by Izzy Slam
“You have the nicest ass I’ve ever seen, sis.”
“She sure does. And I get to watch it while I fuck her.”
I wiggled my hips to egg them on, forcing both of them to groan. I then lowered my face between my brother’s legs and sucked his soft cock between my lips, giving it a hard tug as I fondled his balls.
“Ah, shit,” he said, spreading my pussy lips apart and giving a quick upward thrust.
I let out a squeak as he began licking my clit, using a slightly different technique than daddy had used. Tony was a little faster and a little rougher.
His cock got hard quickly as I sucked him, and I started moving my hips in a slow circle, rubbing my pussy all over his face. I felt some of his cum ooze out, just as dad slipped his dick inside my wet tunnel.
He was bigger than Tony, and I was so swollen from arousal, I could only imagine how tight I was.
“Damn, baby girl. You feel so good.”
I arched my back as he moved in and out, my vision practically blurred at the sensation of being fucked and licked at the same time. I bobbed my head faster and faster, working my fist up and down the base of Tony’s shaft. Every few seconds I’d pause and suck on just the head while massaging his balls, and he would growl and flick my clit faster. Then I’d sink my mouth all the way down, taking him to the back of my throat and swirling my tongue over his thick veins.
He popped me on the ass a few times and I would moan each time, the sting pushing me closer to cumming.
Dad’s hands went around my waist as he buried himself deeper, and then he started pulling me back to him, slamming me over his cock.
“Oh fuck! Oh fuck, yes!” he yelled as he plowed into me. So much for being gentle.
The desire built, my walls thickening and tightening. Tony reached up to my breasts and twisted my nipples in his fingers, and I ended up cumming so hard and fast, I didn’t have time to process what was happening.
My body jerked and I bucked my hips, crying out in pleasure with Tony’s cock still in my mouth. I came up and pulled in a breath before screaming, “Oh yessssssss! Fuck me harder!”
Dad obeyed my pleas, tightening his grip on my hips and driving in so hard he almost knocked me off my brother.
I took him in my mouth again and didn’t even get past the ridge of his crown before he dumped his load.
“Fuck yeah, baby sis!” he roared, giving my nipples another hard twist.
“Daddy’s going to cum in that pussy!”
“Oooh, yeah, daddy. Fill me up!”
His balls slapped against my wet pussy lips, and seconds later, I felt his seed burst forth, filling me up before seeping out around his thick cock.
I sucked Tony harder, deeper, faster, and his cum pulsed out with so much force, I damn near choked. But I loved it all so much. I wanted more and more.
He ended up stopping me several minutes later as he went soft, and it was then that I realized daddy had already pulled out of me, his cum dribbling down my slit.
Tony rolled out from underneath me as I fell on my side, pulling the pillows down and bunching them underneath my head.
They both joined me in bed—Tony spooning me from behind, and daddy lying down on his back so I could curl up with him.
“How was your first threesome, baby girl? I assume that was your first.”
I laughed softly and ran my hands down his chest. “Pretty awesome. Hope we can do it again.”
“I’m sure that can be arranged,” Tony said.
“You planted that dildo, didn’t you?” I asked, peeking over my shoulder.
“No,” he answered.
I started to pull a face when he explained.
“I got it from your mom’s bedside table. It was never in the bathroom drawer to begin with.”
I heard dad laugh, and I couldn’t help but join in.
I guess my brother wasn’t so bad after all.
~The End
Serving the Woman of the House
(Sexy MILFs)
***
After a separation leaves me frustrated and lonely, my rebellious stepson shows up on my doorstep. He’s not my responsibility anymore, but his father kicked him out, and he has nowhere to go.
His attitude and general sense of irresponsibility are intolerable, at least according to his father. But with me, Jonathan is a different person. He’s much more submissive than I ever dreamed. To my delight, a little bossiness is all it takes to keep my 20-year-old stepson compliant. And it brings us both unending pleasure.
I close out my email, feeling furious for the umpteenth time this week. Jonathan is in trouble, again, and Bruce, my soon-to-be ex-husband, is blaming me.
Me!
How the hell is it my fault that his son is troubled? We were married all of three years, and we only dated for six months before that. Jonathan was already sixteen when we first met; plenty old enough for his sense of responsibility and respect for others to be well established.
In the email he sent this morning, Bruce informed me that Jonathan had been fired from yet another job for calling out sick too many times. And the asshole had the audacity to blame my overbearing nature on his son’s laziness.
Well, I want to say, at least I’m not a complacent, weak pussy of a man who doesn’t know how to stay faithful.
By the time Jonathan graduated from high school, I’d lost count of how many times he had gotten into trouble for smoking in the boy’s room (weed and cigarettes), skipping classes, and let’s not even go into all the speeding tickets the boy got. And those behaviors were present when I first met Bruce.
I can’t even respond to the email right now because if I do, I will rip Bruce a new one. And that will start a whole sequence of nasty emails and text messages. And after two months of being separated from the cheating SOB, I just want the next ten months to go as smoothly as possible so I can divorce him once and for all.
I take several calming breaths and head to the kitchen to make some dinner. I don’t even get the pasta out of the pantry when I hear the doorbell. Great. Another solicitor. Seems like every other day they show up at my door right at six o’clock, ready to sell me the next greatest gadget. But when I see who it is, I wish that it was a solicitor. And before I can even get a word out, Jonathan is already giving me grief as a set of keys rattle in his hand.
“Did you change the locks or something?”
I feel my blood start to boil as I stand in the doorway with a hand on my hips. “Of course, I did. Your father moved out. It’s the logical thing for a woman to do.”
His face softens a bit and he shoves his hands in his pockets. “Oh, sorry. I guess that makes sense. I was just … trying to get in.” Flashing me an injured puppy look, Jonathan is playing on my guilt. Well, trying to anyway.
“What do you need?”
He lifts his eyes at me. “Can I come in so we can talk?”
I give it some thought for a few seconds. I know he just wants to bitch about his father and how unfair he’s being, probably ask me to talk with him. I’m guessing that he’s been grounded and wants his strong-willed stepmother to come to the rescue. I start to tell him no, that it’s not my issue and I won’t get in the middle of it. But then I remember that his mother died when he was a young boy of only four years old, and that’s what ends up playing on my sympathies.
“Sure, come on in.”
I move out of the way and he comes inside. It’s been a few months since I’ve seen him, but I certainly don’t remember him being this ruggedly handsome. His dark hair is mussed, and his arms are rippled with muscles. And there’s this youthfulness about him that makes me feel a little older than I want to feel.
“I was just about to make dinner. You hungry?”
“Yeah, starved. Thanks, mom.”
The fact that he’s still calling me “mom” lets me know he definitely wants something from me. Well, if nothing else, I’ll enjoy listening to all his tales of what a bastard his father is. And I’ll probably chime in with stories of my own.
Jonathan is 20 years old now—no longer a child who can be swayed to hate his father. No, that seed has already been planted by Bruce himself because he really is a fucking asshole.
I toss together some fettucine alfredo and a few salads, and Jonathan eats like it’s his last meal.
“That was really good, mom. Maybe tomorrow I can cook for us.”
I almost choke on a salad tomato. “Come again? Tomorrow?”
His face turns a dark shade of red and he squirms in his seat. “Yeah, it’s kind of why I’m here. Dad … well … he sort of kicked me out.”
Everything seems to spin around me, and I feel like I’m in the center of a vortex. This can’t be happening. It just can’t.
“Where are you planning to stay?”
“Well, I was hoping here with you. I don’t even think I got all my things out of my room after you and dad broke up. So, unless you’ve donated it to charity, I should still have a bed to sleep in, right?”
Fuck! He is right. Bruce had told me that he wanted a fresh start and bought all new furniture for him and his son. As an attorney, he made half a million dollars a year, so he could afford it, even with the ten grand a month he was paying me in alimony. More like hush money so I wouldn’t spill the beans about his affair with their firm’s bookkeeper. Which, if his boss knew about, would cost him his job and me my alimony, so staying silent wasn’t all that hard.
“Yes, Jonathan. Your bed and things are still there. I haven’t had a chance to get rid of them.”
Truthfully, I didn’t know what to do with them. I had considered converting his room to a guest room, maybe painting. But lacking a strong man to help me move the furniture around, well, it all got put on the back burner.
“So, does that mean I can stay?”
I could tell him no. And I actually consider it. But then I realize how nice it will be to have a set of muscles around the house. And he will have to get a job. That’s just a no-brainer.
“If you promise to get a job—and keep it—then I’m willing to let you stay for a while.”
His mouth lifts into a smile. “I’ll start looking tomorrow. And I’ll show up on time every day. I promise.”
I clasp my hands together on the table, wondering why he’s being so compliant with me when he’s always so argumentative with Bruce.
“That’s not all. I have a number of projects I’d like to get done around the house, too. If I ask for your assistance, I don’t want to hear any arguing.”
“Not at all, mom. Just think of me as your residential handyman.”
Wow. Residential handyman? If he was always this easy to get along with, I might just start counting my blessings. Doesn’t hurt that he’s young, energetic, and attractive. And his presence could easily bring some much needed youthful energy to my home.
It’s been so long since I felt attractive to another man. And having my younger stepson live with me could end up making me feel like a homely maiden, destined to live her life out alone. But at the same time, I can take advantage of his willingness to help and milk that for all it’s worth.
Starting now.
“Would my residential handyman be willing to make his stepmother a drink?”
“Whatever the lady wants,” he says, standing from the table. “You still keep your alcohol in the same place?”
“Above the refrigerator, yes. And I’d love a cosmopolitan.”
“Coming right up, mother.”
He rushes off to the kitchen before I can ask if he knows how to properly make a cosmo. But I know his friends drink. And if he’s spent any time around the opposite sex, he ought to know what our favorite drinks are.
I hear the liquor bottles clinking softly, and something warm stirs inside me. I like this, being waited on. Even if it is by someone who isn’t a love interest. It satisfies a longing that rests deep within me. A longing I never knew was there. A craving that throbs and pools between my legs.
I’ve never noticed this. But then again, a younger man has never showed an interest in waiting on me. It feels as though something has been suddenly awakened. And it’s so strong, it almost frightens me.
Minutes later, Jonathan appears with a martini glass filled with a bright red liquid, a wedge of lime split along the lip. It looks like he may have been a little heavy on the cranberry juice, but I won’t hold it against him.
“Taste it,” he says, setting it in front of me. “Let me know if it needs anything.”
I watch him as I take a sip, his face lifted as if waiting for my approval. It’s delicious. The extra cranberry blends perfectly with the extra liquor I can taste, and it makes me instantly heady.
“It’s wonderful. Thank you, darling.”
Jonathan rubs his hands together, making the muscles of his arms bulge. “Anything else I can do for you, mom?”
Is there? I could probably come up with a list of things, some of them probably not appropriate for a 20-year-old boy to be doing to his 40-year-old stepmother. I do like baths, though, and I don’t know that anyone has ever drawn a bath for me. I like the thought of Jonathan pampering his mother, getting her as relaxed as she can possibly be.
“How about running me a bath? I’d love to enjoy my drink in a mountain of bubbles.”
“Sure. That’s easy enough. You like your water warm or hot?”
I lick my lips, enjoying this a little too much. “Definitely hot. Thank you, darling.”
“I’ll let you know the second it’s ready.”
I watch him disappear, feeling those flurries stir inside of me again before settling between my legs. I’m looking forward to relaxing in the water and tuning out the world. Maybe I’ll let my fingers trail to my aching pussy and put out the raging fires. It’s been so long…
I quickly rinse our plates and put them in the dishwasher. I don’t want to ask Jonathan to do too much his first night here. And I’ll have to find that balance of making him feel useful while also getting what I want and need from him. As soon as I figure out just how much I need from him.
When Jonathan leads me to the bathroom moments later, I don’t expect to find what I do. He must have plowed through the cabinet and removed every single tea light I own because they’re all lit, casting sparkling lights along the walls and the bubbles.
“Oh my…”
“I’ll leave you alone now. Enjoy your bath, mom.”
He winks at me before pulling the door closed, and I find myself grinning ear to ear. I can’t help myself. My stepson is blowing me away.
I peel my clothes off and step into the tub, setting my drink and phone on the porcelain edge. The water is so perfect, temperature wise, that I actually let out a laugh. It feels more delicious than if I had run the bath myself. There must be something about allowing a man spoil me like this.
I stream some soft jazz from my phone and finish my drink, letting the alcohol percolate through my system, thinking about being spoiled even more and letting my mind run the gamut of possibilities. Jonathan seems amenable to everything so far, and I have to wonder if he’s warming me up for something big. Could he be having legal trouble? Or maybe he owes money to someone … dangerous?
Perhaps I’m just being melodramatic, and my stepson is simply appreciative that I’m giving him a place to stay, rent free. Maybe the real tension in the home always came from his asshole father, and now that he’s out of the picture, Jonathan and I can relax, have some peace for a change.
I’d like the think that’s it. That Jonathan is a good boy at heart. He just needed someone to give him a chance, to show what he’s capable of without yelling and screaming and threatening to punish him.
And as I entertain all the favors I can ask of my stepson, favors that I ask in a loving and respectful way, never in my wildest dreams would I expect an aching throb to develop at my core. But it does. I think about teaching him how to cook so he can prepare my favorite meals. And the thought morphs into a fantasy in which he wears nothing but my apron, his arm muscles rippling as he tosse
s the vegetables in the pan, taking care to cook everything just right before plating it and setting it before me.
I fantasize about him washing and folding my clothes, then carefully selecting the perfect nightgown for me to wear at night before turning down my bed covers. And I dream of him rubbing my shoulders and my feet, worshiping every inch of my aching flesh.
Oh god. I have to stop thinking like this. Jonathan is my son! I’m … I’m his stepmother. He wouldn’t ever want an old woman like me when, handsome as he is, he could have any young girl with perky tits, a bouncing ass, flawless complexion free of stretch marks, and … the list goes on and on.
But it is a nice fantasy, and it’s making me wet. I wish it wasn’t considered taboo to ask Jonathan to take care of the needs of the flesh, but he would certainly report that inappropriateness to his father, and the alimony would stop, no doubt.
All these lust-fueled fantasies are making my pussy throb. I could probably swirl my finger around my clit a few times and get off, but what I need to satisfy me, to really take the edge off, calls for the touch of a submissive, woman-pleasing man, eating me out then fucking me until I feel it in my soul.
As the water starts to cool, I reach up for a towel on the rack above my head, realizing that I forgot to bring the most recent load from the dryer, when there’s a soft knock at the door. Jonathan’s voice comes through the crack.
“Mom?”
“Yes, sweetheart, come in.” I don’t think anything of it since the bubbles haven’t melted down enough to reveal my ample chest.
He sticks his head in and quickly sweeps his gaze down the length of the tub. I wonder if he’s trying to steal a peek of me. “I just wanted you to know that I’m tossing some towels in the dryer, as well as your bathrobe. It’ll be nice and warm when you’re ready to get out.”
Tingles prick my skin—delightful tingles—and I give him a warm smile. “Your timing is impeccable. Could you bring me a fresh towel now?”
“Yes, I’ll be right back.”
If I thought he couldn’t impress me more, I was wrong. I lift some bubbles up in the air, blowing them off the palm of my hand. When Jonathan returns with two towels and a robe—neatly folded no less—I expect him to set them on the counter. But he doesn’t. Instead, he comes right to the bathtub and drops open the towel, holding it open for me.