StepDaddy's Virgin Surpise
T. A. BEAU
StepDaddy's Virgin Surpise
T. A. BEAU
A short pseudoincest erotica story.
Copyright © 2024 T. A. BEAU
All rights reserved.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the writer and the publisher.
WORD COUNT: 4,900 words
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I watch Andrew kiss my mother before she leaves the house, oblivious to the fact that the bitch is cheating on him. I saw her phone open as she brought in groceries one day and read the text messages. The words and pictures still make me blush.
She and Andrew have only been married a couple of years, but he’s head over heels, blindly in love. So blind he doesn't see what’s so obvious in front of him.
“I love you,” he mumbles, pressing his lips to hers as he closes his eyes. My mother keeps her eyes open and pulls away, quickly wiping her mouth. She smiles and hums instead of replying to his declaration of love.
I watch, leaning against the counter. My mother turns and leaves, her eyes catching mine for a split second before she pulls the door behind her.
“Andy, why do you put up with her? You know she's cheating on you, right,” I say, looking at my stepdad. He is younger than my mom.
I remember when she bragged about being a cougar, snagging a young guy. He hadn't even been 30 when they got married, a doe-eyed guy who thought he had hit the jackpot on trophy wives. That was nearly a decade ago.
I was 14 when he came into our lives, dating my mom and quickly falling under her spell. I can't blame them, though. My mother is a slut and bitch, but she’s a knockout. She has an hourglass figure and is high maintenance, keeping the gray away with weekly salon visits.
Andy turns, pushing a hand through his dark hair. I love it when he does that, something so simple yet so sexy. He gives me a bright smile and goes to the stove.
“No, Josie, she's just a very busy woman. Why would she cheat on me? I'm a stud,” he says, laughing as he pulls out a pan and pancake mix.
I groan softly, wanting to agree with him, knowing it will only make things awkward. The words bubble up in my throat as my mouth opens.
“Be that as it may,” I start, my eyes widening at my statement, “She is still cheating. I know you try to see the good in everyone, but she is so painfully transparent, Andy. Please.”
I lean against the kitchen island, watching him mix the pancakes into a sticky mess. I can feel the movement of his hips against my side, bumping into me slightly. Closing my eyes, I swallow a moan. I can imagine what sex would feel like with him.
Imagining is all I can do really, filling in pieces from porn I have watched. Having never done the actual deed makes it hard to visualize how it will feel, though—the sounds and smells, the feelings in my body. I wouldn't be lying if I said I imagined Andy having the honor. In all my dreams about actually having sex, it’s always Andy. It has been that way for years now.
I imagine running my hands through his hair, over his hard muscles, holding onto his thick ass as he fucks me. I sigh heavily and open my eyes, inhaling the scent of pancakes mixed with his cologne.
I know where my mother is, know who she is seeing. It’s an asshole from the gym, a guy named Chad. He’s a typical dude bro type, muscle-bound with bleached hair and teeth.
I know she’s told Andy she’s going shopping when really, her red Mustang will be parked outside the gym, while she’s inside getting plowed by Chad, the personal trainer.
I shudder and move away from the stove, sitting at the table, watching Andy move around, dancing to the music only he could hear in his head.
He sways, bouncing, bobbing side to side as he cooks a small mound of pancakes.
They smell amazing and I know he will smell like that the rest of the day.
“Can we go to the store after we eat?” I ask, playing with my hair, coyly. He looks at me, nodding.
“Yeah, what do you need?” he asks, making me feel bad for the bomb I’m about to drop on him, already envisioning his cheeks turning red.
“Tampons,” I say, holding back a laugh at his reaction. His cheeks redden, and his mouth gapes open exactly like I expect. He’s adorably innocent, and I love him for it. The spatula drops from his hand as his nerves get to him.
I narrow my eyes, wondering what has him so nervous. I cross my legs, watching his eyes follow my movements.