by Kay Brandt
Revenge of the Stepmother
Servant Quarter Stepbrothers 1
Kay Brandt
eXcessica publishing
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Servant Quarter Stepbrothers 1: Revenge of the Stepmother © June 19, 2015 by Kay Brandt
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All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental. All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.
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This book is for sale to ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be access by minors.
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Excessica LLC
P.O. Box 127
Alpena, MI 49707
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To order additional copies of this book, contact:
[email protected]
www.excessica.com
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Cover design © 2015 Mass Designs
Second Edition September 2017
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Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.
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Contents
Revenge of the Stepmother
About the Author
About Kay Brandt
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Revenge of the Stepmother
Sex with Samson was the most incredible fucking I've known—but outside of our marital bed he was a horrible man. Twenty miserable years I'd spent as the ruthless, cheating bastard's mistreated wife. Samson would have blatant affairs right under my nose, feeling entitled to spread his cock around his loyal female servants. One of his longest affairs was with Grace, a house maid. He got her pregnant twice, and let her have her kids, as in, he let her raise the boys he sired in the servants' quarters. Samson was filthy rich, despite being a dirty, despicable man, and I learned to love the money more than his oversized manhood. Unable to endure the scent of the maids on his skin, I stopped spreading my legs for him and nursed my pain by spending his money frivolously. My daughter, Angelica, and I had everything, except for what we wanted most—Samson's love and attention.
Angelica wasn't Samson's blood, and he wasn't the fatherly type. She was the invisible girl to him. He treated her just as coldly as the lowly sons he had with Grace. Angelica was an awkward kid when Samson moved us into his lap of luxury. I was a grieving widow and Samson was a greedy man who worshiped my pussy—a match made in Hell. On Samson's best days, which were few and far between, he was tolerable. The rest of the time, I wanted to kill him, and almost did once or twice—by accident, of course.
He brought death upon himself—dying of a stroke while screwing a new hire in the wine cellar—another of his slutty maids. When Samson's Will was read, I was surprised to learn he had cared for me as his tortured wife and granted me everything. The cars, his sprawling estate, and every last cent in the numerous bank accounts—all mine. It's been a year since he passed, and Angelica and I have never been happier. I've masterminded a plan to create more happiness, and perhaps a new life—a grandchild—if everything falls into place. I need my ravenous libido satisfied with the endless erections of young men—and so does Angelica.
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I've kept tabs on Samson's sons after they were cast out. The boys, Brent and Greg, were hideous specimens, just like their father, only penniless. I'd see them running naked down corridors, destroying priceless objects just for fun when they'd escape from their confines. I didn't have contact with Brent and Greg while they were living under my roof—they're servant class scourge—plus, I hated Grace. She stole my husband so innocently, spreading her legs for Samson whenever he wanted. He took her in the kitchen, bathrooms, our own bed, and I always found her plain, cotton panties under the sheets. The dainty wet spot on the crotch lining revealed the secrets of a servant girl thirsting for the dominant man who employed her. She was hot for my husband—not an unwilling victim—a whore in sheep's clothes.
Brent and Greg surprisingly accepted my invitation to meet with me and Angelica at their former home—the estate. Grace fell ill and passed months ago. I saw this as the perfect opportunity for us to come together and reacquaint. Brent is a ripe twenty years old, and Greg just turned a scrumptious eighteen. They're alone in the world with no parents or money, in need of a stepmother's love, but my affections come with a price. I know how naughty they were, and how they tormented Angelica. She wasn't gifted with great beauty, but we fixed that, and at nineteen Angelica's stunningly gorgeous. The boys haven't seen either of us for several years. We'll have plenty of catching up to do, I'm sure.
“Mother?” Angelica saunters out of her suite in a new handmade dress—a slinky, sexy sheath sewn with gold-spun silk. “How do you like it?”
“Scintillating and beautiful, Angela.” I admire the outline of her shapely figure, giving the nod of approval to her maid and dressmaker, Mina. “Very, very nice.”
Angelica caresses her shapely, supple body. “Do you think the boys will like it?”
“Oh yes. They'd be fools not to.”
She frowns, doubting her stepbrothers have changed from the devious boys they were. “Who cares what they think, right, mother? They're going to be mine soon.”
“Ours, sweetie,” I corrected her. “They will be ours. Remember, mother comes first.”
From my bedroom suite, I watch Brent and Greg on the security cameras, dressed in old jeans, ratty t-shirts and faded baseball caps. Gazing at the screen, I touch myself, pleased with their studly physiques and muscular pects. They are stacked and built like little fuck machines under their poor exteriors. I wear a stunning lace body stocking with a satin black robe, heels and barely-there panties—just enough to cover my hairless patch.
My smooth pussy's a bit wet seeing how agitated they are at being fingerprinted. There's no real reason for the procedure—I'm just fucking with them like they did with Angelica. Bergman, my faithful butler, lets the boys in. I've given Bergman many blow jobs—gulping on his cock helped me cope with marital frustrations and being a lonely widow. His penis is very enjoyable to suck, with it's understated elegance. Angelica's been practicing on him, too.
“Hello, young men. Welcome home. Come give your stepmother a hug.” Opening my arms, I beckon Brent and Greg to hug my chest at once. “I know we weren't affectionate when you lived here. You realize Samson forbid me from having any contact with either of you, yes?”
Brent and Greg don't move. Instead, they study me with suspicion. Brent speaks up first. “What's up, Daniella? You're all fancy in your—thing. You didn't mention the occasion in your invitation.”
“Because I guessed my intentions would be understood.” Asserting my power, I move closer to the boys, arms still open.
“I missed my stepsons, and quite honestly, I've been terribly worried about your welfare since your mother died.”
Brent keeps his hands locked in his pockets, as does Greg. There's a goodness in them, but their father's asshole traits speak loudly in their genes. “What's to be worried about, Daniella?” Greg speaks with spite. “We're broke and uneducated. You cut us off from our college funds, remember? Brent and I have no prospects but begging for shitty jobs and paying rent in bad neighborhoods. I hope you didn't think we'd bring you flowers.”
Realizing they need hard spankings, not a warm embrace, I get down to business. “Not in my wildest imaginings did I think you'd bring me anything, Greg. I did think, however, you might show some gratitude for the woman who kept a roof over your heads. You were Samson's charity cases from the day you were born. It was my heart that saved you from a worse fate.”
Brent and Greg flinch, disliking the ugly truth. Brent lowers his face, rubbing the sole of his cheap sneakers on the marble floor like a rotten kid with no class, leaving skid marks. “You don't care about us, Daniella. Quit acting like you do.”
“Don't pretend to know what I feel, Brent. You're too young and small minded to understand anything about women.”
He doesn't respond but I sense his anger brewing. Greg nudges his brother, then offers his opinion. “You say you care about us, but you've never been anything but a bitch.”
“How dare you, Greg.” I'm genuinely hurt by his blatant statement. “I’ve been many things to you, and I plan on being more—much more.”
Brent's arrogance subdues, revealing cracks in his hard exterior. “If this is a sick joke, shoving our faces in the fact that our father didn't love us, then we're out of here. We don't need to take it from you or anyone.”
“Brent, your father didn't love any of us. This is our common thread—our connection. And don't get me started with talking about sick jokes. I recall you being a rather twisted practitioner of bad behavior. My Angelica paid the price with her face, fifteen stitches across her forehead from you throwing a metal plate at her for giggles. As far as sick goes, you've won, hands down.”
I expect Brent to yank Greg out and split, but he wavers. “She deserved it.”
I'm struck by his nastiness, remembering Angelica screaming out in ear-splitting pain as streams of blood poured down her face. It was a prank instigated by Brent to hurt her—to destroy the enemy. Because he was only nine, there were no serious consequences—just a scolding by his mother. “You're a disgusting pig and you'll never be anything more.”
Brent's groin bulges through his jeans as I strut to him and Greg. “Oh? You like it when I call you names, don't you, pig?” The older one can't keep his eyes of my elevated cleavage. I've been assessing his groin, wondering if his length is comparable to the massive rod Samson had. I grab him hard by the balls, squeezing his full package with an undulating motion till the pleasurable reaction clearly outlines his unshaven face. “Meh. Your father was bigger.”
Greg bursts out laughing, not prepared for the harsh smack I send across his face. “You boys are undeserving, as usual. Samson's evil is in you both and there's only one good way to exercise the family demons.”
I've got their attention now, massaging their balls simultaneously. Greg's teenage pre-cum spots his jeans. “Follow me.”
From the second floor ledge, Angelica secretly watched the situation between me and her stepbrothers. Their bad attitudes sent her into a fit, worried about our lusty plan.
“I hate those boys,” Angelica growled at her maid. “They're awful, heartless beasts like their father.” Her upset makes her precious cunt ache, needy for relief. She's had fantasies about Brent and Greg that made her little hole clench so tight it brought her to orgasm—or at least that's what I read in her very explicit dairy passages.
Mina goes to her, ready to be of service to her teen mistress. Angelica has been cared for by Mina since she was seven. Her loyal servant lives to serve, including satisfying Angelica's womanly urges. Kneeling on a floor cushion, Mina dutifully lifts the freshly sewn dress up above Angelica's supple thighs. Her golden box exposed and drifting to Mina's face, she inhales the pretty scent of dewy pussy, tongue jutted out for a lick.
“Oh god, Mina, taste me.” Angelica cried out, loving her maid's attention. “Tell me I'm delicious. You love licking my pussy?”
Mina's licking is exact and precise with warm, wet, brush strokes across her clit's delicate tip till it swells. “I love it,” is Mina's muffled response, closing her mouth down on Angelica's opening like a suction cup.
Tongue pressing, then darting inside and out of the slippery slit, Angelica's legs buckle in Mina's hands. “I want them to do this to me! I want to be eaten alive, with their buried faces in my cunt!” Angelica's fire burns to a peak, hips locked against her maid's face. “My stepbrothers' tongues need to be inside me at the same time, licking hard in little circles—just like that!” Angelica's voice turns into an orgasmic, girlie squeal, fueled by a heady release from the pit of her curvaceous bottom.
Mina poked a pinky into the pretty hole between Angelica's rounded ass cheeks. “Ohhhh! So nasty, Mina! Put it in a little deeper...deeper!” Angelica has a thing for anal play at the height of an orgasm—like mother, like daughter. At nineteen, she's desperate to know what a big shaft up inside her quivering cunt will feel like and I don't blame her. I can't wait for the shafts to be inside me first.
Red and wet from nonstop tonguing, Mina's face is positioned for a wild finish. She drinks her mistress’s juice obediently, and begs, “More, Angelica. More!” Mina's the only one who's been intimate with Angelica like this. My daughter's been forbidden from sex with the butler, although she can blow him, and she isn't allowed to date. Inside the estate she's safe, protected from the users aware of her wealth.
Angelica rocks her hips back and forth, then rides Mina's tongue like a windup toy set free. “You stupid maid! You stay below me like that! Put your finger all the way up my ass! All the WAY!” Bucking and shaking, Angelica bursts cum on Mina's mouth and chin with a quick, orgasmic spike, panting and moaning. She smears pussy cream across Mina's face. “You wear my sweet juice back to other maids, and make them lick it off you.”
“Yes, Angelica.” Like a good maid, Mina cleans the satisfied pussy with a soft cloth, leaving kisses on her reactive clit.
Her nerves calmed for now, Angelica unfurls her curly blonde hair around her feminine shoulders, fluffing her breasts, too. “Boys, here I come,” Angelica says with a playful smile, deciding to make herself known.
“Mommy?” Angelica curls at my side, still warm from the heat of an inner lightning strike to the pelvis. Brent and Greg check her out with dropped jaws, not recognizing her late-teen transformation. The awkward girl bloomed, with medical assistance, into a sculpted beauty. “Is everything okay?”
“It will be in a moment,” I say, stroking my daughter's lower back, feeling a light layer of sweat on her skin through the dress. “Say hello to your stepbrothers. Can you believe how tall they are? And how strong?”
“Hello boys. You hardly recognize me, right?” Angelica slowly twirls in her glittery high heels. The hem of her long sheath sweeps the floor, encouraging the leg slit to open wide for them to perv on her naked body underneath. “And see?” She tips her head, pointing to the spot where the forehead scar was removed. “It's gone.”
“Looks good.” Brent catches himself looking straight down into her cleavage, nearly falling in.
Angelica retorts, not ready to show her nice side to them yet. “You two look like hell. Stinky. Don't you know how to bathe?”
The way Brent and Greg look at her confirms my intuition about the boys. Underneath their rough exteriors, they're good to go for whatever salacious activities we've planned.
Motioning for only Brent to follow me, with a wink I wave Angelica off. “Angelica, be a good girl and spend time with Greg in the parlor.” She smiles devilishly, taking wide-eyed Greg by the hand. “Yes, mo
ther, I will.”
The boys haven't seen the majority of the estate—kept in the servants' quarters until they were sent away. Brent behaves like a tourist in a foreign land as I lead him into my ostentatious master bedroom suite.
Brent maintains his cool disposition. “It's bigger than I thought it would be.”
I pinch myself to keep from stinging him with a sarcastic reply, opening my silky robe, feeling quite relaxed in my private room. “Samson wouldn't let me decorate the way I wanted to. It was liberating to strip away the old interior and make it extravagant—just what I wanted.”
“The part of the house we grew up in was like a small closet,” he says, his jealous streak blazing. “Three of us packed in one room.”
“Remember Brent, you were loved—I wasn't. For more than two decades I lived in this estate surrounded by backstabbers and disloyal, selfish people. The love your mother gave you was far more than what I had back then—or now.” My robe slips off my body, pooling at my feet adorned in feathery mules. Freezing at the site of my fleshy curves for the first time, Brent chokes on his spit. “But none of that matters now. We've matured and grown, yes?”
Brent shrugs. “I guess.” He looks at me like I'm talking gibberish, but his eyes show the fire of desire burns strong. Reaching for a priceless porcelain doll, I immediately slap his hand away. “No touching of the artifacts, Brent. You have a history. Want to touch something you can't break?” I offer him my breasts, sliding the lace down, just passed my dark, pouting nipples. Out pops one, and then the other, pointing straight out and wanting to be touched. “Roll them around in your fingers. I'll even let you suckle.”
