“Clay! Clay!”
Gillian comes running out into the living room waving a little magical test strip.
“I’m preg….” She sees Preston. “…nant. Preston!”
“What….” Preston looks back and forth from one of us to the other. “THAT’S FUCKING SICK!!!”
He lunges at me, swinging away at my face with his fists. We fall to the floor. I fight back.
“Preston. Preston. Get off him before you both get hurt.” She tugs at his shoulders. “Listen to me, Preston. Clay and I both love each other. You’re going to have to accept that.”
I connect a right to his jaw and he falls off. We both get up slowly, breathing hard. Blood trickles from the corner of his mouth.
“This is unbelievable,” wiping the blood from his lips with his fist. “My best friend and my mom. What am I supposed to do, call you ‘dad?’” He chucks his half empty beer can at me. I swat it away like a fly. “How long you been fucking my mom? Huh?”
“Look, it just happened spontaneously last night, alright. We’re in love and there’s nothing you or anybody can do to change that so you might as well get used to it.”
“What, and be the laughing stock of the whole town? I can hear ‘em now. ‘Hey, Preston, does Clay tuck you in at night? Read you bedtime stories?’ Does dad know?”
“Not yet….Preston, I’m divorcing your father. My guess, he couldn’t care less.”
“This is too much,” Preston runs out the door headed toward the river.
I start for the door to chase after him but Gill holds me back.
“Let him go. He always hangs out down by the river when he’s upset. It calms him. He’ll get over it and come back.
We left a note on the door for Roger but he never came home. Late at night we heard Preston’s car rev up and then squeal out of the driveway. He was gone for a week. Who knows where. I spent that night in Gillian’s bed - our bed, now - We had an all night fuckfest and then spent all day Sunday resting. We made marriage plans and thought up cool names for the baby. Life is good.
Thank you for reading my dirty fantasy. Here are more filthy good reads:
Stepmom Vacation
“Goodness gracious me, Jesse, you look like you’re about to have a heart attack. Give me those bags. Come, sit on the sofa and put your feet up. I’ll get you a cold glass of lemonade.”
Jesse Christianson had just gotten home on summer break from college. His problem was his girlfriend, Allison Mills, had just dropped the bomb that she no longer wanted to see him.
“Our relationship has gotten stale,” she’d told him this morning in bed just as he’d rolled over onto her, wanting her sweet sugar. She closed her legs and rolled him back over to his side of the bed.
“What? Sweetie, Don’t you feel well?”
“God’s sake, Jess, open your eyes. How long has it been since you’ve given me an orgasm? You’re a great lover but you just don’t turn me on any more.”
He tried to rationalize this sudden bombshell but her mind was made up. They had no future together. It was best if he just packed his things and moved out. He couldn’t bear the thought of her spending the summer hanging out on Old Orchard Beach, bate for all the other horny college guys. So, he retreated home to Scarborough to his dad, Jack, and stepmom, Kate.
“Here you are, honey,” Kate said, handing him the ice-cold glass of lemonade and sitting down beside him. His stepmom, had seductive shoulder length blonde hair and a great athletic figure for a forty-year-old. Having just returned from her morning yoga class, she was still in her tight yoga pants and tank that showed exactly how well endowed her motherly figure was. Kate defined the term MILF. But Mom-I’d-Like-to-Fuck was a foreign concept to Jesse. He had Allison-on-the-mind and the hole she’d left in his heart was eating him alive.
“Thanks, mom,” taking a refreshing sip. The lemonade did wonders for his parched throat. “I needed that.”
“Good,” patting his jean clad leg. “I hate to see you like this, sweetie, tell what’s wrong.” She looked into his eyes with a steady comforting gaze that said, “Tell me all your troubles. Let them dissolve into my loving care.”
“It’s Allison, mom,” his voice shaking. He set the glass of lemonade on the coffee table, afraid of spilling it on the new beige sofa. “She’s dumped me,” the words barely coming out in a whisper. He raised his hand to cover his tears.
“Oh, sweet baby.”
Kate put her tanned arm around him, kissed his forehead, brought his head over to rest upon her bosom and stroked his blond hair.
Jesse’s biological mother had died in an auto accident when he was only ten. A couple years later Jack met and married Kate. With his dad putting in long hours to make his construction company prosper, it fell to Kate to help Jessie through the difficult years of puberty and the “girl-problem” years of high school. Thus she came to know her son well and could now offer him comfort in his current emotional crisis.
“Let’s talk about it, dear, and it’ll help you feel better. And you know I don’t like beating around the bush so let’s get to the heart of the matter. How has your sexual relationship been with her?”
“I just can’t figure her out, mom. We’ve been doing it every day. It’s been great. But this morning she says she hasn’t had an orgasm for weeks.” Jesse opened his teary eyes. His stepmom’s ample cleavage filled his field of view. Her supple skin was streaked with the tracks of his tears. They had run down and soaked the top of her white tank rendering their fabric nearly transparent over the ripple of her large aureoles and erect nipples. Until then he hadn’t been aware that she wore no bra. He felt a slight tingle at the tip of his penis. The awareness of which made him feel a little embarrassed and self-conscious. No way did he want to pop a boner while resting his head on his mom’s breasts.
PEG!
“These are hard times,” candidate Johnson Blunt (code-name Iron Balls) shouts out at the crowd of rabid supporters. “We gotta take the world by the balls! This country’s gotta get back to being the tough bastard she once was! She’s gotta get back her respect! As your leader I’ll put her back on top!”
Deafening applause.
BLUNT! BLUNT! BLUNT!
That arrogant shit’s in need of a good ramming. You’re mine big boy. I’m gonna stick it to the most powerful man on earth. That’s why I took this job. I’m gonna fuck Johnson Tiberius Blunt. The most powerful man in the world. Bank on it. Ms. Peg Masters is gonna ride you, Mr. Blunt. Gonna ride you like the great national wet dream. As a member of your personal security squad, it’s my duty to protect your ass at all times, Mr. Blunt. I’m gonna be on your ass so tight you’re gonna nominate me as your ramming mate.
We’re at a rally somewhere in the Midwest. I don’t know which state. We’re just moving too fast. We’re at some outdoor arena. Could be a state fair show ground. Some kind of livestock arena. But it looks like ten thousand people standing out there. Crowding the stage. That’s where I am. No more than five feet behind Blunt. He’s walking the stage. Cordless mic in hand. Working the crowd. The entire security team is on a heightened sense of alert because of the recent terrorist strike in Brussels.
“This nation needs to get Blunt!” He shouts.
Mad applause.
“What do you think of Connie Chilton’s stance on terrorism?” Someone from the crowd shouts, referring to Blunt’s Democrat opponent.
“I’m sure Connie can make a mean apple pie. But, I’m sorry, she just doesn’t have the balls to keep this country safe.”
Mad applause.
What a fricking dink. I’m really going to stick it to him.
DOWN WITH BLUNT!
A loud anti-Blunt demonstration is raging outside the show grounds fence.
DUMP BLUNT! PUNT BLUNT!
As a member of Iron Balls’ personal security team I’m alert to every movement he makes. My peripheral vision takes in the slightest motion from anything within spitting range.
I haven’t laid m
y girlfriend, Lizzi, in a couple weeks. That’s how long we’ve been on the road. The intensity of all this campaigning’s really got me horny. Horny intense.
Bet you’re wondering how a woman gets to work security for a top political candidate. Connections. Dad was Secret Service. Growing up, he taught me all the tricks of personal security. Stealth shadowing. Total vigilance. Complete awareness of your environment. Subduing combatants. We used to play bodyguard at rock concerts when I was in high school. I’d protect him. We’d be in the crowd. I’d see someone accidentally make a sudden move toward dad. Poor shit who made the move would suddenly find himself on the hardwood gym floor sporting a sprained ankle.
Getting back to Iron Balls, he’s got four people on his personal security detachment. There was one opening left when I applied and I had to fight for it. Me and this guy interviewed for it together. We’re both in the campaign manager’s office. Standing side by side in front of his desk.
“Ms. Masters,” the manager asks me. “How bad do you want this job? What makes you qualified to protect the future leader of the free world?”
Without saying a word, I swiftly stretch my right arm out behind my competition, grab his collar, and slam his face down on the manager’s desk. Poor guy crumples to the floor holding his face, groaning.
“When can you start?” the manager says, staring wide eyed.
See, to maintain my competitive edge, I belong to an all girls erotic wrestling league. Three rounds per match. First two rounds we get down and dirty flopping around on the mat like landed fish. Points are awarded for displayed acts of domination. Stripping off the other girl’s bikini. Titty groping. Nipple biting. Pussy whipping. Winner gets to free-for-all fuck the opponent in the final round. This all happens in front of a crowd of some fifty drooling perverts. I’m reigning champ. It pays the bills.
I pump iron. Teach Tae Kwon Do. Fitness train for Iron Woman competition.
But that’s all been put on hold till after the campaign.
Right now, Iron Balls owns my ass 24/7.
Like I said, I haven’t lain with my girl, Lizzi, in weeks. We do phone sex. Right now I’m so fucking horny.
SHIT!
A glint of gray gun metal flashes in my peripheral vision.
Blunt is directly in front of me working up the crowd.
Pure muscle reflex has me leaping at Iron Balls. He’s not much bigger than me. He’s five-ten. One-sixty. I’m five-seven. One-fifty. I slam the full force of my weight into his back. Entwine my left foot around his left calf. He falls face down on the stage. My steel-cable thighs straddle his legs.
Three gunshots ring through the air in rapid succession.
Screams.
Pandemonium.
People running.
Iron Balls is stretched out prone. Wind knocked out of him. I’m sprawled out on his back. Putting my body between him and the gunman. Just like I’ve been trained. I double arm-bar him to keep him from trying to get up before it’s safe. He struggles. I grind my pelvis into his buttocks. I control him.
The first time I saw my stepbrother pee it was by accident. It was at grandpa and grandma’s cottage on Pleasant Lake, at the family reunion last June. A ton of relatives were there so, I guess the bathroom was kind of busy. I was helping out in the kitchen - cleaning off the plates just after a huge lunch, scraping the scraps into the trash can. After I finished, the can was darn near spilling over. So, I decided to run the bag out to the garbage cans way out back behind the garage.
The back yard was big and some of my relatives had a game of touch football going. The garage sat way beyond where they played - along the remote dirt road that winds past the property. Turning the corner of the garage, walking behind it, out of view from everyone, I was about to drop the bag into one of the cans when I stopped… and slowly and quietly set the bag on the ground. I had heard a sound like that of rushing water coming from around the next corner. Was it a garden hose or something?
The side of the garage from which the sound came was concealed from the back yard by shrubs and brush. Was someone back there? I walked closer but then stopped when I saw the arc of a golden stream of pee. I calmed my breathing so as not to give myself away. Only the pee was visible to me at that point. I had to see who it was. I crept silently along the side of the garage - inching closer to the corner. Who ever it was, his penis came into view. It was long and thick and gorgeous. Pee was shooting out of its wide head with great force. He must have been holding it for hours.
My pussy, for some unexplainable reason, started tingling. I reached down and pressed my fingers into my crotch. It started getting warm down there. I had to take a chance at being discovered. I had to know who this mystery peeing man was. With my head at the very corner, I silently inched out one eye. OMG, it was Carl, my stepbrother. He did not see me because of his intense concentration on his peeing. Seeing that only heightened my excitement. His cock was poking through the zipper of his jeans. He held it loosely in his right hand.
A strange desire came over me? What would it be like to taste Carl’s pee? I imagined myself kneeling before him as he peed into my open mouth. The thought made me blush and feel warm all over. My panties started getting wet.
Carl finally finished, put his cock back into his jeans, zipped up, turned and rejoined the football game. He never knew I’d seen him.
I returned to the house - fielding questions from my cousins about what took me so long. “Got roped into a game,” I lied.
That was three months ago. I’m back at college, now. I’ve fantasized about the incident almost every day. I can’t explain how my new pee fetish developed. I just like to lie in bed late at night, get out my vibrator and fantasize about Carl and his big beautiful cock peeing all over me.
Carl and I go to the same college. He’s a senior and I’m a sophomore. We both live at home to save money. No matter how much I’ve desired it, though, I haven’t been able to see him pee since that day at the family reunion.
It’s the first day of class of the fall semester and I’m in the bathroom applying my face.
Knock on the bathroom door, it’s Carl, “Heather, will you be long? I have to go really bad.”
Can’t believe my luck. This is the golden opportunity I’ve been waiting for. Have to play this right, though. Don’t want him to think I’m some kind of freak.
“Come in, Carl. I’m almost done,” leaning over the sink, applying mascara. Through the mirror I see him rush in behind me. He’s got on a t-shirt and athletic shorts. Hair is a mess - evidently, just got up.
“Sorry, sis. Look the other way,it’s an emergency,” lifting the toilet seat, he pulls down the front of his shorts and that gorgeous cock, hard from needing to pee all night, pops out. I’m watching at an angle through the mirror while pretending to apply makeup.
He is so hard he has to manually force his cock down so that his pee won’t miss the toilet. He lets go and the sound is like Niagara Falls. I am so turned on. The air is hot and sticky from my recent shower. The odor of his pee fills the room - salty and bitter. I’m standing in my bathrobe - nothing underneath. I want to rub my pussy in the worst way. But I don’t want to give myself away to Carl. Like back at the family reunion, he’s concentrating heavily on his pee. Continuing to watch through the mirror, I press my mound up against the edge of the sink and subtly rub my aching clit into it. He has so much pee inside he seems to go on forever. I take a chance and slip my left hand down inside my robe and work my fingers into my pussy. He is so hot. His cock is way bigger than when I saw it before. So fucking gorgeous. Again, I imagine him pissing all over me and into my mouth. I’m going to cum. My hips are squirming. A tiny moan escapes my lips. My mascara pencil slits. My legs are quivering. Don’t know if my jelly knees will hold me.
“Ohhh, god,” shit, Carl heard that.
P CLUB
God, I love Carl’s ride. The way it growls and rumbles and you feel its motor humming all through your body.
We pull up
outside Humbert Hall just in time for my English Lit class. My best friend, Janine, is waiting there on the curb. She sees us and waves.
“See you tonight, Carl,” I get out, slamming the door.
“Have a good day, sis. Hey, Janine. Looking good,” smiling and waving before zooming off to his class.
“Hi, Carl,” she smiles back with dreamy eyes.
“Look at you, melting all over my stepbrother.”
“You are so lucky, Heather, living in the same house with that hunk.”
“Well, don’t have an orgasm. We’re late for class,” turning and heading into the building.
“What’s that funny smell,” crinkling her nose. “You trying out a new perfume? Smells like real toilet water.”
“Hot, ain’t it,” sniffing my pee-stained wrist. I hadn’t bothered to bathe after Carl gave me my golden shower this morning. Just let the pee dry and slipped on a tank and some tight white jeans. My skin has a sticky scuzzy feeling… like the rim of a urinal. Gives you a new attitude, like, petty shit like, how you look, and what others think, and rules and regulations don’t mean as much when you’re covered in pee.
In Lit class Janine and I grab seats near the back of the room. There are about thirty students. My B.O. makes me horny as hell. My mouth starts watering. And, a few minutes into the period, while Professor Goodyjohn is lecturing on the great American novel, I start licking my arms. Just sneaking quick tongue touches on my bare shoulder so as not to draw any attention.
“Today we’re going to learn how to create a blurb. An effective blurb is probably the independent author’s best marketing tool. For, after the book’s cover, it’s the reader’s first exposure to your story. And that’s where you snare him or her….”
I’m nearly squirming with pee lust and boldly run my tongue down along the inside of my right arm - from pit to palm. Yum. Looking around the class, no one seemed to notice. They’re all focused on the prof. I look up at him. He’s wide-eyed as a cagey old owl. Probably a perv. Not bad looking though, in his open collared oxford, wisps of dark chest hair peeking out from his stocky chest. He sees me eye-balling him and lifts an eyebrow at me as he continues his instructions.
My Best Friend's Mom (Loving Moms Book 3) Page 2