by Celia Styles
Copyright@2015 by Celia Styles
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My Alpha Cowboy Stepbrother
By Celia Styles
It was the summer of my eighteenth year, and life was an exciting, ever-changing patchwork of possibilities and new discoveries. My mother had just re-married into a wealthy family with a long, though sometimes troubled, past.
Though a change in scene was to all that lay in store for me, during that long, hot summer. I was soon to meet a man who would open me to experiences that I had never known before, delving deep into a private world of forbidden pleasures; a sensual awakening from the dream of youth.
This is the story of that summer, and of my journey from girl to woman.
I
Rays of sunlight danced through the wavering beech leaves as we drove carefully up the winding, gravel drive. It was the start of the summer in upstate Georgia and the air felt fresh. The long days were already warm, though it did not yet feel as if it had been baked in an oven and then steamed, as it did in late-summer.
The grounds of the vast estate rolled away on each side of the tree-lined approach; a neatly trimmed, living carpet of manicured grass and sculpted shrubbery. I had just turned eighteen but a month before, and this was to be my last summer holiday before heading off for my first year at college in the fall. Though my mother and I were by no means well off, we had lived a comfortable enough life on the royalties of my Grandfather's Estate. He had been a relatively famous movie producer in the sixties, and had married a young actress. My grandmother's fine features were visible on my mother’s face, and in mine, or so I was told.
Perhaps it had been my widowed mother's looks that helped win a new husband; Henry Montague. Although she had always moved in the upper circles of society – friends and fans of my grandfather mostly – despite our comparative lack of wealth. Anne had just reached her forties at the time, but her beauty and grace still turned heads, as they always had. Despite the attention, my mother had shown no interest in any of her many suitors over the years. Since my father had died in a car accident, when I was six, she had shunned romantic liaisons. Until now.
I sensed that it was more than Henry's money that had charmed her. I had only met my then-to-be stepfather a couple of times before the wedding and not seen him since, so I was reserving judgment on his character. That said, mother seemed happy enough, so I was willing to give him a chance. I had not met any of my step-family at the time as I had been attending my college induction on the day of the wedding.
I twirled my long golden-blonde hair nervously between my fingers as we parked alongside the mansion's grand, colonnaded facade. The house itself was built in that distinctive southern colonial style; like something out of a post war Technicolor movie. Cicadas buzzed loudly, as did the butterflies in my stomach.
“Sandra? Sandra!” said my mother. “Come on girl.”
I realized that I had been daydreaming, well, worrying – new house, new father, new town, and my first day at college looming just a few short weeks ahead... My life had suddenly become a lot more uncertain, and I was struggling to come to terms with the changes.
“What? Oh, right...” I replied, getting out of the car and stretching my muscles, which were stiff after the two-hour journey.
“You're never going to get anywhere in college with your head in the clouds half the time,” she scolded.
“Yes mother,” I sighed.
Anne, my mother, was always like this when she was nervous; snapping at everyone over nothing. I just wanted to find my new room and have a long, cool shower.
The double oaken-doors of the mansion swung open sedately and Henry emerged. Immaculately attired as ever, in his perfectly tailored summer silk-suit. His strong jaw was cleanly shaven and designer shades resting on his straight roman-nose. The graying hair at his temples the only sign that he was closer to fifty than thirty. Perhaps he had some plastic surgery, I thought, though he does seem to have a fine figure beneath that suit – square shoulders, flat stomach, strong chest and arms - so I guess he keeps in shape.
Henry made his way down the carved marble staircase and embraced Anne. I retrieved my travel-bag from the backseat of the car and waited for them to finish smooching, which I found mildly distasteful, truth be told.
“Ah, Sandra!” said Henry, arms spread wide. He gave me an over-enthusiastic bear-hug. “So good to see you again! I hear you're off to college in the fall?”
“Yea,” I replied evasively, brushing down my now-crumbled white cotton dress and rearranging my sunglasses.
“No need to be worried,” he laughed. “Best days of your life, college. I remember my freshman year... Well, some of it!” He winked. “Anyway, let's get inside. I'll show you to your room. The maid will make us some lunch when you're ready.”
The moving company truck had delivered their belongings the day before, so all I had with me was a change of clothes and a few essentials. We followed Henry in through the over-sized doors and into the house. The reception hall was every bit as grand as the frontage; a sea of highly-polished marble flooring spread off into the distance, gilded crystal chandeliers hung front the impossibly high, vaulted ceiling. The walls were adorned with family portraits, some clearly very old.
“How long has your family been in the house?” I asked curiously.
“Our family's owned this land since before the civil war,” he replied, with barely concealed pride. “That painting there is my multiple-great Grandfather, Edward,” he said, gesturing towards a life-size oil painting of a robust looking, older gentleman in period clothing, sporting a majestic mustache. “Edward was a three-star General and fought in the civil war. Later he was on the board that ratified the US constitution for Georgia. Our family has been part of this state since before it was a state.”
I nodded and tried to look interested, but the journey and stress had taken their toll. In all honesty, I was finding the whole experience a bit overwhelming. Although I felt that Henry's pride in his family was genuine, and not arrogance. I smiled tiredly. We had by now walked across the hall to the central staircase that dominated the far wall; rising up from the marble floor like the polished mahogany trunk of a great tree.
My mother waited in the hall as I followed Henry to my room. At the top of the grand staircase a long hallway branched off in each direction. On this level, the floors were made of aged oak, hardened by the centuries of wear and polish to such an extent that I had thought it was stone. Merlot-red carpets ran down the center of each hallway, and further paintings were hung on the walls. Here the antique canvases mostly depicted local landscapes, virulent civil war battle scenes, and a couple maritime themed compositions. Finally we stopped at a door, near the end of the hallway.
“Voilá!” said Henry, opening the door with a flourish. “I thought you would prefer if I left most of you
r boxes unopened, though I had the maid unpack your clothes for you.”
I stared in wonder for a moment at the opulent room. Opposite the door a huge stone-built arch framed a set of french doors. The doors opened out onto a sizable balcony, along which roses and ivy had been trained neatly along the weathered stone and wooden trussing, which cast its shade over an ornate set of patio furniture. To the right side of the room was a beautiful antique dresser and wardrobe, carved from solid chestnut and inlaid with mother-of-pearl. On the left side lay an equally grand four-poster bed; garnished with plump velvet pillows and Egyptian cotton sheets. Beside the door were stacked a dozen or so slightly battered boxes, forlornly representing the life I had known before.
“It's... It's very nice, thank you,” I replied, awkwardly, near lost for words.
Henry smiled. “I'm glad you like it, just let me know if there is anything you need. I'll have the help prepare some food in an hour or so, the afternoon dining-room is beyond the stairs on the ground floor. Well, I'll leave you to get settled in,” he said, and closed the door gently as he left the room.
'Afternoon Dining-Room' I thought. They have a separate dining-room for each time of day? All things considered, it could be worse. I would have been leaving most of my school friends behind when I left for college anyway, and two hours is not that far of a drive, if I want to go visit them.
Even then, somewhere inside, I knew that I would not be returning to my hometown. My life was changing, and I had to change with it.
II
After a long, cool shower I decided to catch some sun. There had been little time for leisure so far that year, with the move, exams and college interviews. I spread my towel out on the warm stone tiles, and settled down beneath the warm rays of sunshine and cloudless southern sky. Through the squat marble columns that supported the balcony's worn stone rail, I had an elevated view across the western side of the estate. A large lake spread out along the bottom of the low hill, on which the mansion was built. Its placid waters sparkled under the bright sun. On the near side of the lake a couple of small sailboats bobbed gently against their moorings in the light summer breeze. On the opposite side, a small a wooden jetty was just visible, emerging from the dense woodland the shrouded the far shore.
The sound of hooves pounding on the soft turf disturbed my thoughts. I propped myself up on my elbows, and I peered through the stone balustrades towards the source of the disturbance. Along the southern side of the lake lay a sizable paddock. An assortment of equestrian show-jumping obstacles had been placed among the vibrant blades of grass. From the stables, on the near side of the paddock, a great black horse galloped towards a log stile, which must have been at least ten-feet high. Riding atop the beast was a dark-haired young man. Toned muscles strained beneath his tanned skin as he labored against the stirrups; his movements matching those of the horse perfectly.
As the beast leapt, the man stood in the saddle. Time seemed to slow as the pair vaulted over the thick wooden beams, clearing the ten foot jump with ease. With a thump, the stallion's hooves slammed down into the soft earth, scattering lumps of turf. Effortlessly, the man bent his knees to soften the landing. With barely break in their stride, horse and rider galloped away toward the next jump.
Though I was not a virgin, my only previous lover had been my high-school boyfriend. The handful of occasions that we had fucked had not been even as enjoyable even as when I touched myself. However, the way that some of the girls at school described their sex lives gave me the feeling that I was missing out on something. Perhaps I just needed to find the right person, I thought.
As I watched the man dexterously guided his black stallion around the course, I felt a tingling warmth spreading inside of me. I began to imagine myself with him, wondering how he would feel inside... My hand strayed down between my thighs, my fingers welcomed by my warm, already-wet skin. I watched as the pair galloped, imagining that it was me he was riding. Strong hands gripping firmly upon my waist. Warm and hard inside of me...
I gasped as climax struck me, suddenly and unexpected. I struggled to muffle my unbidden cries, my body shivered and pulsed. Panting for breath, I lay on my back, warm rays of sunlight caressing my heaving breast and wet thighs. I could not help but feel a little guilty – the man was probably a worker on the estate, and there would be hell to pay if mother found out that I had been fooling around with him. Still, it was just a fantasy, there's no harm in it, I reassured myself.
There was a knock on my bedroom door. Flustered, I pulled on my dress, took a few deep breaths to calm my racing heart, then opened the door. My mother was waiting impatiently in the hallway beyond.
“Sandra, they served lunch two hours ago. You can't skip lunch every day.”
“I wasn't hungry,” I replied bluntly. “What do you want?”
“Dinner is being served in a couple of hours. I want you to make an effort please. Some of Henry's family lives on the estate, you should meet them,” she instructed, looking me up-and-down with disapproval. “Find something respectable to wear. Your face looks like a beetroot. Have you been out in the sun? I told you it's bad for your complexion...”
“...and I told you I can take care of myself,” I snapped, blushing a brighter shade of red as I thought guiltily back to my fantasy, just a few short moments before. Little wonder my face was still flushed.
I had often felt at the time that Anne still viewed me as her little girl, despite the fact that I was just a few weeks away from my freshman year at college.
“I'll see you at dinner,” I said, and closed the door.
With a sigh, I pulled off my dress and entered the en-suite bathroom, which had been fitted stylishly in black marble, gold and chrome. At the far end of the room a floor-to-ceiling stone archway framed a large, stained glass window. The abstract shapes of glass cast colorful rays of light across the dark, stone-tiled floor. A large, open-plan shower area lay before the window, centered around a white and gold tiled rosette. A bronze drain was set in the lowest part of the floor, in the center of the rosette, above which a gold-plated shower facet, almost a foot wide, hung from the ceiling.
Beside the door lay a finely polished marble basin and counter-top, a wide, gilded mirror hung on the wall above the sleek, chrome designer plumbing. I inspected myself critically. Though I have certainly caught some sun, my mother had been exaggerating as usual. Perhaps my cheeks were a bit flushed, I thought, but nothing that another cool shower won't fix. After a few moments adjusting the water to the right temperature – cool, but not cold – I stepped into the stream of water. The shower-head itself was as large as a dinner plate, and the water poured down in a gentle torrent, like warm summer-rain caressing my sun-blushed skin. I could get used to this, I thought.
III
By the time I had made myself 'respectable' the sun was low in the sky, its golden light streamed through the open French doors. The ghostly, white silk drapes fluttered gently in the cool evening breeze. I turned to the full-length mirror that stood beside the bed. After some thought I had gone with a black satin and lace dress – which was formal, but not overly so – and a pair of black leather sandals with ankle-high straps. The shower had set the pinkish glow, I had received from the sun a few hours earlier, to a pale bronze.
I arrived downstairs and followed my nose to the dining room, which was situated at the back of the house, overlooking the lake. A dining table as long as a school bus stretched from one end of the room to the other, beyond that three pairs of French doors opened onto the patio beyond. The recessed lighting had been turned down low and the table was lit by a dozen or so antique silver candelabras, which had been set at intervals along the length of the solid mahogany table. The silver cutlery, fine crystal glasses, and porcelain crockery at each place setting sparkled beneath the flicking glow of the beeswax candles.
At the far end of the table Henry was talking quietly to my mother, who sat beside him. Beside her was an elderly woman in an expensive looking, but dated, g
ray and blue dress. Her hair was tied up into a severe bun. She glared at me briefly over the top of her iron-rimmed glassed, which were perched on the bridge of her hook-like nose.
“Sandra, thanks for joining us,” said Henry, rising from his seat. “Please, join us.” He gestured toward one of two empty place settings to his right.
I took a seat, wondering for whom the final place was reserved. Mother glared at me, I was ten minutes late. Clearly she had taken it personally, but thankfully she said nothing of it.
“This is my aunt, Mildred,” said Henry.
“Nice to finally meet you,” said the Aunt flatly. “Don't worry, you're not the only one that's late; we're still waiting on Edward. Useless boy...”
“Nice to meet you too, Mildred,” I replied with as much cheer as I could muster for the sour crone.
“Ah, speak of the devil,” exclaimed Henry. “Sandra, this is your new brother, Edward.”
I turned in my chair to see Edward approaching. It was the rider! It had been him in the paddock today. I felt the blood rise to my face and my breath shorten. I froze, like a deer in the headlights, as he sat down beside me.
“Edward,” he introduced himself, offering a hand.
With an effort of will, I managed a smile and took the hand. “Sandra,” I replied, more coyly than I had meant to.
He was even more handsome up close, and his loose cotton shirt hung well on his square-shouldered frame. Noting my gaze he smiled, and flicked a strand of his dark locks away from his face. Quickly, I looked away and down at my glass of wine, in an attempt to hide my flushed cheeks.
“Edward! Are those your riding boots I saw you wearing when you came in?” scolded the Aunt. “Mud and all, no doubt. Dinner is still a formal occasion young man, you know that.”
