Step Mom: A Family Reunion Gone Wrong

by Jeremy Forsyth

  By then, I was so hard it began to hurt.

  My hands dropped from her face to her ass. I cupped both cheeks and with ease, lifted her from the ground. She wrapped her legs around me and I carried her to be the bed, still kissing, still feeling the ache of a hard-on desperate to break free from the constraints of the shorts that confined it.

  I threw her on the bed and the look on her face when she landed with a thump, encouraged me to go after her. I crawled on the bed towards her now spread legs, long, bronze, smooth like silk, parting to welcome me. She grabbed my neck and pulled my mouth back down to hers.

  She was laying on her back now, running her hands through my hair while our tongues wrestled. While I used one hand to support me, my other got to work in removing her bikini bra. It was easy. I flung it aside, began my descent from face to nipples.

  Her breasts were supple, perfectly rounded, the nipples themselves the lightest pink. I cupped one boob; the other belonged to my mouth and while I feasted, she started removing her bottoms. Once done, my one hand gravitated downwards, lured by the heat emanating between her thighs.

  I lightly glided a finger over the line between her lips, took pleasure in how soaked she felt, how sultry and sleek was the flesh and how eagerly she longed for me to slip a finger inside of her.

  I didn’t. Not yet.

  I was enjoying how breathless she was, how slowly, yet gradually, her desire, her pleasure, mounted. It was at that point that I noticed how she could not stop herself. She began removing my shorts at long last.

  Chapter 4

  That night I put on one of my finest suits and headed down to the bar, hoping my African Queen would be there. She wasn’t. It frustrated me. None the less, I decided to order a drink and once done, I turned in my seat to observe the view.

  There were tables all across the room, candles burning at each table’s centre, where the cutlery shimmered. Couples enjoyed quiet conversations together, some sat silent over their meals while one couple, seated beneath a massive plant, appeared to be toasting something exciting.

  All were dressed to their best; men in fine tailor fitted suits, the woman lavished in expensive gowns and elaborate jewellery, their hairstyles done to perfection, their skins gleaming beneath flickering candlelight.

  It all looked so peaceful, so serene… then my latest conquest arrived.

  The woman from earlier, who I had picked up at the pool, appeared on the arm of a much older man, one of those men who maintained an impressive moustache, whose graying begun at the temples and whose hands were either holding a cigar or a glass of brandy. Tonight, it was the former.

  He walked in smug, his lady solemn.

  But when our eyes met, recognition was realized and from it, came a slight curve of the woman’s mouth, which tonight, was beaming vibrant red. My drink was in my hand by then and I saluted her, then took my time enjoying how tight her ass looked in that dress, how the dress hugged her lithe curves.

  I was then reminded of our time together earlier, how tight had been her vagina yet how easily it had allowed me access; both my fingers, my tongue and then finally, my cock. While I had been piling into her, she’d wrapped her legs and arms around me, holding on for dear life while her gasps turned to moans before being silenced, her mouth gaping open, unable to emit a sound, as if at that moment, she’d run out of breath.

  I could still feel her nails digging into the hollows of my back, still could hear the sound of her scream when finally, she reached her climax. It had been a good afternoon. And the best part was, the temptress knew when it was time to leave.

  And leave she did.

  Presently, I watched her take her seat, noticed how other men stared after her and it was in that moment that I suddenly saw through the entire illusion of the evening, how everyone, everything, looked so perfect, so beautiful and elegant. But I realized that tonight was only recess. Behind closed doors, most of these people would be liars, cheaters, schemers, gold diggers, extortionists.

  They were all fake. They were all ———

  “I’ll have a martini please.”

  And there she was; my African Queen, a lady of high class and exceeding sophistication, who was pleased to find a seat right next to mine.

  With an upright posture upon a stool seeming too small to contain her ass, my African Queen got comfortable, one leg tossed over a knee, some parts of her thigh and calves exposed to the light, while at length, her beautiful black cocktail dress fell over the one side of the stool. The rest of her dress hugged her waist, her swelling breasts, the material light, see-through, over her mouth-watering cleavage.

  Her black hair was again, a tumble of waves falling over her shoulders, down to her back like a waterfall. Her make-up was done with surpassing skill; her full lips, slightly parted, took on a maroon hue, her high cheekbones unblemished, the dark mascara around her dark eyes, highlighting their enticing qualities, leaving the sweep of her eye-lashes flattering… enchanting.

  Then there was her expression; when she regarded me, it was immaculate and inscrutable… indifferent. Right at that moment, I knew that she knew that she could have any man in this room. But she didn’t care.

  “Barman,” I called, “put it on my tab.”

  I never took my eyes off of her. We stared at each other for some time but in the end, the contest went to me. She looked away when her drink was presented, where she offered an apathetic,

  “thank you”.

  She then began to dig in her handbag for a cigarette as if the man next to her, staring at her, wanting her, was not even there. It irritated me how easily she thought I could be brushed off, forgotten and dismissed as an irrelevant.

  She was about to receive an education on how steadfast was my resolve.

  I didn’t smoke but for moments such as these, I carried a lighter. I slid to her side of the bar just as the fag was brought to her mouth. I lit it and once more, our eyes became locked.

  “What can I do for you… Mr?” taking in the first drag, then holding the ciggy aloft, aloof from her face.

  I did not respond at once, instead, a slight curve of my lips was formed. I turned to the barmen and said,

  “I will have the same as the lady.”

  “Coming up,” the barmen responded.

  I faced her again and begun a brief but intent study of her alluring physical charm. She never once blushed, nor defected from my gaze. But mine did from hers when suddenly, I was drawn to the massive rock that graced one of her fingers.

  “I see you’re spoken for.”

  It didn’t matter to me. In the past, I had ploughed countless married woman. She took a drag, tapped the length of the fag over a nearby ashtray.

  “Indeed I am.”

  “And where is this husband of yours?”

  “His flight was delayed.”

  “And so you’re all alone?”

  “I am. But do not let that encourage you.”

  “You’re not my type.”

  “Good. I prefer men, not boys.”

  That hurt but I had mastered the art of concealing my thoughts long ago. As far as she was concerned, I was as immaculate, inscrutable as she was.

  “The manliest man in here could approach you and still notice the big “Fuck off” sign you’ve carved onto your forehead.”

  She looked me up and down, not impressed. “I obviously didn’t carve it big enough.”

  She turned her head, looked down upon her glass and picked it up before motioning to leave. When on her feet, she nodded solemnly,

  “Have a good night.”

  I watched her leave with such yearning that I could feel the temperature of the room once more begin to soar, the way her ass swayed from left to right with every movement, caused in me, a lust I could not escape. I wanted her so badly and I was resolved to get her. For when had I ever not gotten what I wanted?

  Chapter 5

  I got two calls early the next morning; one was my dad, the other, a stinging headache from last
night’s excessive drinking. To compensate for my failure to sleep with my African Queen, substitutes had been required and acquired through charm, slight wit and a promise of untapped drinks… inside my room.

  “Yes I am having a good time so far,” I answered my father’s question, irritated by his sudden longing to act like a father who was concerned about his son’s well being. I leaned over the bed’s edge, sought the current time of the day. I found it, lay back and sighed with budding frustration.

  “You called me at 7 am!”

  “No I didn’t,” my father replied, nonchalantly. “It is 9 pm where I am.”

  I took the phone away from my ear, needing a moment to compose my rising anger. When I brought the phone back to my face, I ventured to sit up slightly from the bed. Next to me, there was movement.

  “Listen, dad, once this cursed reunion is done and I have met your new wife —

  “New mom, you mean, son,”

  “AH, new whatever! I need to hold on to your credit card for a bit.”

  The woman who’d stayed the night rolled over sleepily onto her side, where before, she’d been resting on her stomach, brown hair tousled above her head, lipstick smeared, mascara smudged. She was also stark naked and just now, a ripe brown nipple revealed itself beneath the white linen sheets.

  “Well, I am sure we can discuss it when I finally land and have arrived at the Evening Tide Hotel.”

  “No,” I said. “It is the Broken Rose Hotel. And who will be fetching you two from the airport? Or are you planning on taking an Uber?”

  “No, your new mother will be picking me up.”

  “So she isn’t with —— with you?”

  I had noticed the mischievous smile appear on the face of the woman in my bed but only until she suddenly reached beneath the covers, grabbed my cock, did I realize what intent that smile had.

  She began stroking. She was on her knees beside me and beneath her chest, the motion of her hands caused the dangling of her breasts to sway. I reached for one, coupled one, my head thrown back.

  “No, she is not. She had to fly home before me. But we’re meeting at the hotel. She should actually be there already.”

  I only half heard that. Just then, the tip of my cock had been pulled into the woman’s mouth and currently, was being licked, then sucked, then spat on. My hand had left her boob, was now running through her hair.

  “…I hear noises, son…” said my father from the other side of the phone.

  “Oh yeah?” I replied, feeling dazed as all blood rushed from my head to my now thoroughly lubricated penis.

  “It’s my new mom,” I told him, “You’re right, she is here, arrived lasssssst night,” I said with a groan.

  From the other end of the phone, I heard my father begin to chuckle.

  “Tell her I say hi, will ya?”

  “Daddy says hi,” I said, breathless.

  “Tell daddy to tell me when he’s about to cum, yeah?”

  Again, there was mild laughter from the other end of the phone, then a slight cough, a clearing of the throat.

  “Well have fun, son!” my father exclaimed. “And don’t worry if she doesn’t climax, she only does for full-grown men.”

  I slammed the phone down to hang up but missed. Before I got it right, there was laughter coming from the end but was silenced when the phone finally landed on the dial.

  “You about to cum?” asked the woman, which to me, meant that she was gradually getting tired.

  I put two fingers in her mouth. She knew what to do. She slobbered all over them. I then sat up, came behind her and brushed those fingers over the rim of her asshole. She had already gotten into position. I, however, was gearing up for it. Once I found my stance, I gently eased my cock inside her butt. Her head lifted up in response but dropped down when it began to feel good.

  I pumped until she started crying and by then, she was not so still anymore but was rocking her body in motion to my thrusting, which had become vigorous, almost aggressive.

  When I climaxed, my hard-on had not become flaccid, instead, it kept its composure, making me proud. The woman released herself, turned around and pushed me down onto my back. She then repositioned herself on top of me, stuck my penis inside her vagina and begun riding me until I felt her insides contract. I watched as her back arched while the power of her lungs became enough to wake up the other women sleeping in the lounge next door.

  Afterward, I laid on the bed catching my breath. The woman left to take a shower and after she came back, brown hair dripping, skin wet, droplets sliding down the curve of her boobs, her thighs and tummy, I found myself trying to imagine what my father’s new wife would look like.

  I pictured a woman well into her forties, hair cut short above her shoulders, thin lips, puffy cheeks, kind eyes and breasts that could smother a man. But then I realized I was imagining his previous wife, my mother, who he had divorced when she became unable to fit into those size 4 skirts he so enjoyed.

  I had no idea what his new wife would look like. I knew he had made liaisons of a few women in their twenties but they were all just hook-ups; surely he would not marry one? Surely he’d not bring home a woman who was so young that I could call her sister?

  But then again… this was my father we were talking about here. To him, tits were tits no matter the age, so long as they were firm, and the woman who owned them was as tight downstairs as a nun.

  When I finally got out of bed, I stalked naked into the lounge. I fetched one of the other women who had slept over the night before and together, I made it our turn to shower.

  Chapter 6

  The knock on the door was heard just as I’d come out of the shower, the rasping like an iron ball against my skull. My female guests were gathering up their things as I strode to the door wearing nothing but a towel.

  What do I find on the other side of the door? Some hotel attendant seeming ecstatic to see me, the grin that was pulled up by the corners of his mouth, practically reached his ears. He clasped his hands together in a gesture of excitement, said,

  “Ah, Mr ——”

  “What do you want?”

  “We’re just checking into to see if you’re enjoying your stay at the Broken Rose?”

  “Yes, yes, very much so. Thank you.”

  I was motioning to close the door, expecting the interaction to have had reached its end, when very regrettably, the attendant requested a further word.

  “I do apologize if this is bad timing, but the hotel’s manager requests an audience with you, Sir… in the control room…”

  “Control room?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  I frowned. “What is this about?” I demanded.

  “… Last night… you seemed to be having a good time by the bar. Perhaps… too much of a good time.”

  I tried to recall last night’s shenanigans, sent a probe to my brain in order to recollect any memory that was of an incriminating nature; nothing.

  “Well does your manager expect me to attend him in my bath towel?”

  “Certainly not, Sir,” he said with a pleasant smile. “I am happy to wait for you. When you’re ready, I shall escort you.”

  The control room hosted an atmosphere so thick I could cut it with a knife. It was so uncomfortable that I immediately decided when entering, that whatever it was I had done last night, I was not going to enjoy hearing about it.

  The hotel’s manager proceeded to show me some surveillance footage of what he called, ‘my performance,’ at the bar and while I watched it play out, aware of the staff standing behind me, I could not shake the discomfort of knowing that soon, I was about to witness a ‘performance’ that would not go down well with my pride, my ego, and self-preservation.

  I would be right.

  “Here it is,” the manager pointed out.

  I watched myself pull down my pants before a large plant stationed at a corner between the bar and the hotel’s lounge area. I then whipped out my Johnson and proceeded to give the
plant a golden shower. That wasn’t the worst part, at least not in my mind; the quality of the camera and its Zoom-in functions were off the charts.

  I shifted in my stance, uncomfortable, embarrassed. I could feel sudden heat rising to my cheeks.

  “I will have you know,” I began, after clearing my throat. “I’m a grower, not a shower.”

  “Well,” responded the manager. “Based on this footage, we’re going to have to take your word for it.”

  Behind us, one of the staff members failed at suppressing his snigger. I acted like I hadn’t noticed.

  The manager turned the screen off. He then turned to me and with practiced etiquette, begun saying,

  “Now. Obviously urinating in public is against hotel policy and so, I am sure you’d understand that what is required, to compensate for this incident, as well as ensure that we erase this footage from our records, is a certain fine that ——

  “How much?”

  The manager cleared his throat. “Well, given the nature of ——

  “How much?”

  “$500, Sir.”

  I pulled out my father’s credit card, watched as the footage was erased and while mustering what dignity was left to me, I returned to my room. There I received a call from a friend I’d made upon arrival at the Broken Rose, when venturing to practice my swing at the golf course. His name was Rick. He was a condescending asshole.

  “Great time last night, kid,” he said

  “Yes, yes,” I responded dully.

  “Were you able to handle all those women who stayed with you last night?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I saw the video,” chuckled Rick. “It’s on YouTube.”

  I want my money back!

  “Based on the footage, I didn’t think you had it in you to satisfy them all!”

  Rick could not contain his laughter. I threw the phone down and in a blind fury, I left my room to seek out the manager of the hotel. Along the way, one of Rick’s buddies who’d drunk with us last night, past me in the hallway, could not stifle the grin that begun forming when he saw me.