My step-son cried out, his eyes white with fear. "Christine!" he yelped, and backed up and banged against the toilet. "I--"
"Shhhhh," I hissed. I put my finger to my lips.
I didn't think it was possible for his eyes to get any wider, but they expanded to little saucers on his flushed face. He tried to hide his manhood from me (as if hiding that thick masterpiece was possible), but I wouldn't let him. I slid my fingers down his cut forearms until they clutched his trembling hands. "It's okay," I whispered. "I know what you were doing in here."
"I-I didn't know the door was--" he started.
"But it was," I said. My eyes locked onto his. I tried to communicate all my bottled up frustration through my eyes, to overwhelm him like a snake charmer. Bobby was smart; he quickly understood I wasn't here to chastise him. Quite the opposite.
"Christine..." he whispered.
"You want some help, baby?"
His eyes darted to the open door, through the wall, to the stairs. He was wondering about Randy. His father. My husband.
"No," I said. I slid my hands around his naked flank. He was taller than me, and so much stronger, sculpted and firm in a way his father never was, and yet he trembled. It wasn't out of fear--not totally. It was the desire he barely held in check. I was his step-mother. I wasn't supposed to touch him this way, or look at him this way, but we understood each other. For this moment, Randy didn't exist. For this moment, I was for him alone.
"Show me," I breathed. I held his gaze as I sank to my knees. "Show me how horny you are, Bobby."
"Oh my God," he gasped. When I finally pried his hands apart, his big penis, with its unique and lustrous crown, wobbled above my upturned nose. "Christine..."
"No questions," I said. "Let mommy help."
That word. I turned it into something very dirty. He groaned with mad appreciation. His fingers wrapped around his shaft, and pointed it at my face.
"That's it, baby," I encouraged him. I gazed down at his hairy scrotum. I'd missed it in the mirror's reflection, but now I saw it up close. It hung between his thighs like a heavy bag, and the first thing I did was cup them to take the weight off his groin. Bobby would have roared like a lion if I hadn't shushed him mid-growl.
I gently squeezed his balls, and grinned at their twitchy response. "Oh, fuck," he gasped.
"So warm," I said. "Does that feel good, honey?"
"Yes," he gasped, staring down at me in disbelief. Slowly, he stroked himself against my face.
"Do you want to use my mouth?" I asked.
"C-can I?" I relished that look of wonder, of incredulous happiness, on his face. "Was this happening right now?" it said. He was in a daze, like a sleeper reeling between the truth of reality and the fantasies of a wet dream.
"Yes you can," I whispered. I gently cupped his balls, and rose up on my knees. I let his warm cock slide down to my chin, and opened my mouth.
"Oh my God," he groaned again. "Oh my God, Christine, you..."
"Shhhh," I whispered, and kissed the bulbous head. With a smooth twist of my neck, I guided it into my mouth. There was a fresh twinge in my core when I finally tasted the thing. My panties were juicy, stuck to my inner thighs, terribly uncomfortable in that terrible anticipation. My body could only handle the discomfort because it hoped they were coming off soon. The wetness was so thorough I could feel it soaking through my jeans. Was it the wine? Was it my frayed nerves? Was it the taboo act of sliding my tongue across my step-son's shaft?
I thought Bobby would cum right then and there. With one hand he gripped the bathroom counter, with the other he kneaded his troubled brow. "Jesus," he gasped. I slid another inch of him between my lips, and the hand on the counter leapt to my shoulder. "Christine, we shouldn't--"
"Mm-mm," I assented.
"But, fuck, but that feels so--"
"Mm-hmmmm," I agreed.
The conflict within him ended in an instant. It was the animal that won out. "Suck it," he growled. "Suck my dick."
I eagerly complied, reaching up to jack him off into my wet and welcoming mouth.
"Yes," he grunted. "Suck my dick, mommy."
That word. That tone. It greased my throat and let me take him as deep as I could handle. He was so thick that I dared not take him to the back of my throat (I'd suffocate!), but I did my best. Bobby's hand left his wet hair and went sliding through mine. "Yes," he groaned. "Yes..."
Excerpt from I Let My Step-Son Use Me. Now available on Smashwords at 25% off!