It was Sunday night. Christy's mom, who was also my wife, was coming back from her business trip. I fucked my eighteen-year-old stepdaughter, Christy, for the first time Friday night, and we screwed like rabbits all day Saturday in a cheap motel. Christy wanted to keep fucking me all day Sunday, but I told her no. I had to save up something for her mom. If I didn't give my wife, Sarah, some good hard energetic sex, she would get suspicious.
"But I want more daddy!" Christy protested earlier that day.
"No. And that's final young lady," I told her. "Your mom has needs too. Now you're just gonna have to wait."
Sometimes, you have to be strict with your stepdaughter.
Christy and I drove together to pick her mom up from the airport. Christy's wandering hand kept reaching over the console, onto the bulge in my pants that she loved to touch so much. I kept pushing her hand away. We couldn't engage in any horseplay. It wouldn't be fair to her mom.
"I thought I told you no, not today," I reminded her.
"No fair," she whined.
"Fair or not, that's how it is."
She realized her complaining wasn't getting her anywhere, and she changed her tactics.
"Daddy," she beamed a smile at me and raised the pitch of her voice, making it as girly and cute as possible. "Remember the ride to the motel? Let's do that again."
My heart beat faster and I couldn't hold back a smile. Of course I remembered the ride to the motel. It happened just a day earlier. Christy sucked me off while I was driving, and when we got there, I came all over her adorable little face. That was fun, and I would have loved to do it again. But we were about to see her mom, and it would have been hard to explain to Sarah why there was cum on her daughter's face.
"We'll do it again," I assured my baby girl. "Just not now."
"So not fair," she folded her arms and looked away, pouting.
We arrived at the airport, and my wife was waiting for us waiting at the curb with her luggage. Christy and I got out of the car, and we both gave her a big hug. I kissed her and told her how much I missed her.
That night, at the dinner table, I couldn't follow a single word either Sarah or Christy were saying. How could I pay any attention? Even though I never really could, now I definitely couldn't focus on my wife's words. When Sarah told us how her trip went, I just encouraged her with "Uh huh" and "hmmm" and "you don't say," always trying to figure out the proper facial expression to keep her going and to keep her from suspecting anything. Since that was my usual contribution to our conversations, Sarah was blissfully unaware that her daughter had her cute little leg pressed against mine under the table.
It was a crazy scene, my stepdaughter on one side of me, the touch of her leg exciting me, while on the other side, Sarah had her hand on my other leg, squeezing it, smiling at me, giving me every indication of what she wanted to do to me later. I smiled back at Sarah, trying my best not to notice her dry hair, her split ends, her thick glasses, the wrinkles around her mouth when she smiled. Sarah was far from old, not yet even middle-aged, but she was starting to show the signs of getting older. On the other side of me, it was hard to keep my eyes away from Christy, whose skin was so fresh and smooth, whose hair was so shiny with a bounce whenever she turned her head. I really didn't want to judge Sarah so harshly, but I couldn't help it. There was just no comparison between the women on either side of me. One was halfway through her sexy years, and the other was just getting started.
Out of the blue, Sarah squeezed my leg even tighter. She moved her hand up, up my thigh, and felt my rock hard erection. She was obviously pleased, and had no idea that she played only a small part in getting me there. With desire in her eyes, she said to me, "I'm tired honey, take me to bed. And Christy," turning to her daughter, "you take care of the dishes, okay?"
"Yes mom," Christy reluctantly agreed.
We walked up the stairs and into our bedroom, man and wife. I undressed her to her underwear and lay her down on the bed, under the covers. I undressed myself down to my boxers and climbed into bed with her, ready to give my wife the proper servicing she deserved, with a little something extra to ease my guilt. When I reached my hand against her soft cheek to caress her, I noticed that her eyes were closed, and she was fast asleep.
"I suppose she really was tired," I thought to myself. "Maybe it was the jetlag."
I spent the next half hour wide-awake in the dark, too excited to fall asleep, not sure what I should do about it. I tried nudging Sarah awake, but it was no use. She was out like a light. Every time I tried to paw her breasts, she groaned, kept her eyes closed, and swiped at me.
Typical, I thought to myself. This was so like Sarah. Even when she held out the promise of wild sex, she rarely delivered.
I was lying there, stewing in frustration, when the bedroom door opened. The light from the hallway shined in, and, lit from behind, the Christy was standing under the doorway. She was wearing only her cream-colored satin bra and panties, nothing else. She leaned against the door jamb with one hand, and twirled her long black hair with the fingers of her other hand, teasingly. She bent just one knee, pushing her hip out to the side. She stuck out her chest and ass, accentuating her tight young curves. This was obviously a well-practiced seductive pose. And it worked. I was seduced.
"Hi dad," she said.
As hot as she was, and as much as I loved the sight of her, I motioned for her to go away. If Sarah woke up, it would be very hard to explain to her why her daughter was wearing nothing but a bra and panties, posing in the doorway like a streetwalker. Christy was in enough trouble with her mom for her usual habit of wearing tight tank tops and short shorts. But at least you can wear those outside in public, skimpy as they are. Her virtually see-through underwear, on the other hand . . .
She stretched one of her sexy legs forward, and ran her hand up her body.
"Do you like what you see daddy?"
I whispered as softly and harshly as I could, "Quiet. You'll wake up your mother."
"No I won't daddy," she said, as she slinked forward, crossing one leg in front of the other, swaying her hips with each step. "I put a sleeping pill in mommy's wine. She'll be asleep all night."
"You what?" I asked. "But . . ."
"I told you that I needed daddy, but you wouldn't give me any," she explained. She made her way to the bed, slipped her hand under the covers, and ran her fingers up my leg.
