I Let My Step-Son Use Me
Christine has had enough of her husband's drunken impotence. She needs a man between her legs, and Randy's neglect is almost as hurtful as his insults. After another disappointing night, she accidentally catches her step-son leaving the shower. Bobby is 18, horny, and has the body of a Greek god. To ease both their frustrations, she offers to let the young stud use her whenever he desires! More
Christine has had enough of her husband's drunken impotence. She needs a man between her legs, and Randy's neglect is almost as hurtful as his insults. After another disappointing night, she accidentally catches her step-son leaving the shower. Bobby is 18, horny, and has the body of a Greek god. To ease both their frustrations, she offers to let the young stud use her whenever he desires!
I leaned against the sink and let the afternoon sun slide up my neck. I watched the sunlight glitter on my engagement ring, and thought of my own promises. Then I remembered Bobby's tongue, and his firm, greedy fingers.
The ellipsis appeared, telling me he was writing. I smirked as the minute dragged on, wondering what lengthy reply he was working on. But in the end, after I'd wrapped the dish towel over the oven handle and opened the refrigerator to see what had expired, he replied with only, "Did you enjoy it?"
I blushed like a schoolgirl. The blood tinged my cheeks, and I felt hot (and bothered?), felt him once more touching me between my legs. How many ways had he tried to phrase it? How many things had he written, and deleted, and obsessed over, before he finally found the simplest, truest way to say it? In a way, Bobby was more mature than most men I'd dated. But I couldn't make it that easy. "...what do you think?" I wrote back.
Another lengthy ellipsis. "I think you wouldn't be flirting with me if you didn't," he finally wrote. "Either that...or you get off on teasing me."
It was both, and he knew it. I texted back a heart emoji.
"Why?" he texted immediately. "You're with my DAD."
I'd been thinking about it all day. I didn't have an answer he'd like, or understand, because I didn't like or understand my own feelings on the matter. "He's being cruel," I texted. "And withholding. And I don't know what's happening anymore. He's drinking too much. I think he's lost interest."
"Doesn't make it right," Bobby texted back.
"I know," I wrote. "We both have to make some tough decisions. But my offer still stands."
The lengthiest pause, without ellipsis. I pictured him staring at his phone, wondering what I intended. "Your offer?" he finally wrote.
"If you need me..."
...you can use me. Just the thought of it sent a shiver up my thighs. Randall's house was beautiful, but lonely, and I was trapped inside it. I won't deny that I was bored with being a housewife, that I was, in some way, lashing out at my husband for denying me the simple pleasure of his touch. But it was also a means to freedom. I'd been inhabiting the role of "happy homemaker" for so long I wasn't sure who I was anymore. I was this drone, cleaning dishes, doing laundry, handling our finances and our budget, and sometimes even writing up Randy's lessons. When he was too drunk to focus, I let him sleep it off while I attended to his students' futures. It was easier to just do it than to argue with him. My life had become devoted to making other people's lives easier.
What was the logical extension of that? Making my body freely available to my horny step-son. It was so submissive, so wrong, but it made me feel something. I couldn't justify the decision to a court of law, but it filled a hungry hole. One that throbbed, and ached, for him. Bobby wanted, and I wanted, and together we could make each other feel good.
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