by Dark Angel
Michael turns fully to me and takes a few steps toward me. His eyes scan my body. I smile lasciviously, letting my inner desire come through. I don't care if he’s 51 now. I don’t care what he looks like. I need to have sex with my husband.
His eyes continue to travel my body. I let my one hand lightly brush across the material of my bra, bringing his eyes to my boobs. Let him feast on those. I use my other hand to trace a line from my belly button down to my crotch. I see his eyes travel down with me.
He’s entranced. Good. I need him to be hard. I want to unbuckle that belt of his and lower his pants. Then take his cock in my mouth and lick the shaft before taking the tip in my mouth. Get him good, hard, and lubed up. Then I want to climb on top of his cock and ride myself to an orgasm.
Just thinking about having sex—not caring who it's with—is getting me wet. As noticeably as possible, I slip one finger inside my thong and push it down, feeling the folds of my pussy respond to my touch. My lips are swollen. From desire.
Not just for this man, mind you. But for sex. In general.
You could say I’m desperate for a good fucking. That’s what's causing me to lie there in the most vulnerable state I’ve ever allowed myself to be in in front of anyone. Nearly naked, with one hand fingering my pussy willing to subject myself to all manner of sexual objectification.
Michael’s eyes travel my body back up to my face.
He looks at my parted lips. I wonder what part of me he wants first.
He opens his mouth.
“I have a lot of work to do tonight, Jocelyn,” he says and my heart starts to beat faster and louder. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to do anything tonight.”
What’s going through me right now is probably what you’re wondering? Ever been rejected for sex before? From a man? It’s almost unheard of for women to be told no. What does that make me feel like?
Shameful. Discarded. Unwanted. Ugly.
You name it.
“But you go on without me,” Michael says coldly. “Looks like you’re doing just fine on your own.”
And with that he turns toward the dresser, takes the coat of his suit off, grabs his slippers and puts them on and turns back to the door.
All without a second glance in my direction. I’m lying there like some unwanted sex doll.
Fuck. This was all a waste. My entire marriage is a waste. My life is a waste.
But before you go telling me to cheer up, babe, let me just clue you in on why I even did all this. Why I went to La Perla. Why I basically tried to initiate this whole intimate encounter.
Had Michael succumbed, it would have been the first time in our marriage that we had actually had sex. That our relationship would have been consummated.
See, it wasn’t bad enough that I was forced into this marriage. What’s worse is that for the last six months, ever since we’ve been married, I don’t think Michael Anders has touched me once in private. Never a kiss unless it's in front of the camera. Never a stare of desire when we’re alone.
Some couples have their whole relationships based around sex.
Ours revolves around a lie.
Michael stops at the edge of the door right before walking out. Without turning to me, he speaks to me.
“By the way,” he says coldly. “Lance has gone and gotten himself fired from the job I arranged for him at the White House. So he’s coming over to stay the summer with us. I think I want to use him for the re-election campaign.”
I’ve never met Lance. Michael has mentioned him maybe once. When we were getting married and signing the papers. And today. So I guess that’s twice.
“I trust that you’ll act appropriately around him,” Michael says. “We can’t have any surprises like what you tried to pull tonight happening while he’s here.”
And almost as an afterthought, as he leaves, he adds, “I’ll be having dinner in my office. Don’t wait up.”
And with that he’s gone.
Leaving me near naked and horny in my gilded cage.
Remember when I told you I wasn’t stuck up about being told I was beautiful? You probably didn't believe me all the way. Well, this is why I don’t let my beauty go to my head.
24
Lance
Coming home isn’t supposed to be such a fucking miserable experience, but that’s what you get when you’re fired after fucking the President’s daughter and risking WW III. I’m lucky I’m not in a fucking Guantanamo cell right now, so I guess it’s not that fair of me to complain.
But still, can you fucking blame me? I’ve never been close with my father, and I haven’t even met my new stepmother. Especially after having to read in the newspaper that my father fucking remarried. He couldn’t even pick up the fucking phone to let me know. So, yeah, I’m fucking sorry if I’m not overly excited with the prospect of being around two people who are only family on paper till November comes around. I mean, they’re probably only husband and wife on paper as well. My father isn’t exactly someone who cares about women, if you know what I mean. Knowing him as I do, he probably arranged the whole fucking thing as another power move. For ol’ Michael Anders, everyone around him is nothing more than a fucking pawn to be moved across a chessboard. I actually feel sorry for the poor woman he pulled into that fucking arrangement.
“You can drop me off here,” I tell the cab driver as the silhouette of the townhouse I grew up in emerges at the end of street. I give him a folded fifty-dollar bill and leave the car, carrying just a backpack over my shoulder. I never liked to move around carrying bulky suitcases. Besides, this is fucking New York City. What I don’t have, I can just fucking get.
I walk toward the building and take a deep breath before going up the stairs that lead to the entrance. Balling my hand into a fist, I rap my knuckles against the door, cursing the day I decided to leave my own set of keys in my old bedroom. If no one’s home, I’ll have to wait here as if I were a lost pup.
If you’re from New York, then I bet you’re going to roll your eyes right now. Because you’re gonna ask yourself why I’m not pulling up to Gracie Mansion, where the Mayor of the City traditionally lives.
Well, I got news for you. My dad is so fucking wealthy that he made it a campaign pledge to not move in. Instead, he brought the fucking mansion staff to his own townhouse - which is still located in the Upper East Side in Yorkville.
Yeah, that’s the kind of asshole my Dad is.
Look…I’m sorry if I sound fucking pissy, okay? You don’t know what its like having to come back with my tail tucked behind my legs. Back to a man who never fucking cared about me in my entire fucking life.
I almost wonder whether I’d want no one to be home.
Luckily, the sounds of footsteps on the other side of the door reach me and the door swings open a few seconds after.
“Lance, right?” a beautiful woman asks me, politely smiling. She looks radiant, in a pair of skinny jeans and a blue silk blouse that’s tucked in. She’s roughly five feet and seven inches, a slender beauty, but she has the most toned legs I have ever seen. They lead up to a sumptuous looking heart-shaped ass that’s framed exquisitely in her jeans and a small tapered waist. Her slender and flat tummy yields the most impressive set of tits that I have ever beheld; these giant breasts are struggling against her blouse and are easily D cups. They don’t sag, and don’t detract from her figure. Even her neck is elegant, long, and smooth. She has a cute face with a pair of luscious lips, slutty eyes, and hair that comes to her shoulders. In two short words: fucking beautiful.
“Yeah… That’s me,” I manage to say rather dumbfounded. “Jocelyn?” I ask, feeling like a complete fucking idiot now that she’s in front of me: I never even bothered to look at a photo of her before coming back home. To be honest, I didn’t do it because… Well, because I didn’t expect my stepmother to be this fucking hot. I just knew based on what my Dad cared about that it was probably some political fake marriage. I knew her name was Jocelyn, and that she was a thirty
-something woman from New York, but I had no idea that she looked like a fucking goddess.
“Yes, that’s me,” she replies in that polite tone, smiling gently. I extend her my hand, trying to be as polite as her, but she waves my hand away. Leaning into me, she brushes her lips against my cheeks, laying a simple kiss there. The moment her lips touch my skin I feel my cock twitching, and I have to focus really hard to not pop a boner right here and now. That’d be fucking rich, greeting my stepmother with a boner.
“We’re family,” she simply says, taking my backpack and stepping aside so that I can get in.
“We are,” I repeat after, walking into the hallway and trying hard not to stare at her cleavage. Jesus Christ, how the hell did my father marry a woman like this? “Is… my father home?”
“No, I’m sorry, Lance. He said he had a few meetings he had to attend, but he should be home any time now.” Of course. It’s not like my fucking father would wait on me. Alright, sure, it’s not like I deserve to be waited on after my little stunt at the White House… But even if I did, I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t fucking bother to be home waiting for me. It’s not like I give a fuck about it; I’m pretty used to stuff like this by now. “I hope you don’t mind being here alone with me,” she continues, my cock twitching again as a response to her words. Fucking hell, where did this woman come from?
“It’s okay,” I tell Jocelyn—my stepmother—as I run one hand through my hair. I look into her eyes, all of my thoughts turning into something no one should ever know about. I’m already imagining myself peeling the clothes off of her body, her naked figure slowly revealing itself to me…
Focus, I tell myself inwardly, trying not to make a fucking fool out of myself. What am I fucking supposed to say to her now? Chit chat until my father gets home? Oh, fuck no - two more minutes around her and I’ll have a boner so massive I’ll pass out from lack of blood. “I’m kinda tired from the trip. I’m just going to unpack my bag and take a shower, if that’s alright with you.”
“Oh, of course,” she replies, handing me my backpack again. Turning my back to her, I walk up the stairs to my room as if I were in a daze, my heart kicking against my ribcage. Holy fuck, how am I supposed to fucking live inside this house all these months? With that fucking woman walking around? That’s just torture, if you ask me.
I step inside my old bedroom and throw my backpack on top of the bed, slamming the door shut as I take one deep breath. I knew my father was ruthless enough to marry for political gain, but I never would have thought he’d end up with someone as hot as Jocelyn. I don’t mean to be a fucking ass about this, but it’s not like my father cares for the beautiful sex. He never really admitted it to me—let alone to the world—but there’s no doubt in my mind about where his interests lie. Good for him if he’s into men, I guess. I just find it in poor taste to drag someone into a fucking loveless (and most likely sexless) marriage.
I walk into my bedroom’s private bathroom and close the door, locking it. I strip naked and hop into the shower, turning the faucet on and waiting for the water to warm up. Here, some privacy to myself, all my fucking self-restraint goes out the window. I close my eyes for a full second and that’s all it takes for my mind to dart back to Jocelyn. Just like that, I feel my cock hardening, warm blood rushing to it. Look, I know she’s my stepmother and all that, but it’s not like I can help it.
As steam starts to blanket the bathroom, I step under the running water, throwing my head back and trying to clear my mind. Of course, that’s not what happens. In fact, it’s pretty much the opposite. The moment I close my eyes I’m flooded by the mental snapshot of Jocelyn’s body, and before I even know what I’m doing, I’m fucking grasping my cock, moving my hand back and forth over it.
There’s no use in fighting this; it might be a fucked up thing to do, but I’m jerking off while thinking of my fucking stepmother. I imagine what it would be like to slide my hands under her blouse, to feel her perfect round tits under my fingers as I squeeze them… My imagination fills in all the blanks, my heart racing as if it were actually happening. I can almost taste the flavor of her mouth, her full lips pressing against mine as I cup her ass…
I start to stroke hard, my hand moving fast as I struggle to breathe. My mind produces her imaginary moans, the grip I have on my cock turning into her tight pussy. God, and to think she’s somewhere in the house, waiting for my father to get home!
Then, I hear the door to my room opening and my heart almost fucking explodes.
“I’m sorry to barge in,” I hear Jocelyn say from the other side of the bathroom door. “I just came to leave you a dry towel. I’ll let it on this side of the door.”
“That’s… Thank you!” I say hurriedly, stroking faster than ever, the sound of the running water luckily drowning out the sound of my movements. “You didn’t need to.”
“Of course I did,” she says very slowly, my cock spasming harder and harder as the sound of her voice caresses my eardrums. “We’re family now.”
“Family,” I repeat after her, straining to get the word out as I press my forehead against the wall, my cock pulsing viciously against my fingers. I explode like that, the sound of her honeyed voice still echoing in my mind as ropes of thick cum spurt from my dick.
I remain still, holding my spasming cock in my hand until I hear her leave the room. Only then do I realize I was holding my breath as I came, my fucking lungs aching to start working again.
Looking down at my hard cock, drops of cum still dripping down my shaft, I can’t help but feel buckets of fucking adrenaline coursing through me as I fully accept what I’ve done; I fucking jerked off to my stepmother.
It seems like this is going to be an interesting fucking summer, after all.
25
Jocelyn
Oh my God, hun. Don’t look at me like that!
I can’t believe the thoughts that have been running through my head. Lance Anders is my stepson! But I swear I can’t help but feel irresistibly attracted to him. I mean, I had seen pictures of him, and I knew how gorgeous he was… But to see him in the flesh… Now that’s a completely different thing. Ever since he walked in through the door, I can’t help thinking about those big arms. That deep chest. That flat and sculpted stomach. Those abs I got the barest of peeks of.
And that bulge. Oh, my. Is that his…
No. It can’t be.
It’s so big.
Closing the door to my bedroom, I lay back down on top of the mattress, sighing heavily as I stare at the ceiling. Michael is still in his study, working as usual, as if nothing could ever disrupt his workaholic routine—not even the return of his only son. He and Lance only traded a few curt words over dinner, and I took it upon myself to make the younger Anders feel welcome here. But I should be careful. If I don’t keep a cool head, I might do or say something stupid. It’s not as easy as it seems, though. Every time I’m close to him I feel my pulse quickening, my eyes taking in his perfectly built body.
I’ve been without sex for far too long, that’s what’s going on with me. And now I’m under the same roof with a young, sexy-as-sin man. That’s an explosive combination. But I need to think straight. Sure, I’m stuck in an ice-cold marriage, but I still have a ring on my finger. And, of course, that perfect man is not only my stepson, he’s also far younger than I am.
But, hell… Is there any harm in just fantasizing for a while? I can let my imagination run wild for a few minutes. What’s the harm in it?
It feels perfect just laying here, my pussy growing wet as I let thoughts of Lance flood my mind. I can't seem to stop thinking about him... About taking off his shirt. About licking his nipple with my tongue. He's at least a foot taller than me, towering over me with that imposing frame of his. I'd love to stare up at his icy blue eyes as I lick that amazing chest of his. As I run my hands down his abs. Those chiseled and intense abs. I wonder how often he works out.
Lance has gone from wearing jeans in my head to now just wearing boxer
briefs. They're nice and tight, showing me a perfect outline of his cock. It's thick and bulging, hanging between his legs and holding promises of mind-numbing pleasure.
What is going on with me? I feel really hot and I'm flushed, my insides clenching as desire courses through my veins. The warmth that was permeating my nether regions has now spread all across my body, and while it's not a bad feeling, it's not comfortable either. It demands more… It demands release.
I can't think straight. He’s my stepson... But he's also so gorgeous. So hot.
I want to go down on my knees and take off those boxer briefs. God, I bet that cock is enormous. I wonder what it would taste like. I wonder if it would fit in my mouth.
My mind is thrashing about as I picture running my tongue along Lance's shaft, but he stops me. He's got big, strong hands, and he lifts me up and puts me down on the bed. He lifts me like a feather, the muscles in his arms coiling as he moves.
Biting down on my bottom lip, I give up. There’s no use in trying to control myself right now. Breathing hard, I move my hand down and over my tiny nightgown, reaching between my thighs with just my fingertips. There’s one last moment of hesitation, but then I slide my fingers under the fabric of my black lace thong. A shiver goes up my spine as I press down on my clit, rubbing it in hurried circles as I picture Lance's naked body, his cock pointing upward as it pulses with desire for me.
With my free hand, I squeeze my right breast, caressing my hard nipple and pinching it gently between my thumb and index finger. I keep doing it until I feel my body boiling, imagining that my hands are Lance’s.
I can't feel my toes. I mean, I can feel them—as in I know they exist—but I'm feeling tingly all over. I know if I keep this up I'm going to cum soon. There are three points of absolute bliss in my body. My nipples and my pussy. I feel like leaving my tongue hanging out and drooling. Just letting the pleasure wash over me. This feels so good. It might be wrong, yes, but I deserve this. If my own husband won’t take care of me, I have to do something about it… Even if I’m using my stepson to fuel my fantasies.
