Life as a stepfather is fraught with difficulty in many cases. The step-children, no matter how adult and caring they are, will often regard the stepfather with some suspicion and disrespect for one obvious reason: he isn't their father but is now spending time with their mother and apparently taking all her attention.
In my case, with three step-daughters, it certainly has been the case with the younger two. I shan't go into detail, but I find myself being careful what I say and how affectionate I appear towards them or their mother. There have been a few occasions where a harsh comment has been made, "Don't pretend to love us like our father" or "Don't be so cuddly with our mother." So I've learnt to be cautious and maintain a distance with those two.
However, the third and eldest step-daughter, named Tilly, short for Matilda, has always been sweet and accepting of me and my love for her mother. She was about 20 years of age when I first met her mother and now is close to 35. On the first occasion I met her, she asked her mother, "Does he have a younger brother for me, do you think?" Everyone else had a good laugh but she was only smiling and looking sideways into my eyes.
Tilly has had a chequered history herself with two broken marriages to very unsuitable men, in the opinion of the family. My wife told me all about the tribulations of Tilly. And yet she's clever, very attractive and a successful entrepreneur in her own small way. Currently, she's married to a sort-of absent husband: he's away for weeks on end in his role as market developer for an international software company. I think that means a super-salesman. They have no children and seem to live together rather than being in love. But what does anyone know? They might be perfectly happy with their arrangement.
Tilly's first husband was much older than herself: late thirties, I think. He had a special liking for bondage and for corsetry. Even before their wedding, Tilly was laced into a tight corset every day and all day, and all through the night. She had a bath every day before bedtime and her husband cleaned her everywhere with his own hands. In her vagina and then in her rectum. He filled her with unusual enemas every few days and made her kneel in the bath whilst he fucked the enema out of her. Then it was drying and moisturising; before getting back into the corset for the night or the day. She had a collection of 50 corsets in various styles but all very tight on her waist and gradually becoming smaller as the years went by. And her nights were controlled by bondage gear including leg-spreaders, jaw-clamps, neck-brace, breast-globe ties and handcuffs. Every night, she was a prisoner in her bonds and her tiny waist. Unable to breathe properly or to empty her bladder unless her husband allowed it and went with her to the bathroom. Freed for those few minutes before going back into the bondage.
Eventually, Tilly's real father took a stand and complained about his daughter being held in a prison. There was an almighty argument, apparently, and the husband walked off in a temper. Tilly's father didn't ask her how she felt about her marriage or her husband's treatment of her. He decided that the husband was unsuitable. Anyway, two days later he filed for divorce on the grounds of irreconcilable differences.
Tilly's second husband is regarded in the family as equally a pervert. He didn't put her into corsets or other tight forms of bondage; but he insisted that she should wear inside herself every day and all day specially shaped vibrators, in both vagina and rectum; which he could switch on and off from a little control box he kept in his pocket. As their married years went by, he increased the size and complexity of the vibrators. Eventually, they were both the same size as Tilly's hands and their vibrations could be heard in a crowded room or on the train: and her lower body was in a state of constant pulsing movement whenever he switched them on. He would switch them on in public, such as in restaurants or in the supermarket. Once again, her real father accused her husband of cruelty and dangerous behaviour; and again didn't ask Tilly what she thought and wanted. Her husband walked out and they divorced within a few months.
Finally, three years ago, she married this younger absent husband and to her sisters she confided that he had almost no interest in sex at all. Let alone anything perverted.
I've been watching Tilly since she was just becoming a woman and continued to view her development, shall we say, ever since. She's about 5ft 6ins tall, weighs 8 stones 10 ounces, about 120 pounds, bra-size I judge to be 36C, waist about 28 inches, long light-brown hair almost golden, takes part in yoga exercises and in the local gym. Very fit, she seems to me. The thought of making love to her has been close to the surface of my imagination for many years but nothing has happened, of course. I had valued my own marriage too highly to have done anything stupid; so it is just in my occasional fantasy. And you can work out that I'm in my late 50s, like her mother.
And then it happened. We were staying with Tilly and her husband [though he was absent of course] for a long weekend during a local music festival. I don't have a strong musical sense, but I wasn't going to absent myself when the opportunity to watch Tilly presented itself.
My wife, her mother, made a hairdresser appointment in the town and left the apartment at about 11 AM. I was coming to the end of reading the morning paper and Tilly was finishing the breakfast-tidying routine in her kitchen.
I put down the newspaper and headed towards our bedroom, and met Tilly coming out of the open-plan kitchen. We avoided a collision but then we both stopped in mid-stride. Tilly looked up into my eyes and I looked down into hers; and a little lower. She followed my gaze, and smiled as she put her hands up to her blouse, and undid the top two buttons. Her bra became immediately visible to me, as she placed her hands underneath her breasts and pushed them upwards. She was the first to speak.
"Do you like the look of these?" she said softly, still looking straight into my eyes.
"Yes, very much," I replied and smiled but didn't move my hands, although I was holding myself back from reaching out to her.
"Then hold them and hold me," she said grinning broadly.
I reached forward and took the place of her own hands, cupping her ample breasts and squeezing them slightly from underneath.
Again, Tilly took the lead in speaking, "I've wanted you to hold me for many years. Now hold me close, please. I can't wait any longer."
I reached round her and pulled her to me in a real bear-hug, feeling my hands pressing on her waist and roaming around somewhat: up to her bra straps and down to the curve of her hips and her buttocks. And her breasts pressed against my chest.
It was my turn to speak, "Tilly, I've been watching you and wanting to hold you as well, for all these years."
"I know," she said softly with her head on my shoulder, "I've seen you looking at me and measuring me up," and she giggled softly.
"You feel and look wonderful," I said honestly, "And we've been very careful all these years."
"And I think you're a very special man, you look strong and knowledgeable. Would you like to make love to me?" she said even more softly, "I've been waiting for you all my adult life. I can't wait any longer," she repeated.
I had to be honest, "Well Tilly, I'm an old fellow and not sure I can do what you want. But I'll try if you can excite me."
"! think I can," she said, smiling broadly, "After all I've lots of experience of unusual things in bed; haven't I?"
"Really?" I asked because I was truly mystified by her meaning.
