by Alexis Angel
News articles, interviews, tabloids—you name it. If it mentions Parker, I’m reading it. I like to go into things prepared, you know? It’s not like I take any pleasure in doing my mother’s dirty work, but since I’m being dragged into this, I figure I’ll go in prepared.
Thing is, I didn’t realize that reading up on Parker would be fun. Yeah, there, I said it: fun. Billionaire, bad boy, sex god; the man is the complete package. And the photos of him … Jesus Christ, it seems that after he left my mom he became even hotter than before. Sure, I watched him on the news from time to time, but only now that I devoted my whole evening to him do I realize how truly gorgeous he is.
Throughout the years, I tried to forget all about him. I told myself that all the desire I felt toward my own stepfather was nothing but a silly teenager fantasy. But I was wrong.
And you know what? I’m freaking wet right now.
Crap, I can’t believe this is happening to me. Not again. I spent most of my college years daydreaming of Parker, imagining how it’d be to have his naked body pressed against mine, but eventually I put all that behind me once I started focusing on growing my companies. But now it seems that hunger for Parker is coming back to me. Which, you know, is kinda messed up since he’s my stepfather and all. Not to mention that I’m supposed to start spying on him so that I can ruin his political aspirations.
Could this situation be any more fucked up?
Okay, I need to take a break from all this. I need to unwind or else I’ll go crazy.
I place my laptop on the coffee table in front of me, and I’m about to close its lid when my eyes meet the picture on the screen, the last one I was, ahem, analyzing. It’s from a photo shoot Parker did two years ago for a magazine, a complimentary piece to one long interview he gave. In it, he’s loosening his tie and offering the camera his million dollar smile, and I’d bet my company that this photo alone made thousands of women as wet as I am right now across the whole city.
Oh, screw it, I think to myself as I lie down on my couch, my eyes focused on Parker’s picture. Biting down on my lower lip, I place one hand over my stomach and then slide it down between my thighs, pressing the tip of my fingers against my pussy. I choke down a moan, and then decide to go all the way; I slide my hand underneath my pajama bottoms, feeling the wet fabric of my thong, and then press down on my clit.
Pleasure soaks my nerve endings all at once, and my eyes start rolling in their orbits as I imagine Parker right in front of me, that deliciously wicked smile dancing on his lips. Oh, I’d give a lot of money for him to be really here now. I’d just reach for his crotch and grab his cock, feeling it harden against my eager fingers… Oh, I bet the tabloids are right about his size.
Oh, God, I can’t stop myself now. I slide my fingers underneath my thong and, parting my inner lips, I slide my middle finger inside my pussy. I curl it upward like a hook, driving it all the way in and only stopping when I find that red hot button of pleasure, my G-spot. I press hard against it while, at the same time, I use my thumb to stroke my clit.
I close my eyes as my brain starts to overheat, all of its processing power used to render a mental picture of Parker’s body. I imagine the rugged muscles he hides under his tailored suits, and how it’d feel to run my tongue over the grooves between his abs… And, you know, with my tongue on his abs, it’d only be a matter of time before I went further down and found out exactly what he has dangling between his legs.
How big is he? Now that’s a question I’d pay serious money to see answered. Judging by what the tabloids spout, he must have a baseball bat between his legs. Which sounds like the most delicious thing I've heard all day. I can already imagine his enormous shaft sliding in and out of me, ravaging my pussy mercilessly…
“Oh, sweet God…” I moan, my quivering voice echoing throughout my empty apartment as I start moving my hand faster. I slide one more finger inside my pussy and start flicking my wrist fast, my fingers moving in and out of me at a furious pace. I pretend they’re his cock, stretching me wide and ruining me for all other men, and that just drives me completely insane.
I arch my back, moaning loud enough for my neighbors to hear, and take my free hand to my breasts, squeezing them eagerly. Images of Parker’s naked body flash behind my shut eyelids, and a burning need to feel his body on mine flares up violently, like a sword cutting my brain in half—rationality to one side, irrationality to the other.
“Oh, fuck,” I groan, my inner walls tightening around my fingers as my muscles start burning up. I hiss through my gritted teeth as a sudden spasm takes over my body, forcing every single muscle in me to twitch erratically, and that’s when a sudden moment of clarity overtakes me.
I must have him.
I will have him.
This has been a fantasy for too long.
Besides, it’s not like my mother forbade me from doing it, right? And it’s not like she’ll ever find out if it does happen.
Dear stepfather, here I come.
Parker
We've been driving for 15 minutes. I sit back in the black leather seat of my car as my driver navigates us to Amy's apartment.
A-my … those two syllables officially drive me wild. They raise my pulse. They make my heart kick. I even heard someone at the grocery store the other day say something that sounded like "Amy," and when I swung my head around, wondering if it was 'The Amy,' all I found was a toddler on the verge of a tantrum, pulling on his mother and saying, "weigh me," because he felt that he should get to swing from the produce scale instead of the bag of bananas.
I must be slowly losing my fucking mind.
A is a letter that seems to get my attention wherever I am now. And that day in the store, I swear to God, every fucking item starting with the letter A jumped out and reverberated in my brain—almonds, apple cider vinegar, avocados, angel hair pasta.
"Here we are sir," my driver says, pausing my thoughts.
I look out the car window at her building. It's nice. Nicer than I imagined, if I'm being honest.
"I'll be right back," I tell my driver. "Keep the car running. This'll only take a minute."
I walk briskly into the building and to the elevators, pressing the numbers to her floor.
As the elevator climbs, my thoughts return. I remember her back at the bar—the bet—the way she kept her legs slightly open, suggesting something more. Like she was on the verge of revealing a secret and I was going to be the lucky recipient of.
I remember the way I wanted to slide my hands between those butter-soft legs, or squeeze her tits, or slap her firm ass. The way I wanted to press my mouth to hers as she wrestled that cherry stem.
Ding!
The elevator doors slide open and I'm here. This is her floor. I shake those thoughts from my mind.
I walk over and knock on her door. And I smell her before I hear or see her—like a bouquet of roses, or a walk in a seaside garden.
Then I hear the lock jostle free, and she opens the door.
She stands in the frame and my eyes travel the length of her body. She has to be the most beautiful woman I've ever fucking seen.
"You look," I manage to say, "stunning."
"You don't look half bad yourself," she grins.
"Shall we?" I ask, extending her my arm. She nods, and grabs it and together we head down to my car. It almost feels like a silly, old-fashioned gesture, but in the moment I'm compelled to do it.
As we slide into the car, Amy sits close to me. She reaches over and rests her hand on my thigh. I play it cool and make small talk, even though my cock is obviously thrilled. I feel it leap in my pants.
"So, the Boat House?" I ask. "Have you been there before?"
"The view can't be beat," she replies. "A view of the lake—the history of it all—I love it."
"It's a good choice."
We make small talk, and before I know it, my driver is dropping us off and we're being led to a table with, as Amy mentioned, a clear view of the lake.
; I immediately order us a bottle of wine, and as we sit, and sip from our glasses, I say, "So, tell me more about your business."
"What do you want to know?" she grins. "There's cameras and there's sex." She's testing me. Teasing me? "I don't need to explain to you what I used to do in front of a webcam, do I?"
"Maybe," I smile. The truth is, I want to hear every fucking detail.
"Well, sometimes" she grins, leaning into me with her tits, "I would use toys, and I'd fuck myself for hours."
"Hours?" I ask in disbelief.
"That's right," she confirms.
At this point, I have no idea if she's just trying to raise my blood pressure, but it's working. My cock is fucking harder than it's been all day.
"And what else?" I ask, pressing her further. Her tits look good enough to eat. I try not to stare, but honestly, they look tastier than anything on the Boathouse menu.
"You do realize that I'm your stepdaughter, right?" she teases with a smile.
Fuck, the way she says that makes my cock leap even more.
"Yeah, and?" I ask. And the truth is, I don't care. It fucking turns me on more.
"One time, in my early days, my Internet went out mid session, so I had a cable guy come out to see what the problem was. Within a few minutes, he had it turned on and as my screen went live again, I had an idea. I asked all of the men viewing if they wanted me to ask the service guy if he'd fuck me."
"And did you do it?" I ask, eager to know how the story pans out.
"I did. I started the bid at $1,000 and before I knew it, it was at $2,000, so I asked the technician to come in my room. I was nervous, of course—I had never done anything like that before, and I revealed what I was doing. Without a second's hesitation, he agreed, and before I knew it, I had his cock in my hands."
"Was it big?"
"I think what you're really asking," she says, sliding her hand up my leg and within inches of my own cock, "is if it was bigger than your cock."
I stare at her for a moment, our eyes locked. "And was it?" It's a question but it tumbles out of my mouth like a dare.
"I think we should go find out," she grins.
In no time, we find ourselves back in the car, riding toward my fucking place, Gracie Mansion, and I can hardly contain myself. I lean into Amy and brush my lips against her ear. Then, I move closer to her mouth and bring my lips to hers. She exhales sharply, like she's been waiting for this moment all night, and I bring one hand to her hair and grabbing it, I pull her head back and kiss her deeper than I've ever fucking kissed a woman before.
I hear my driver cough, "Ahem, excuse me sir, but we're here."
As we step out of the car, Amy looks up at Gracie Mansion. "My, what a big …" and she looks down at the outline of my cock in my pants and back up at the house, and continues with a grin, "house you have."
"One of the perks of being mayor," I smile. "Would you like a tour?"
"I'd like more than just a tour of your mansion," she purrs, and I can feel desire coursing through my veins.
"I can make that happen," I smile back.
Amy
Sometimes a kiss is just a kiss, but sometimes … it’s something else.
The moment my lips touch Parker’s lips, I know I’m in for a wild ride. My heart is thumping fast and my mind is wired up, tapping into some inner well of pleasure. I feel the world around me fade away, and all labels vanish into thin air; forget all about stepfathers and stepdaughters, this is about a man and a woman.
I pull back from his kiss and, looking into his eyes, I feel two inevitable words making their way up my throat. I open my mouth and desire speaks through me, the words like rolling thunder.
“Fuck me,” I whisper, my heart feeling like a hand grenade.
“I thought a sweet girl like you didn’t know how to use words like that,” he says, teasing me as his lips curl into an eager grin.
“Oh, you have no idea how sweet I am. You haven’t even had a taste,” I shoot back, holding my breath as I take my hand and press it against his crotch. His eyes widen as he feels my touch, and I waste no time; I curl my fingers around his cock, tightening my grip on the growing shape under his pants.
“No, I haven’t. But just one look at you is enough to know you’re a sweet girl, whether you know it or not,” he tells me, resting both his big hands on my hips, “and I’m going to fuck all that sweetness out of you.”
His words are like honey and fire, and they take over my mind in the blink of an eye. I have no ready response this time, and so all I do is lean into him and surrender to his kiss again. His cock throbs against my fingers as we kiss, our tongues dancing around one another like two long lost lovers.
He takes one hand off my hips, and then I shiver as I feel the touch of his fingertips on the nape of my neck. He tangles his fingers in my hair and then yanks on it, forcing me to throw my head back. I look into his eyes, breathing hard, and he just pushes me against the wall with a growl.
I gasp as my back touches the wall, a sudden urge to feel Parker’s dominance taking over me. I reach for his shirt, hooking them on his collar, and now’s my time to growl. I yank on his shirt from side to side, forcing the buttons to pop off in fast sequence, and then I press my hands on his bare chest. I hold my breath and look at his chest, my eyes widening as I realize that Parker’s so much more than I had imagined; his pectorals are like sculpted muscles, and there’s a wall of bulging 8-pack abs covering his stomach. He has an eight pack, for God’s sake!
“Surprised? I’m not an old man, you know?” he asks me, an amused smile dancing on his lips.
“No,” I breathe out, my lungs suddenly remembering to start working again. “But you’re still my daddy,” I tell him, grabbing his cock so harshly that he groans.
“Yes, I am,” he replies, moving fast and reaching for me with his hand. He places it over the front of my dress, bunching it up between my thighs, and I let out a moan as I feel the pressure of his fingers right on my pussy. “And daddy’s going to take good care of you.”
Insanity. This is pure insanity. Out of all the men in the world, why did I have to succumb to the only one I’m not supposed to have? I’ve never really cared about society’s fake modesty, but fucking my stepfather? That’s a bit too much, even for me. But, the thing is, I can’t stop it. No, this river is going to run its course.
Letting go of his cock, I curl my fingers around his wrist and force him to press his hand harder against my pussy. I throw my head back at the same time, pressing it against the wall, and I moan as the pressure of his fingers on me becomes almost unbearable. I’m so wet right now that I feel lightheaded, both my brain and heart succumbing to the natural high of pleasure and anticipation.
“You like that, don’t you?” he asks me, his deep voice sending a shiver up my spine. He takes his hand out from between my thighs, but that’s just so he can slide it under the hemline of my dress. His fingertips trail toward my inner thigh, and then he’s on me again, the palm of his hand pressed tight against my drenched thong.
“Ah… I… I do…” I moan, struggling to get the words out.
Stroking the front of my thong with the tip of his fingers, he teases me mercilessly, drawing moan after moan out of my lips. Then, his fingers flowing from one movement to the other, he pinches the fabric and flicks it to the side. He presses the palm of his hand over my pussy and I gasp, the pressure making my insides clench, a violent urge to have him inside of me taking over my mind.
Reading my thoughts, he caresses my folds with his middle finger, moving it up and down in a repetitive motion. He only slides it in when I’m not counting on it, curling it upward like a hook and moving it straight toward that sweet hidden spot inside of me.
“Oh, God,” I pant, feeling his fingertip pressed tight against my G-spot. At the sound of my words, he presses even harder, my eyes rolling in their orbits as he does it. He lowers his thumb over my clit, then, and starts rubbing with the same abandonment with which he’s pressing o
n my G-spot. “That’s… that’s good,” I whisper, smiling as he handles my body with the expertise of a man who's seen it all.
Most men can’t even find a woman’s clit, let alone her G-spot. And that’s just sad, don’t you think? Thankfully, Parker isn’t like most men, and everything he does makes me believe that every second with him is a gift from the heavens.
“You’re tight,” he whispers, leaning in and brushing his lips against my ear. At the same time, he slides one more finger inside my aching pussy; he flicks his wrist slowly, moving both his fingers in and out of my pussy at a growing rhythm. “I love tight,” he continues, fingering me so hard now that I can’t even think of a response to his words. All I can do is stand there while he works me with his fingers, each movement of his hand like a sweet sting.
I want to tell him not to stop, to keep going, but I don’t have the strength to do it. When I open my mouth, all that I manage to do is whisper another quivering moan, my eyelids drooping as I feel a storm brewing inside of me. Perhaps feeling it, he drives his two fingers deep inside my pussy, pressing them both against my G-spot, and then he starts rubbing my clit even harder than before.
I succumb to his magical touch in a fraction of a second, my pussy tightening around his fingers as a violent electric spasm crawls up my spine. I throw my head back, bumping it against the wall, and let my moan spread its wings and turn into a scream of utter delight.
Using both my hands, I curl all of my fingers around his wrist and force him to press even harder, my G-spot burning as if his fingers were made of flames.
“That… that was so good,” I breathe out as he slides his fingers out of my pussy. He doesn’t reply; he just grins and, lifting his hand up, takes his two fingers to his mouth. He brushes his fingertips over his parted lips, my fluids making them glisten, and then smiles softly.