My New Step-Dad Read online

  I can relate.

  I’m the girl who can cry reading a silly romance novel, but remains dry eyed when her mother dies. It was weeks after the funeral took place that I was told she was gone. What’s worse was that I wasn’t even worried that I’d never heard from her.

  Watching the lightning flash across the sky, I close my eyes this time to feel the thunder. It’s a stupid idea, but I’m hoping if I feel the thunder, maybe it can shake the dam loose. I’m being childish, I know, but at least if I cried I would feel something. I should feel something, anything.

  I don’t know why I feel more alone now, because it’s not like I even knew her. Between nannies and boarding schools, I hardly ever saw her. Then when I was fourteen, she sent me off to school in France, where I stayed. She said she would visit at some point, but I guess she never got around to it. Not one time in my three years at school there had my mother come to see me, nor did she ask me to come home.

  A part of me had been hoping that maybe when I finished school I could come home and try to form a relationship with her. I even applied to a few colleges for pre-law and got in, but with her gone I have no desire to pursue that idea. I was only doing it to try to please her, and now I see how stupid that was. My mother was always going a mile a minute and had time for no one and nothing. Aside from work. That’s not a life I wanted for myself. What I do want is to feel connected to another person, to have someone tell me they love me. I think that’s what I was hoping for when I applied to law school. I could’ve gotten her attention; we’d have had things in common to talk about. I could’ve called her late at night and bitched about courses, and she’d tell me how great I was doing.

  How could I long for her attention so badly, but not miss her now that’s she’s really gone? I actually felt a small weight lift off my shoulders when I thought about not having to go to law school.

  Pushing myself away from the window, I feel my stomach growl. I’ve been hiding in my room since I got here last night. The idea of going out and seeing Bruce, my step-dad, wasn't one that appealed to me. I should’ve known any man who chose to marry my mother would be as cold as she was. Hell, I didn't even know she was married until I was told that I was being shipped back home to him.

  “Step-dad,” I say, rolling the words across my tongue. He was nothing like I expected him to be. When I thought of a step-dad, I thought of a man with greyish hair, wrinkles around his eyes. I thought of someone who was at least my mother's age or who looked like some of the fathers who came to visit the other girls in my dorm. No, it looks like my mom liked them young. Bruce looks like he is in his early thirties if I had to guess. He also looks like he stepped out of a magazine, and so did the woman hanging on to him last night.

  I thought it was strange he was already hooking up with another woman weeks after my mother’s death, but nothing about their marriage seemed normal. I wonder if part of the reason she was too busy to see me was because of him. Maybe she started another family, one that apparently didn’t include me.

  When he finally untangled himself from the other woman, he showed me around the apartment. First he showed me where my mom’s room used to be, and then he showed me his room, and finally my own. They didn’t share rooms? This was all getting weirder by the minute, but one thing was clear, Bruce didn’t like me.

  It showed from the moment the elevator doors slid open and his green eyes landed on mine. As soon as we locked eyes, the playful smile he was giving the woman in his arms dropped away. What made it worse is I felt my whole face warm from blushing. I’m sure it turned my fair skin cherry red with embarrassment. Public displays of affection are not common to me outside of a book, and I’m pretty sure I just caught them about to have sex, if the bulge in his pants was any indication.

  Instantly I hated the woman. Her perfectly shiny hair, bronzed skin, and a body I would die for made me so angry, and I’m still not a hundred percent sure why. Was it because he just lost my mom and here he was fucking another woman? Maybe he was always fucking her. Or was it the fact that a sliver of jealousy ran through me at the sight of her wrapped around him? I’d hoped that maybe that man wasn’t my step-dad, but maybe his son or a coworker. That hope crashed and burned moments later, leaving me with an uneasy feeling.

  I’m jealous that my step-dad has a woman he’s about to fuck and probably fucked last night. Fuck, if they came back to his place after, she might be here this morning. The worst part is I don’t think I’m angry for my mother, I think I’m jealous for myself.

  I’m chalking it up to being lonely. I guess I’m just desperate for attention. Yep, that’s it, I think, trying to convince myself that’s not a blatant lie. I can’t lust after my mother’s husband. Nope, I’ve just been stuck in an all-girls’ school for too long. I’ve been starved of affection. Yes! That’s it, I’m envious of the affection that was being shared, not the dumb slut who was hanging onto him.

  I clench my teeth, processing the rude thought I had about the woman. Fuck it, she is a dumb slut. I can think it all I want. Grabbing my hair tie off the nightstand, I pull my wild blonde hair into a messy bun on top of my head, and make my way through the condo to the kitchen. If I’m lucky, I won’t run into Bruce or his date from last night. The thought puts a knot into my stomach. Would they be in the kitchen playing house together? Her making him breakfast like a happy lovey couple. I long for something like that.

  I’m about to walk into the kitchen, when I hear Bruce’s deep voice, and I halt my movements.

  “No, we can’t have dinner again tonight.” He pauses for a long moment, and I realize he must be on the phone. “She’ll only be here for a few weeks, and I’m getting her out of here as quick as I can. Trust me, I don’t need a little girl running around here, you and I both know I don’t have time for that.”

  His words sting more than they should. Why should I care that he doesn’t want me here? Story of my life. Fuck him. If he didn’t want to have to deal with me then maybe he shouldn’t have married my mom.

  I stroll into the kitchen, ignoring him, determined to let the insult roll off my back. I hear him take a deep breath, and I can feel his eyes on me, but I pretend he’s not standing there, drinking his coffee, with the phone to his ear. I feel a small weight lift off my shoulders when I realize no one else is here. She didn’t stay over. Pulling the fridge open, I feel the cold air hit my body, and it’s then I realize what I’m wearing, or more accurately, what I’m not wearing. I’m so used to only being around and living with other girls that I didn’t think about my attire when I rolled out of bed this morning. I feel my nipples contract against the cold air, the threadbare strappy tank doing nothing to protect them from the chill. Goosebumps break out all over my bare legs.

  Fucking shit. How am I going to turn around? I’m standing in front of the fridge in nothing but a small tank top, tiny white panties, and my freaking knee-high socks.

  “No, Holly, lunch is fine.”

  I bite back nausea at the mention of Holly’s name.

  “Okay, I’ll see you then.”

  I hear his phone hit the granite counter and I cringe at the sound. I’d be surprised if it hasn’t cracked.

  “Where the fuck are your pants?” Glancing over my shoulder, I see his dark green eyes on my ass. Does he like what he sees? I’m nothing like Holly. In fact, Holly and I are night and day if you compare us, and sadly I have. Where she is toned and firm, I’m curvy and soft, she looks enticing whereas I look boring and couldn’t get a tan to save my life. Her legs go on for miles, and the only thing that goes on for miles on me is my hair, and it’s pretty uncontrollable.

  He looks so mad. If he could he’d spit fire from his nostrils right about now, he would. The fact that I provoked this much emotion in him is exciting.

  This is uncharted territory for both of us. I can tell by the look on his face that poking him would be dangerous. But for the first time in weeks, I feel something. I don’t ever recall pulling this much emotion from anyone. I was just
always there, the girl in the corner. Now I am standing in a kitchen, with a man who looks wildly pissed at me, and I want more. It wouldn't bring the tears I wanted moments ago, but it felt like it could bring so much more.

  BRUCE

  How can she walk around the house like that and not expect a reaction? I bet that’s why she did it. Does she always walk around in front of men like this? The thought that someone else may have seen her like this makes me murderous. I would like to think my feelings stem from a fatherly concern, but that would be total bullshit. She seemed so meek and innocent yesterday when she got here, but it must have been an act. I’m visibly shaking as I wait for a response to my question.

  Slowly she shuts the fridge, turns around to face me, and I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck. My imagination was nothing compared to what her curvy body really looks like. I can see every curve of her perfect, little, compact body. I can tell she would fit against me perfectly. She would be so easy to do with as I pleased.

  Her paper-thin top shows the clear outline of her areolae and her diamond-hard nipples. I can’t quite make out the color of them, and now I’m mad about that too. Fuck. I’m sure she’s not turned on by an old pervert like me starring at her, but my inner animal doesn’t care. He thinks her body is getting primed for him, and he’s ready to rut deep inside her. I could bend her over the kitchen counter, the cold granite top making her nipples even harder as I pounded into her cunt until I filled her with my cum. It would drip down her milky, plump thighs. Maybe I should leave those bite marks first. The cum would fill in the little divots as it drained down her legs.

  I blink hard a few times, trying to rid my brain of this image. I look down her body and see her panties are so sheer and small, I can make out the outline of her bare pussy lips.

  “Fuck.” I turn around to face away from her, but I still have the picture of her hairless pussy covered in see-through panties burned into my mind. I take gulps of air, but this only serves as more fuel for my inner beast.

  “I’m sorry, I’m used to living with girls. I didn’t even stop to think.”

  “You will need to stop to think next time, Sophie. I can’t see you like this. It isn’t appropriate.”

  “I didn’t realize that.”

  I turn back around. She can’t be that innocent. There’s no way she’s that unaware of her behavior.

  “You can’t be serious, Sophie,” I say, trying to make solid eye contact. If I look at her body again, I don’t know what I’ll do. Yeah, you do, my inner beast whispers. Bite her thighs first.

  Suddenly, she cocks an eyebrow and looks at me like I’m stupid. “Are you kidding me right now? I was with female nannies from the time I took my first bottle, and I was sent to an all-girls’ school the second I was old enough. I’ve only ever lived with girls my own age, and whenever I managed to glimpse the few guys I saw, I was always out in public. It’s not like I have a lot of life experience when it comes to living with a man.”

  She’s got some sass, I’ll give her that, but she needs to understand she can’t dress like this.

  “You have to be fully dressed when you’re around me. It’s fine if you want to sleep like that, but you need to be fully dressed in front of me. I’m not supposed to see you like this. You’re practically naked and I’m not supposed to see that,” I say, repeating myself. She needs to understand. Fuck, I need her to understand. Or this could all go badly.

  I don’t know what’s going on in her head, but in a bold move, she steps closer to me. I’m shocked at her fearless move and step away from her. My eyes dart down to her breasts again and see the slight jiggle as she walks towards me. Fucking hell, my cock is leaking inside my pants now, making my balls draw up like they are ready to cum.

  “You keep saying ‘not supposed to’ like you shouldn’t want to.”

  I stop my retreat, and realize how I worded my warning to her. It’s true. I shouldn’t want to see her like this but, fuck, if I don’t enjoy it. Shamelessly, I know it will fuel the masturbation session I’ll be having after I leave her. This one will be better than the one I had about her last night. The one she doesn’t know about, the one I had standing over her bed last night while she slept. I stood there, staring at her lips, imagining them wrapped around my cock until I came in my hand. This time I’ll have a better idea of what body looks like.

  “You’re too young. I’m an older man, not to mention your stepfather, and it’s not good for someone to see us like this. You’re not even legal,” I say, not sure if I’m reminding her or myself. I look down at her pure, innocent pussy and I see a drop of moisture on her panties. “Fuck,” I breathe out, and lean forward a little. I don’t know what my body is doing, but I try to get a hold of myself.

  “You’re probably right,” she says, and stops getting closer to me.

  I just stare at her pussy and wonder what it smells like, what it would be like to bury my face between her thighs.

  As if she reads my thoughts, her hand moves and covers it up. I growl a little at not being able to see her wet lips anymore, but it’s better this way. I shouldn’t be looking at her like this. I shouldn’t be doing a lot of things I’m doing, or thinking a lot of the things I’m thinking.

  “Go put some clothes on. I’m leaving for work. It’s Monday and my schedule is hectic,” I say harshly, and grab my phone off the counter. “The housekeeper will be here soon. I sent her an email about you.” I head to the elevator and don’t look back to see if she’s watching me leave. I get in and press the button for the doors to close.

  I own this floor, and this particular elevator is a direct connect to my home and the garage. Luckily, I manage the cameras and the emergency access on it. Once the doors close, I hit the emergency stop and pull my cock out of my pants. I don’t think I made it half a floor before I needed the release.

  My dick is already dripping cum like a leaky faucet. I spit on my hand and stroke my shaft, only needing a few pumps before I’m shooting my load. I cum so hard it shoots straight out and onto the door of the elevator. Fuck, my legs cramp and my vision blurs, and I can’t think of a time I’ve had a better orgasm. I have to hold on to the rail behind me to keep from collapsing to the floor.

  After a few more minutes, I pull myself together, I clean up elevator door as best as I can with the pocket square from my suit, and I tuck my still-hard cock back in my pants. The fucking thing won’t go soft and I don’t understand why.

  I’ve got to get my shit together. This can never happen again.

  SOPHIE

  My body buzzes with excitement as I make my way back to my room. I can’t believe I just did that. I don’t think I’ve ever been more turned on in my life. I can feel the wetness between my legs making my panties stick to me. I need to cum. Bad.

  I walk into my room and slide my white cotton panties down my legs. I toss them on the floor and grab a pillow off the bed.

  Always having to share a room with other girls, you had to learn to be quiet when you masturbated; it was something I quickly mastered. Right now I feel like it won’t take much to get me there. Never in my life had a man looked at me like Bruce just did, and never had I experienced such emotion. It was intoxicating. I felt alive.

  Looking around the room, I search for the perfect spot. When I see the armchair in the corner, I know it will work best for what I have in mind. Placing the pillow over the arm of the chair, I straddle it. It gives me what I need, firmness for pressure, but a soft surface for comfort. Just like I always imagined a cock would be.

  Spreading my legs wider, I start to move my hips. I close my eyes and fight past the shame I feel from the face I see in my mind. Normally my masturbation fantasies are of faceless men: heroes plucked out of my latest romance novel. This time there’s a face. Bruce, my step-dad. In my mind, everything about him is hard, from his eyes to the set of his jaw. I picture him giving me the same heated look he gave me in the kitchen.

  Rubbing my pussy against the pillow, I pretend it’s his lap
I’m straddling instead of the arm of the chair. I imagine rubbing my clit against his hard-on and using him for my pleasure while he sits completely still, fighting not to touch me. Pressing myself further into the pillow, I shudder at the shock of desire that shoots up my spine. He’d be so powerless to his desires, he’d suddenly lift me from his lap, slam me down onto his desk, and put his face between my legs. He’d need to taste me. He’d use his tongue and fingers to prepare my tight pussy for his cock. He’d be so worried about hurting me, because I meant everything to him. He’d do it for hours, just worshipping, not caring about anything else in the world. Only I mattered, and I was his everything.

  Every move of my hips sends streaks of pleasure through my body. My skin tingles as I think of all the things Bruce would do to my body. I move faster, pressing down harder as the images start to flash through my mind one after another until the orgasm breaks through.

  I shudder as pulses run through my body, leaving me shaky and weak. My climax hits me hard and it’s all I can do to hold myself up as I ride out the waves of pleasure.

  Rolling over, I collapse into the chair, letting the pillow hit the floor. I look down and see the wet spot my cum has left behind. God, if I came like that just thinking about Bruce, what would the reality be like?

  I think back to the woman from last night, the same one he’s having lunch with. Did he make her cum? Would he take her on his desk at work like I just imagined? I bet she’s more experienced than I could ever be. She could handle a man like Bruce. I’ve never so much as kissed someone. I didn’t even get an affectionate kiss from my mother, but I bet Bruce kissed her.

  I feel the sting of tears and I close my eyes to fight them back.

  It was only hours ago I was trying to summon tears, and now I can barely stop them. No, this isn’t the emotion I want now. I want what I had in the kitchen—the thrill of being wanted, an unfamiliar but exciting feeling. But how could I lust after the man my mother married? She may have loved him, but I’m skeptical she had that ability. It’s shameful, but I can’t seem to stop myself from lusting after Bruce.