. "Thank you," I whispered. "And you used me so well!" 

He ran some water quickly on his hands, snatched a paper towel, and was gone. I stepped into the stall and cleaned up as best I could, drying my shaven pussy and trembling thighs, smoothing the rumpled linen of my dress, patting my hair back into place. I needed to retie my pony tail; my long straight brown hair had gone wild while pressed against the wall. I did my best to tidy myself, but I could still feel his hot, heavy load burning deep in my pussy; I would carry his cum with me to the airplane and into the sky, my husband and stepdaughters oblivious to the sweet service I had been pressed into by a masterful stranger. 

I met my reflected eyes in the mirror and smiled. I knew that the man I had married had lost interest; he was my master these days in name only. But in the last few hours I had made an important discovery: I was still useful, still desirable, still able to do what only a real woman can do to please a real man. And, even though the stranger in the restroom had taken me so hard and so quickly, I was not yet satisfied. If anything, I was hungrier to serve than ever before.

Mexico, here I cum!



The Adventures of a Step-Mom Ch. 03



[Miranda arrives in Mexico with her husband and step-daughters, ready to enjoy -- and be enjoyed]

*

The suite at the Playa del Mar in Cancun is spectacular! Three large bedrooms, all of them overlooking the pool two stories below; an enormous living room and kitchen; a private bath for each of us. We arrive after dark and the sliding glass doors were open onto the balcony, the warm, humid tropical breeze making the sheer white drapes billow in the glow of the pool below. The girls are ecstatic - they're downstairs swimming while Brent and I unpack. I can hear their laughter and splashing echo up to us; it's been a while since any of us sounded so happy.

Brent and I are in the master room stowing our things. We are silent. Things have become increasingly strained over the last year. Issues, issues. And the heat we felt when we married has all but vanished. I am loading the dresser drawers: boxers, socks, shorts, and tee shirts in his; camisoles, bras, thongs, and a pair of stockings in mine. The silk rustles between my fingers and gives me a tingle. I realize with a sudden shock that I need a shower after my adventure at the airport.

Brent's voice floats from the bathroom, where he is unpacking our toiletries. "Miranda?" His tone is flat, expressionless. This more than anything else puts me on guard.

"Yes?"

"Miranda, you didn't pack your pills." 

I sigh. He isn't talking about antidepressants or laxatives or anything so simple. He's talking about my birth control pills. I really had just simply forgotten about them; it really was an innocent mistake. But, given the particular friction that has been building between us for months, there is no way this oversight could look anything less than devious. He steps out of the bathroom, his hands spread to emphasize their emptiness. "What the hell, Miranda?"

With nothing to say except the truth, I hold my peace and simply return his gaze. Brent is a tall, dark, and handsome man of 50. There are slashes of gray at his temples, but his hair, like the rest of him, is thick and vigorous. He tans easily, moves gracefully, and still exudes the same power that first drew me to him five years before when we first met.

I had just landed a paralegal job - my first - at his firm, a very proper, well-established office in the heart of downtown. I had just turned 30 and, having realized that my clock was definitely ticking, decided to advertise not only my analytical skills to my new employers, but also my availability. I wore snug, tailored skirts tapered to the knee to emphasize the roundness of my ass and the length of my shapely legs; silk blouses that clung seductively to my breasts below plunging necklines; sheer stockings in eye-catching floral or geometric patterns; heels never less that four inches in length. I swept my hair into new and exciting coifs, found jewelry that was both tasteful and exotic, and dabbed a variety of harem scents behind my ears and in my cleavage every morning. I was decidedly on the make, and the men in their $2000 suits and predatory power jobs responded in kind. I had any number of offers, from the respectful and sincere to the bluntly carnal. 

But I held out, playing the field, biding my time. I knew what I wanted: a leader, a confident older man who would dominate me and cherish me in a grown-up parallel to my old camp director, the older man who had broken me in so gently and firmly and taught me so much. Most of the men who circled me in that office, pressing against me in the hallways and copping feels in the elevator, were too young, too insecure, and too untested. I wanted a mature alpha male and, in that office, Brent soon emerged as the obvious choice.

For months I lay siege, smiling, chatting with him, standing straight and tall so he would notice the swell of my breasts against my blouse, turning so he could enjoy the swing of my hips in my close-fitting skirts. I knew he noticed me, even found small excuses to be in my company, but he was never warm or any more than the remote senior partner he was. I had just about given him up for lost until the annual office New Year's party.

The office was packed with lawyers, their wives and lovers. The reception area hosted an open bar, and the uniformed waiters scrambled to keep up with the demand for Stoli, Chivas, Bombay Sapphire. I was alone and drinking pretty heavily, enjoying the swirl of attentive men around me. Brent was there as well, conspicuously single, and as the evening progressed we exchanged appreciative glances, longer stares, and finally looks of frank desire. 

Without any preamble he approached me during a lull in the music and took my elbow. "Miranda," he said, "I need you in my office."

Matching his pretense at legitimate business, I answered briskly. "Why? Has something come up?"

"It certainly has." His grip was very, very firm, and I was quickly whisked from the light and noise of the party down a quiet corridor and through a heavy oak door. Instead of closing it behind us, he simply drew me to one side of the darkened office, a cavernous corner space lit only by the orange glow of the city through the picture windows. He perched me on the edge of a desk, his hands on my hips as I looked up into his flushed and chiseled face. "I need to do some discovery, Miranda," he breathed, "in a very urgent case."

Then his lips were on mine and my entire body responded, rising to meet him with all its heat. After a long and passionate kiss, I felt his hand take hold of my hair and pull my face away from his. "The client has been displaying themselves in a shameless manner," he said, his free hand curling around my slender throat and then dragging heavily downward. "She has given every indication that she would welcome a forceful, aggressive takeover."

My breath caught in my throat as he enveloped my left breast in one powerful hand. "Well, then," I managed between gasps, "perhaps a hostile bid is in order, sir."

"My thoughts precisely," he breathed into my upturned face, his grip on my hair tightening as he pulled my head back to expose my throat. His hand unbuttoned my blouse quickly and expertly and then plunged under the waistband of my skirt. His head dipped and I felt his lips engulf my nipple above the lace border of my] half-bra. I gripped his broad shoulders for dear life and moaned.

He sucked on me - hard, my nipple engorging instantly and burning now with pain and passion. I heard and felt the button of my skirt pop off and heard it clatter upon the marble floor. His hand swept across my firm, flat belly and down, down, to cup my smooth mound through my silk panties. His middle finger slid flush along my aching slit, and he began to work it into me, almost lifting me by the vulva.

"But before I make my final move," he said gruffly, "I will need to make a thorough inspection of the facility to see if it can ... withstand my ... particular style of ownership." With this, he pressed me back to lie flat upon the desk, pulling the crotch of my panties up and away from my steaming pussy so that the silk bit into the crack of my ass. With his other hand he pinned my upper body to the desk, my left breast squeezed mercilessly in his iron grasp. 

As I lifted and spread my knees, he plunged two fingers deep into me, and I gave a cry of pure shock and pleasure. "Yes, sir," I panted. "You need to make sure that your new ... acquisition .... will be a proper fit ... and can accommodate your ... mastery." I moaned again as he slowly rotated his wrist, working his fingers deeply to probe and stretch me to the limit.

The thrusts of his hand came faster and faster. I clutched the underside of my thighs and pulled my knees to my shoulders as he fucked me first with two fingers, then three, and then all four, his thumb tucked against the palm of his strong, wide hand. "The client seems receptive," he said. "But ... is she willing to submit to genuine ownership?"

"Yes," I breathed, "oh, God - YES!" I felt his fist inexorably parting my labia as he thrust ever deeper, pinning me helpless to the polished wood of the desk. He bent his head again and took the nipple of my bouncing, jiggling breast between his teeth in a perfect bite - painful but not enough to do any real harm. 

As he fisted my streaming pussy, my ruined skirt bunched around my hips, my thighs slack and yielding, I grabbed blindly for the bulge in his trousers and, finding it, rubbed his cock in short, frantic strokes. Before I could tug his zipper all the way down, however, he suddenly withdrew his fist and, strong hands on my hips, flipped me onto my belly. "She seems ready for a trial run," he said in the darkness. "Nothing too invasive - just an exploratory to gather more data."

I heard his zipper descend the rest of the way and felt his hands pushing my round, soft ass cheeks up and apart. Then I felt his cock - hot, thick, incredibly hard - slap against my pantied ass, sliding between my globes to rest along my crack. He mounted me this way, pulling my hips back now, back and up to meet his cock and cushion it as he slid it up and down over my silk-covered pussy mound and asshole. He put a hand on the back of my neck, forcing my chin and shoulders to the table, my naked breasts mashed against the polished wood. And then came the thrusts - hard, merciless, faster and faster, the hot silk of my panties slick now from his precum and my own copious juices. "Yesssss," he hissed. "Very good....Excellent! I can see she will be a fine acquisition!"

I worked my hips up and back to give him more, to pleasure his bursting cock. He responded by giving me a resounding slap on my ass, another, and then another. I felt my tender flesh quiver, burning like my ravaged tit. "So obedient!" he panted, approval in his tone. "So pliant, so ... uhhhh." His thrusts were becoming ragged now as he built to his climax, his hips grinding urgently against my ass. Then he convulsed and I felt the lashing of his cum on my hips and back as he came, shooting over me like a fountain. With a quick succession of grunts, he pulled me back against his leaping cock, until at last he was spent.

In the quiet, he labored to catch his breath. He leaned over me until his lips were at my ear and whispered, "Very good, Miranda. I can see that you are just what I have been looking for." He brought his hand - the one he had plunged into my fervent pussy - to my mouth and slid two fingers between my pouting lips. As I sucked and tasted myself, I heard him say, "Congratulations. You are now under new ownership."

And that had been only the beginning. 

In the days leading up to our marriage, we spoke of the shape his mastery would take, the many routines I was to learn, the skills and refinements I was to employ. And we spoke of children - he would, he said, be breeding me, and I thrilled at the animalistic finality of the word. This would be my ultimate service to a real master - offering him not only my body and my gifts, but my womb for his use and pleasure. It would mark me as his forever and fulfill my obedient womanhood. 

But it never happened. The time was never quite right: there were his daughters to get to know, and they would be upset by our starting a new family too quickly. Then there were pressures at work, and a host of other trivial excuses until it finally dawned on me that he simply didn't want any more children. I reminded him that we were wealthy - there would be nannies and minders and maids to look after them, leaving us free to enjoy and explore our deepening bond. But Brent wouldn't bend, and took to making sure that I stayed on my regimen of birth control pills, even watching me as I snapped them from their container and swallowed them every two weeks like clockwork. This one issue had divided us for more than a year and brought us to the crisis we are living today.

"I didn't forget them on purpose," I say quietly. "You know I wouldn't do that."

"You mean, I wouldn't let you do that." His face is set, unreadable. "I know you hate them and, in all likelihood, me as well."

"No, Brent," I say, moving to him. Reading him carefully, I slowly move to embrace him; he makes no indication this advance is unwelcome, so I press against him, soothing him, trying to lighten the moment. "I'm still all yours, aren't I?" I think I feel the slightest stirring of his manhood against my belly, so I snuggle even more. "Aren't I?"

His hands rove up and down my back, cupping my ass and then stroking my shoulders, up and down as he ponders this. Then: "Yes, Miranda. Yes you are. All mine. And now -" he places his hands on my shoulders and begins to push me down to my knees before him "- now you will offer me your mouth. Yes, that will have to do now that your fertile womb is ... unprotected." He knows the calendar as well as I do: tonight is the time of my next pill, and he isn't about to take a chance.

So I take his cock in my mouth while kneeling, my hands clasped behind my back just as he likes it. And he curls his fingers behind my ears and guides my head back and forth on his swollen cock, gagging me slightly, gently; working his hips to claim every corner of my mouth. And then he cums, tipping my head back so it spurts over my full lips, my pointed chin, my high cheekbones and closed eyelids. Then he lifts me to my feet and points me to the bathroom, a slap on my retreating ass as I go. As I close the door behind me, I hear the girls returning from the pool, their shouts of laughter echoing in the large Spanish-style living room. 

And I think to myself, thank God I forgot those pills. Otherwise he might have wanted to use my pussy, and noticed that another man had trespassed on his prize possession mere hours before. I will offer my mouth and nothing else for the next week in Cancun just to avoid his ever discovering that!

For the second time that day, I am keeping something from my husband. And all I feel is thrilled.