by Alexis Angel
“What’s going on is that you two are idiots, that’s what’s going on!” Michael continues, the tone of his voice growing more furious by the second. “It wasn’t enough that Jocelyn got attacked, you had to go and give a beating to the guy! Do you have any idea on how that might play out in the media?”
Lance simply looks at his father, an expression of bewilderment taking over his face.
“I can’t believe what I’m hearing,” he starts in a low tone. “Your wife almost got raped, and you’re wondering about how that will affect your election? Are you fucking kidding? What kind of man are you?”
“I’m the kind of man who has fought for everything that he has. This house, the job I got you at the White House… Everything came from my hard work. From my sacrifices. That’s the kind of man I am. Not that you can see it, Lance… You know nothing about hard work or sacrifice.”
“This is your wife, Dad,” Lance says with sarcasm in his voice. “You might want to take care of her.”
“Don’t tell me who to take care of,” Michael shoots back. “If I had any sense, I should have let the state keep you after your Mom died. You’re nothing but an embarrassment to me now. This campaign is your one chance to redeem yourself.”
I feel Lance tensing up, and as he opens up his mouth to speak, I grab his arm, stopping him. When he looks at me, I simply shake my head. Escalating this won’t help matters.
“I’m going back to my office,” Michael says curtly, walking between Lance and I without glancing at us. We stay there in silence, hearing the click of Michael’s shoes across the hallway, and then the door opening and slamming shut.
“That fucking bastard…” Lance whispers to no one in particular, heading out of the office as if he were in a trance. He’s seething; even though he won’t show it, I know that his father's words have gotten to him. I follow him to the living room, trying to forget Michael’s words as I get out of his office. They hurt, sure, but I’m used to his coldness by now.
Lance is sitting on the couch in the family room, staring blankly at the TV. There’s some old movie from the early 00s going, a romantic movie of sorts, but I doubt he’s actually seeing any of it.
After a few minutes I hear Michael walking down the hall and opening the front door. He slams the door and I hear his motorcade start up and drive away.
I have no idea what to say to Lance, but I sit down next to him all the same, placing one leg up on the couch as I turn to face him.
“Thank you,” I say, looking him in the eyes and trying to steer the conversation away from his father. “I don’t know what would have happened if you didn’t show up when you did…” I shudder, the memories of what just happened flooding me again.
“Hey, don’t worry… It’s over, that’s all that matters.” His expression softens as he speaks, a smile dawning on his lips. God, I could kiss him right now… I could just lean in, take his hand in mine and press my mouth against his. It would be so easy. Too easy.
I turn to face the TV, my heart beating fast. Breathing in, I try to calm myself and watch the movie on TV, but much like Lance, all I can do is stare absently at the moving pictures, unable to focus on whatever’s happening.
We sit in silence for a long while, simply staring at the TV—there, a half-naked young Keanu Reeves is kissing Charlize Theron. Even though I’ve already watched it when I was younger, the name of the movie simply alludes. Then, suddenly remembering it, I squeal like a young girl, grabbing Lance’s arm.
“Oh, I love this movie… Sweet November!” I lay down on the couch, placing both my legs across Lance’s lap.
“Never saw it,” he responds, smiling as he sets his forearms across my legs. A shiver goes up my spine as I feel his skin on mine, but I try and push forbidden thoughts to the back of my mind, tucking them away. It’s harder than it seems, though.
“You should,” I respond, grabbing the remote and pulling the movie back to the beginning. “And you will,” I add with a grin. Oh, God, what am I doing?
“You’re really making me watch a romantic comedy?” he asks, raising one eyebrow playfully.
“Of course,” I tell him. “And it’s not a romantic comedy… It’s a drama, actually.” I’m speaking, but I can barely hear my own voice. All that I can think about is that I’m on the couch with Lance, and we have the house completely to ourselves.
“Oh, even better,” he says, rolling his eyes with a smile. I sit up briefly, flexing my abs to punch him lightly on the shoulder, my heart tightening as I feel the hard contour of his bicep, and then turn my attention to the TV. I lay there as the opening credits roll by, suddenly feeling extremely self-aware of the fact that my legs are sitting on Lance’s lap. He has his hands resting on them, his long fingers spread over my tanned skin… Thank God I changed into shorts when I got home... Oh, what am I saying? Pull yourself together, Jocelyn!
Easier said than done, of course. The warmness of his fingers spreads up my legs and into my thighs, and I start breathing harder. Slightly moving his fingers, Lance starts massaging the muscles in my upper legs, rolling his hands back and forth over my skin. His touch is an innocent one—at first—but I start to grow wet all the same, my whole body burning from the inside out. There’s just no way I can control it, so don’t try to blame me.
“That feels good,” I purr, smiling at Lance. He looks at me, his hands still moving back and forth, massaging my legs, driving me completely insane… “You sure know how to use your hands.”
“You have no idea,” he replies, and I can’t help but imagine his fingers crawling up my leg, brushing against the growing wetness between my thighs.
“Maybe I do,” I tell him, slightly parting my legs and allowing his fingers to slide over and above my knees. My mind is burning, and I can already feel my thong growing damp.
When I move my legs over his lap, my mouth turns dry as I feel Lance’s hard cock—it’s tenting his pants and pushing against my legs, making my insides burn even more fiercely. I want to look at him, to let my eyes wander down to his crotch, but I still myself; I don’t dare do it, afraid of what might happen, so I keep my eyes glued to the TV. By now, all I see is a blur in front of me. My brain is busy with trying to picture his cock, imagining how it would feel rolling down my lips...
My eyes might be frozen in place, but I can’t say the same about the rest of my body. I move my legs again, opening them even more as I lift my knees and rest my feet over his lap. My heart is racing now, my feet so close to his crotch that all I need to do is move them an inch to feel his hardness. I almost feel nauseous, rationality and desire locked into a bloody fight inside my brain. Whatever it is that’s happening here, I’m not sure if I’m going to be able to stop it. Or if I’m going to want to stop it.
While I’m struggling internally, Lance’s fingers keep massaging my legs, drawing closer to my inner thighs with each passing second. My unconscious pulling the strings of my body, I part my legs wide, allowing Lance’s hands to start rubbing the tanned skin on inner thighs, his fingers pressed on the line where the hem of my shorts and skin meet. My God, I’m so wet right now. My fingers twitch slightly, and I almost grab his hand and press it against my pussy—somehow, I manage to restrain myself, my heart on the verge of bursting.
His fingers go just one inch above the hem of my shorts, and my feet start moving as if they have a mind of their own, rubbing Lance’s leg over his jeans, much in the same way he’s doing to me. My feet roam dangerously close to his crotch, but he says nothing. Neither of us wants to be the one to break, but if we keep going like this… It’s going to happen, sooner or later.
I’m aching to let my feet move just an inch upward, to feel his hard cock pushing against me… More than anything I have ever wanted in my life, I want to do it. Take a hold of yourself, Jocelyn, I hear the voice of reason whispering at me. Get out now! It continues, act your age! Lance is young, and young boys can’t control themselves, but you can, Jocelyn. You can.
Look, I know, I
know: he’s my stepson, and he’s fifteen years my junior. I know all that. But after so long without feeling a man’s cock getting hard for me… After so long without feeling someone burning with desire for me... There’s only so much that I can resist. But I need to do the right thing, and I need to do it now: I grit my teeth and try to command my body to move, to get out of the couch. For a split second, I almost think I’ll be able to do it, but at the last moment, what my body does is allow my feet to brush against the steel-hard shape under Lance’s jeans.
Do you know why people fear heights? It’s not because they’re afraid of falling; it’s because they’re afraid of jumping down, the pull of the abyss too much for them. And that’s exactly what I’m going through in this exact moment, but there’s no fear anymore, because I’ve already jumped down. Like I said, the pull of the abyss can be overwhelming. Especially when the abyss looks so irresistible.
I let my feet wander over to his crotch and I hold my breath as I feel his thick shape straining against the rough fabric of his jeans. Remembering to breathe again, I use both my feet to gently press down on his erection, softly rubbing on it. I move them in a back and forth motion, massaging his cock and feeling it pulse against me. I can hear the distant whisper of rationality inside of me, but I’m too far gone to listen to it. I’m all out of brakes now - and I’m on a collision course with sin.
Lance says nothing for a long while, his fingers still moving over my inner thighs, but I feel his muscles brimming up with tension. Finally turning to me, he cuts through the silent tension, his words coming at me heavy and coiled.
“What are we doing?” he says, his eyes on mine. I have no idea what we’re doing, but I know what I want to do right now.
Run, run, I hear that little whisper inside of me. Leave now while you still can.
Without saying a word, I take my feet out from his lap, my eyes never leaving his.
Go now, the whisper continues. Go now and don’t look back.
But it’s already too late. I lean over to Lance, and pressing my lips against his ear, I purr.
“Can you keep a secret?”
9
Lance
“Can you keep a secret?” Jocelyn asks me, and I see a wicked gleam of desire running through her eyes. It takes all my concentration to not cum in my pants right there with her body straddling my lap. Her pussy rubbing itself on my erection.
I nod my head, unsure of what else to say.
Before I know what’s happening, Jocelyn leans forward. I can smell her perfume and my nostrils flare up.
She’s looking directly at me. But as she’s looking she’s using one hand and all of a sudden I feel her trace the outline of my pulsing cock through my jeans.
She begins to squeeze it lightly. Up and down. Until she reaches the tip. She’s like an expert shoe salesman. Only she’s not. She’s my dad’s new wife, and as much as I fucking hate him, she’s still his wife. That makes her my fucking stepmom.
But that’s not enough for me to stop her. My cock throbs in sweet pleasurable agony at this point and I can feel precum leaking out as Jocelyn massages the tip through my jeans.
My eyes open in amazement at the sheer licentiousness of the situation as she squeezes length of my shaft up to the top, where she runs her palm around the head.
“Jesus, Lance,” she says with a sharp intake of breath. “Your cock is huge. I’ve never known anyone that has a cock this big.”
That’s what they all say. Twelve fucking inches, remember? Twelve inches that I told you if you had met me, you’d even want to put inside of you.
I can’t help it. I’m getting carried away in this situation. Lust is clouding my thoughts.
My face contorts into a nasty sneer of pride. “It’s even bigger out of it’s jeans, baby,” I say without thinking. It’s not my stepmom in front of me anymore. It could be any girl.
Although no girl could be as fucking hot as her.
“I could tell it was big,” she says, drawing her words out in a breathy whisper. “Just not this big.”
Jocelyn bends in closer, this time with a nervous anticipation on her part and begins to unzip my fly. She slowly slides it down and undoes the button.
I cannot believe this is happening. I lift my ass a bit as she gives my jeans a tug.
Okay, this is fucking insane. My stepmom is leaning over so close now that I can see down her shirt that she changed into after we got home.
I can see her magnificent fucking tits swinging freely, not sagging at all and I could die fucking happy right there.
My jeans are relatively loose enough that Jocelyn is able to use one hand to pull them down to my knees.
And that’s when my cock, loosened from the constraints of my jeans, pops up, pushing my boxer briefs out. It creates a lewd tent inches from her face.
“I can see someone is a bit excited,” she says, looking at me with a smile. “Are you sure you can keep this a secret?”
I nod my head. “Oh yeah,” I moan as she raises herself over me. This time, I’m staring right at her chest. The time for hiding my interest in her is gone. I bring my right hand over and rest it on her ass, squeezing it through her black yoga pants.
“Can you follow directions?” she asks me.
“Depends on whether I like them or not,” I tell her with a smirk. “Can you?”
“Mm-hmm,” she says, almost distracted by the sight of my cock. “Do you like my hand on your cock?”
“Yes, I do,” I say to her, wondering what her game is. “Do you like my hand on your ass?”
She nods her head, not saying anything.
“It’s so fucking tight, I just want to rub my cock all over it,” I tell her, not believing the words coming out of my mouth.
This is like some twisted dream. Way beyond anything I could ever jerk off to. My Dad’s new wife sitting on my lap, straddling me, with her hand around my cock.
Her eyes are focused on my cock, as her hand moves up and down, carefully jerking me off. I’m still wearing my boxer briefs, but I’m not complaining. Nor am I making any move to take them off. Whatever she wants to do. This situation is too fucking crazy as it is.
I’m silent, watching her. Her breathing is coming in gasps.
I’m going to cum soon. No way I can fucking sit here and take this from an angel like her.
That’s when I hear a clatter in the kitchen. Both of us look toward the sound, her hand coming off my cock in an instant.
There’s a pause and then muffled feminine cursing in Spanish.
It’s Rosa—part of the cleaning staff for the townhouse.
Fucking Christ.
Jocelyn gets off of me and stands up in a heartbeat. She looks at me, and I see a flash of despair go over her eyes.
It’s nothing compared to what I’m fucking feeling right here. My cock is so fucking close to erupting. But it’s out of the question with Rosa in the other room.
Sighing, I stand up and put my boxer briefs back on, and zip up my jeans.
Jocelyn’s already left the room without another word.
It takes several deep breaths before I do the same.
I need to fucking calm down.
That shit was close. Any minute we could have been found out. No way Rosa would keep something like that quiet. The tabloids would pay a pretty fucking penny for a story like that. And that would be it for me. And Jocelyn.
No, I want you to listen to me as I tell you this. Because this shit is important.
I can’t let something like this happen with Jocelyn. Ever. Again.
If you see something like this happening, just fucking tell me to get the hell out of this situation, okay?
I’m dancing on the edge of the fire here. And I need your help before I get fucking burned.
10
Jocelyn
I go into the townhouse through the back entrance, not wanting to cause too much of a fuss. I don’t need the footman, the bellman, the doorman and the various members of the s
taff to stop what their doing and set it down to wish me a happy birthday today. I don’t want to be a bother to them.
Besides, if I really wanted to give myself a birthday present, I should try and do what I’ve been doing the last three days since the incident with Lance and I on the couch. That is, to avoid him completely.
Although in my case, the only way I’ve been able to avoid him has been to spend as much time away from the house as possible.
It’s doable. With Michael’s campaign not getting into full swing for a another couple of weeks, it gives me time to myself.
Sounds easy enough, right, hun?
Nope. And before you get upset at me that I may have tricked you into answering, please let me just say that I love the fact that you’re here and listening to me. I’ve never had someone like this who I could talk to about anything and everything.
Even my girlfriend from college who I met for lunch at 40 Carrot today for yogurt couldn’t understand what I was complaining about.
“So he doesn’t fuck you, this Michael,” she said as we began to scoop our yogurt and looked at the people walking into and out of Bloomingdales. “You better count your blessings, girl.”
“It’s not that, Cheryl,” I told her with a sigh. “It’s just that Michael seems to despise not just having sex with me but everything about me.”
“I don’t know, girl,” she says looking at me. “Why would he do everything you say he did to marry you if he’s not even going to talk to you or try to paw at your beautiful body? And don’t tell me it was to win some election.”
But that’s exactly what it is, I think to myself as I replay Cheryl’s words as I walk into the darkened townhouse. That’s exactly why he kept me around. The optics of a beautiful wife are much better than being single.
Oh, right, I forgot to mention that I went to lunch with Cheryl to celebrate my birthday. I officially turned 36 today. Married to a man who doesn’t love me. In a marriage that I can’t get out of.
