by Dark Angel
He’s literally cumming in quarts.
“Come for me, baby,” I whisper, and then I correct myself. “Come over me.” Gritting his teeth, he goes up to his feet, his cock spasming out of control. I kneel under him, opening my mouth and allowing his semen to coat my tongue. Filling my mouth to the brim, his cum starts dripping down my chin and onto my breasts. I grab his cock then, and I point it at my tits; his warm juices hit my skin in a heartbeat, completely covering both of my breasts.
Using both of my hands, I smear his fluids all over my chest, my fingers sliding easily over my skin. And still he keeps cumming, almost as if to confirm that this is, in fact, reality and not just a wild dream. Yes, this is very real. I’m fucking my stepson, someone deliciously younger than me. Don’t judge; being married to a man like Michael makes someone like Lance completely irresistible.
When his cock finally stops, I lock eyes with him, my lips curling into a devilish grin.
“I can’t leave here like this…” I tell him, still rubbing my own breasts with his cum. “You’ll have to take care of it now, Lance.” As if my words were a whip, he goes down to his knees in front of me.
“Did you think I wouldn’t take care of it…?” He presses his mouth against mine, and we kiss as if tomorrow would never come, swapping all of the cum in my mouth and letting it drip down both of our bodies. He sucks on my tongue, taking all the cum into his mouth, and then licks all the drops hanging on my lips. “I wouldn’t let you leave without tasting every single inch of your skin…”
He keeps going further down, his tongue following along the lines left by his semen. When he gets to my breasts, he takes his time, licking them eagerly, his tongue lapping at my cum-coated lips frenetically. I throw my head back as he runs both his lips and tongue all over my chest, scooping every last drop of cum into his mouth and licking me dry.
When he’s done with it, he reaches for my pussy, brushing two fingers against my folds and taking into his hand the cum I still have there; then, he takes his fingers to my mouth and presses them over my lips, thick drops of cum going down from his fingertips into my lips. I open my mouth and let him slide his long fingers in, sucking them dry. Slowly, he takes them out of my mouth, a delighted smile on his lips.
“You’re not done yet…”
“Who said I was?” Almost growling, he places his hands on my shoulders and pushes me down onto the floor; he’s on me before I even know what he’s doing, his mouth hungrily pressed against my pussy. He devours me again, making sure that every single drop of cum in my body goes into his mouth.
When he takes his mouth off of my pussy, I’m grinning as if I were a young girl again. I sit up on the floor, my heart still racing, and look up at Lance..
“This was just...” he starts, the expression of ecstasy on his face somehow making him look even more handsome… and younger. I know exactly what he means, so I just nod, still breathing hard. His lips are still glistening from all of the cum he took in, a perfect memento of what we’ve just done. This was perfect, and wrong. Very, very wrong.
Oh, crap, what am I doing with someone so young? Someone who’s my stepson?
Well, I’ll tell you what I’m doing, hun. I’m living. The way I want to.
For the first time since I’ve been married, I’m doing something that makes me happy.
34
Lance
“Let me get another one, Mike,” I say to the bartender, holding out my pint glass and taking the final sip of the beer.
Fuck, I don't even know if the guy’s name is Mike still. I mean, the bartender behind the counter when I came in this afternoon was called Mike, but I can’t remember what he looks like now. I’ve been drinking pretty heavily, if you can’t fucking tell.
It’s now night, around 8 pm, and I’ve been here a few hours at the Village Pourhouse—a giant sports bar off Union Square. It gets a good NYU crowd, but more than that, the drinks are reasonably priced and people leave you alone if you just want to get blasted, watch television, and be by yourself.
And right now, the only two things I want in this fucking world are to drink to forget and be by myself.
Yeah, okay, I know this isn’t the best thing to be doing in the world. The media catches me getting wasted in a bar, they’re going to have a fucking field day.
But I fucking need this. I don’t care what the fuck is going on.
I mean, you would be doing a lot worse if you were in my shoes, okay. Don’t even try to fucking tell me that you would be all calm and collected after you ended up fucking the hottest girl you’d ever fucking met in the fitting room of a fucking Saks Fifth Avenue.
And not just any woman off the street.
No, that would make things too easy. Then it would just be sex—and hey, you know me, I’m cool with having just sex, remember?
No, this is going too fucking far.
This time I’ve crossed a line that I don’t think I can come back from.
This is my fucking stepmom we’re talking about here. Just recently married to my stepdad—the Mayor of New York City.
It’s not that I’m worried that I’m in trouble or anything. I mean, I’m not even fucking related to my dad, so there’s no way I’m related to her.
But the optics of this situation. She’s my dad’s wife. I have never, ever, ever had sex with a woman who has been in a relationship. I’ve never cheated on any woman I’ve been with and I’ve always drawn the line on sleeping with women who were in relationships.
I mean, look at me. This body gets me enough girls to fuck. I’m able to pick and fucking choose and till now I’ve always picked to not be a fucking home wrecker.
Until today. Until the hottest fucking woman on the face of the planet threw herself at me with the power of a fucking tornado. I didn’t even have any free fucking will in this situation. It was almost like I was just there for the ride.
But afterwards, when my feet came back down to earth, I began to realize what I was doing. And now I get that what we did this afternoon—we can never do it again.
You got that right. You heard me. Look at my face. I’m fucking serious. I am never going to lay a hand on Jocelyn Anders. Ever again.
I slap my hand down on the bar, and immediately draw the looks of the bartender. But fuck it. I’m getting out of my seat and getting out of the bar, anyways.
It’s close to 9 pm by the time I get off the uptown 6 and walk the one block from the train to my dad’s townhouse. Most Mayors of New York City move into Gracie Mansion, the dwelling reserved for the person who wins the office. But my dad, Michael Anders, is different. First off, his townhouse that he owns on his own is much larger than Gracie Mansion. So it never made any sense for him to move. Secondly, the amount of money he makes on interest in one month from his inherited holdings is more than the annual salary of the position—so he basically only accepted $1 as a token salary four years ago.
I gotta hand it to the guy. He knew how to play the people and the media. Both events went down with great fucking fanfare and people looked at him as this benevolent leader. I think that's the image he was going for. And more than that, they looked at the fact that he wasn’t getting paid as a way to reinforce in their heads that he already had enough money that he wouldn't be swayed by any special interests.
That’s the kind of cunning mastermind I’m going up against if I keep fucking his wife.
But I don’t need to worry about that because I’m never doing something like that again.
I walk inside into the lobby of the townhouse and see Jocelyn walking up to meet me. She’s gotten home and she’s wearing a black skirt that comes five inches above her knees, showing off her fucking gorgeous legs. She’s got a silk blouse that's maybe one size too small, hugging her stomach and tits like a second skin, leaving nothing to the imagination. To top it off, she’s got these pearl necklaces and when I see them, the only thing that goes through my fucking head is how much I’d love to cum on her neck and give her another fucking
kind of pearl necklace.
Jesus motherfucking Christ. My cock has started twitching as she walks over. She looks at me.
“Hi, Lance,” she says, clearing her throat a bit.
“Where’s dad?” I ask, looking her into the eyes. She meets my stare.
Fuck, with as fast as my hearts beating, with the fact that my fucking cock seems to have it’s own heartbeat, how is it that I’m not just staring Jocelyn in the eyes, but meeting her stare and not looking away.
“Your father’s in the living room,” she says, gesturing her head back. “I wanted to talk to you.”
I’m silent. I’m not sure what the hell there is left to say.
Jocelyn takes a step closer to me.
All I have to remember to do is not move from my pledge. I’m not going to lay a hand on my dad’s wife. This is sick. It’s wrong.
But she most likely never took a pledge like that. She places her hand on my arm as she takes a step closer. I can smell her perfume.
“Lance, what happened today,” she says and pauses. Of course we were going to talk about this. There’s pretty much nothing else to fucking talk about. I just fucking met this woman. It’s like the only memory we have together. “What happened today was a mistake and can never happen again.”
Wait a second.
Did she just say what I think she did?
“What do you mean?” I ask. Shit. That didn't come out right. I just need to nod my fucking head and then go upstairs.
“Lance, I’m married to your father,” Jocelyn says. “And it’s a marriage I need to protect because other people are counting on me.”
I never knew this. Is she telling me that she was forced to marry dad?
“It’s just that, I hadn’t had sex in over six months,” Jocelyn says and looks into my eyes as if imagining just a few hours ago. “I think we both got a little carried away.”
Oh, thank the Lord. She’s not going to make things difficult. This is going to be okay. Hopefully, we’ll be able to file this away and never have to think about it again. We can move on and not let this affect us.
Then why does it feel like she just punched me in the gut? I mean, I’m supposed to be feeling relieved right? Why does a part of me feel terrible?
But Jocelyn takes my silence for consent. She smiles.
“I’m glad we got this sorted,” she says and smiles even more. “I just wanted to make sure we talked about it, before it got…weird.”
Well guess what, Jocelyn. It’s already fucking weird. There’s no way it can get weirder.
After a moment, Jocelyn looks at her watch.
“I think I’ll head to bed then,” she says. She’s looking at me and I can tell she’s debating whether to give me a hug or a kiss. She decides against it when I just stand there silently. I’m not trying to be mean. If I fucking touch her, or she touches me, I’m not letting her go.
I know that if she tries to hug me and feels my throbbing 12-inch cock pulsing against her thigh, she’s going to go fucking crazy.
I know that if she runs her hands down my abs, I’m not going to stop. Nothing is going to keep me from my goal of ravaging her again and pumping obscene amounts of my fucking semen all over her gorgeous body.
So she instead looks away and turns her back toward me, walking to the stairs.
I can’t say that I don’t spend the next two minutes watching her ass sway back and forth as she climbs the steps.
Is there even any way that a woman can climb steps sensually? Is that even a fucking thing? Because if it’s not, then my stepmother has just made it one.
God, just saying that makes me feel like I’m doing something dirty. It makes me stand there like an idiot for at least 5 minutes after Jocelyn’s disappeared down the hallway.
Eventually, I climb the stairs myself and head to my bedroom. I strip my clothes off, grab my cock, and think about jerking off. To those big titties of Jocelyn's. That round, perky, juicy ass. Those slender fucking legs.
No. I need to stop this.
Tomorrow morning, I’m going to call some of the sluts I used to bang in high school. Work out all my issues by literally fucking the shit out of them. Making sure they can’t walk afterward by fucking them so hard. That’s what I’ll do.
A bit relieved at my plan, it doesn’t take long for the alcohol to do it’s work and put me to sleep.
***
And it seems like just two seconds later my eyes are opening up again, looking around. It’s fucking morning. Already.
I yawn, and notice that my cock is still hard.
What the fuck is going on? I know it’s probably morning wood, but I’m really hoping that my dick took a break between when I sort of passed out and this morning. I’m hoping it took a breather, and got some sleep before rising to attention for me this morning. Because last night, I hit the epiphany.
I need to just fuck this thing I have for Jocelyn out. I need to find a girl. Any fucking girl. And I need to fuck the living shit out of her.
It’ll lead to a much happier family life.
Believe it or not, this actually brings a smile to my face. I’m going to give the cock a good workout, and it’s not going to involve my dad’s wife. And then I’ll be good to go. Not distracted at every turn by Jocelyn Anders. Hell, if dad asks me to campaign, which I’m pretty sure he will, I’m going to need to fuck whatever girl I find to make sure I have a clear head during the day.
I finally have a plan. Yesterday….that was just hormones taking over. I’m the master of my fucking domain.
I put on a pair of basketball shorts and a t-shirt and head downstairs.
It’s still early enough that dad and Jocelyn will probably still be having breakfast.
I walk down the hallway to the kitchen and breakfast nook of the townhouse and I hear voices coming from there.
I step in. Dad’s reading the newspaper and a series of whatever on his iPad. He’s not really paying any attention to Jocelyn.
He’s a fucking fool. Because she’s sitting there in a pair of black yoga pants that barely come up to her waist. And a black sports bra. Literally, that’s all she’s wearing. She’s having a cup of coffee and I look at her bare midriff and her flat tummy and curvy fucking ass. Her tits are gorgeous and my cock, which was getting ready to take a break, is back at being rock hard again.
Fuck.
“Oh, you’re up,” dad says to me as he notices me standing there. “Since you don’t work anymore, I’m going to need your help on my campaign managing social media,” he says.
I stand there watching him.
“We’ll talk about it later. Right now, I need to take a conference call,” dad says getting up and walking toward the opposite end of the kitchen, past the large island and refrigerator and stove. It’s like one of those cavernous kitchens with two entrances, usable by a large staff if needed to entertain. “Once I get done with my call, we’ll talk, Lance,” dad says as he steps out.
Leaving me with his gorgeous wife who’s barely wearing anything.
Fuck. What was that promise I made yesterday?
35
Jocelyn
This is insane. I’m insane. Lance is insane. We’re all going to Hell.
How the hell was I even thinking I would get away with this?
And what is wrong with me? Putting something like this on? After what I did with him yesterday?
I cheated on my husband. I’ve broken the sacred vows of marriage. I bet that’s what you’re thinking when I talk to you now, isn’t it?
I know you probably hate cheating. I do too. I have a subscription to Kindle Unlimited and I’ll stop reading right there if my story has cheating in it.
At least two days ago, that’s what I would have told you. Because after six months, I forgot what sex tasted like. What it felt like. I forgot what it felt like to have a man want me. And if that man was as gorgeous and hot as Lance, well I would have never comprehended that something could happen like that to me.
; Even if we left a bit awkwardly, all day I couldn’t stop thinking about Lance yesterday after what happened at Saks.
I woke up this morning and my pussy was wet from dreams I’d been having. I can still remember them. They’re burned into my brain. How I’m in something cute, like a lacey white bra and panty set, but I’m giving Lance a blowjob.
That’s right. I dreamt of giving my stepson a blowjob. Go ahead. Judge me, ladies. Tell me I’m nasty. I’m perverted. That I’m rocking the cradle. That he’s only 21 and I’m taking advantage of him at 36. That just makes me wetter when you tell me I’m not supposed to do that, okay? It makes the thoughts that I’m having in my head of turning toward Lance and spreading my legs for him to enjoy the body feel even more delicious and taboo.
Fine. I know. I’m sick. I’m twisted. Maybe I could even go to jail, who knows. Although, he’s not really even my stepson. He’s Michael’s stepson—not related to Michael at all. But just the fact that he looked at me as he was fucking me and said, “Don’t tell dad what we’re doing,” has gotten me all wet again. I can tell my cheeks are turning red.
He’s looking at me. Michael’s not here. It’s just me and Lance in the kitchen.
I hear Michael press the speakerphone on his phone in the office. The dial tone comes on. I hear numbers being pressed and then the voice of a man. Michael’s on a conference call.
He doesn’t even think to shut the door. Sure he’s down the hall but he has the volume on so loud I can hear all the way in the kitchen.
He never even considers me.
Lance is eyeing my body. I can tell. The way men used to eye me wolfishly before Michael married me.
I need to stop this. I need to stop him. Technically, we’re family.
I get up from my chair and turn around. I start to walk to the counter, feeling his eyes on me. The last thing I saw before I turned around was the bulge in his basketball shorts. He was tenting. That foot long cock.
