Dirty Daddy

“Your father’s in the living room,” she says, gesturing her head back. “I wanted to talk to you.”

I’m silent. I’m not sure what the hell there is left to say.

Jocelyn takes a step closer to me.

All I have to remember to do is not move from my pledge. I’m not going to lay a hand on my dad’s wife. This is sick. It’s wrong.

But she most likely never took a pledge like that. She places her hand on my arm as she takes a step closer. I can smell her perfume.

“Lance, what happened today,” she says and pauses. Of course we were going to talk about this. There’s pretty much nothing else to fucking talk about. I just fucking met this woman. It’s like the only memory we have together. “What happened today was a mistake and can never happen again.”

Wait a second.

Did she just say what I think she did?

“What do you mean?” I ask. Shit. That didn't come out right. I just need to nod my fucking head and then go upstairs.

“Lance, I’m married to your father,” Jocelyn says. “And it’s a marriage I need to protect because other people are counting on me.”

I never knew this. Is she telling me that she was forced to marry dad?

“It’s just that, I hadn’t had sex in over six months,” Jocelyn says and looks into my eyes as if imagining just a few hours ago. “I think we both got a little carried away.”

Oh, thank the Lord. She’s not going to make things difficult. This is going to be okay. Hopefully, we’ll be able to file this away and never have to think about it again. We can move on and not let this affect us.

Then why does it feel like she just punched me in the gut? I mean, I’m supposed to be feeling relieved right? Why does a part of me feel terrible?

But Jocelyn takes my silence for consent. She smiles.

“I’m glad we got this sorted,” she says and smiles even more. “I just wanted to make sure we talked about it, before it got…weird.”

Well guess what, Jocelyn. It’s already fucking weird. There’s no way it can get weirder.

After a moment, Jocelyn looks at her watch.

“I think I’ll head to bed then,” she says. She’s looking at me and I can tell she’s debating whether to give me a hug or a kiss. She decides against it when I just stand there silently. I’m not trying to be mean. If I fucking touch her, or she touches me, I’m not letting her go.

I know that if she tries to hug me and feels my throbbing 12-inch cock pulsing against her thigh, she’s going to go fucking crazy.

I know that if she runs her hands down my abs, I’m not going to stop. Nothing is going to keep me from my goal of ravaging her again and pumping obscene amounts of my fucking semen all over her gorgeous body.

So she instead looks away and turns her back toward me, walking to the stairs.

I can’t say that I don’t spend the next two minutes watching her ass sway back and forth as she climbs the steps.

Is there even any way that a woman can climb steps sensually? Is that even a fucking thing? Because if it’s not, then my stepmother has just made it one.

God, just saying that makes me feel like I’m doing something dirty. It makes me stand there like an idiot for at least 5 minutes after Jocelyn’s disappeared down the hallway.

Eventually, I climb the stairs myself and head to my bedroom. I strip my clothes off, grab my cock, and think about jerking off. To those big titties of Jocelyn's. That round, perky, juicy ass. Those slender fucking legs.

No. I need to stop this.

Tomorrow morning, I’m going to call some of the sluts I used to bang in high school. Work out all my issues by literally fucking the shit out of them. Making sure they can’t walk afterward by fucking them so hard. That’s what I’ll do.

A bit relieved at my plan, it doesn’t take long for the alcohol to do it’s work and put me to sleep.

***