My Stepmom's a Fox, But...

This started as the final chapter of another story, but that story veered in a direction unexpected. As such, I have re-done it as a standalone tale. I hope you enjoy.

* * * *

You noticed Selena. Of Hispanic ancestry, she was short, maybe five feet, four inches tall, with a curvy hourglass figure, wide face, big brown eyes, good lips, and nice round tits. I suspected a boob job. Her dark hair ended in long curls that ran past her shoulder blades. She was twenty-four; her presentation was youthful, but not childish.

She was also a flirt. I considered inviting her to my bed, but saner thoughts prevailed. Fucking Dad's staff seemed a bad idea and there was something about her I couldn't figure out, something worrisome.

I used my key to get into Dad's office one weekend, I needed to use the bathroom, and found Selena sprawled over her desk, Dad fucking her from behind. Caught red-handed, Dad confessed the affair to Mom and asked for a divorce. I've often wondered if I'd backed out of the office quietly that day whether Dad would have gotten Selena out of his system. Dad had cheated on Mom before. Mom wasn't stupid; I figured that, by pretending not to know, she forced him to keep it low-key. And I, by walking in on it, blew it all to hell.

Mom was devastated. Then it got worse. Mom and Dad shared the same social circle and Selena insisted on accompanying Dad everywhere. While a few friends stuck with Mom, most of society gravitated to Dad and his new companion. It was Dad, after all, who was the successful businessman, the patron of the arts, the champion of civic responsibility. He kept half a dozen of the city's most prominent charities afloat. During Christmas Mom visited her mother in Florida, returning to town only occasionally, leaving me home alone the rest of my senior year.

It seemed obvious to everyone but Dad that Selena loved the money. Before the proposal she said she wanted to continue working. After the proposal she quit, claiming to be overwhelmed by the demands of planning a wedding. While she said she was uninterested in material things, she allowed that the future bride of such a successful man needed to project a certain image; her credit card bills became staggering. Her small Japanese car was traded in for a Mercedes. As to her engagement ring, Dad didn't pick out that gaudy thing.

One final complaint. Selena used my anger at Dad to create an "us versus them mentality." Visits with Dad became difficult and unpleasant. She wasn't rude, it was passive-aggressive stuff. She'd insist on accompanying us to a football game, but become so antsy by the third quarter that we'd leave. She'd put Mom down, forcing me to either ignore the taunt or confront her in front of Dad. My room in the new house became her storeroom, my bed covered with her detritus, my closet stuffed with her clothes.

* * * *

The day before my high school graduation Bobby Jones, a friend who'd just finished his first year at the University of Alabama, dropped by Dad's house. Selena and Sarah, her best friend, had just returned from the mall. Bobby helped them unload. I figured he was checking out the chicks, but as we drove off he said, "I think I know those ladies."

Bobby made a few quick calls then showed me a video a fraternity brother forwarded Bobby's phone. It was Selena and Sarah, dressed in skin-tight clothes, dancing with an array of guys. It turns out that the two of them had occasionally shown up at Tide Pride, a bar frequented by Bobby's fraternity, partied, and picked out two studs, taking them back to their hotel for some blow-down-the-walls sex. The word was that the girls liked it hard and rough. They'd stopped coming around the beginning of the school year, which was about the time Dad had started screwing Selena.

I considered telling Dad, but our relationship was already strained and I couldn't think of an upside. Selena had stopped going.

* * * *

I worked that summer as a camp counselor in the North Carolina mountains. I enjoyed the outdoors and the kids, but most of all I enjoyed Renee, a Duke grade student in forest biology who was conducting research at a station near the camp. Twenty-five years old, she was of Scandinavian stock. Her blonde hair, which was so light it was almost white, ran past her shoulders. She had sky blue eyes and a clean bright complexion. Her chin and jaw were oversized, a "cocksucker's mouth" she'd say with a smile. She was six inches shorter than my six foot two inch frame and while she packed a few more pounds on her backside than ideal, they were balanced by her large round melon-like breasts. She was a country girl, raised on a farm, with a sweet unpretentious personality, a soft, almost hick, Southern accent, and a hippie sensibility, all of which masked her powerful intelligence.

She also loved sex. All the time. In ways I'd never imagined. I wasn't sure why I had been selected as the summer's fuck-mate; there were plenty of willing guys around. Best I could figure I (a) also loved to fuck, (b) was willing to let an older wiser more-experienced woman take the lead, (c) never told her what to do, (d) could go at it for hours, and (e) had a big, if not porn-sized, cock.

It wasn't all sex; we became friends. I told her about the failure of my parents' marriage - my anger at Dad, by resentment of Selena, how I blamed myself - and found compassion and wisdom. I fantasized about us staying together, but Renee was nothing if not grounded in reality. When I got too starry-eyed she'd remind me it was a summer fling.

Dad, who was heading for the airport for an overnight trip, bought me lunch the day I got back from camp. I told him about my summer romance. That night, missing Renee, I stayed up late drinking too many beers. I was woken by my phone. The text from Bobby said only, "Check this out - call ASAP." Attached was a video, dated the night before, of Selena and Sarah dancing with some college-aged guys. Through a throbbing hangover I called Bobby, who said the video was taken by a fraternity brother who, with a buddy, had spent the night with the ladies. They still liked their sex rough.

I called Renee; she was older and wiser. I told her what I knew and sent her the video. She called back, asked about the girls. When I mentioned Bobby's comment, that Selena and Sarah liked their sex hard, Renee's tone quickened. "Tell me more."

I told her I didn't know more. She sent me a text with further inquiries; I forwarded it to Bobby. He responded, she sent several follow-ups. Finally my phone rang. Bobby had lined up some of the guys who'd slept with Selena and Sarah. I hooked Renee onto the line and she spent ninety minutes peppering them with questions. After they hung up she called me back. "I think your step-mother's a submissive."

"What's a submissive?"

"A submissive? A submissive is a woman whose, well, natural sexual state is to relinquish control, to find a man or woman to whom she can surrender. I know it sounds like a contradiction, but its only when she does so that she finds peace and freedom, she can blossom only when deprived of choice. She usually needs her dominant to drag her there; she's probably too weak to defy society's rules on her own. Once there her universe is defined by the strength of her dominant."

I wasn't sure I understood, but said, "And you're saying that's Selena?"

"I'd need to meet her before rendering a final judgment, but yes."

"How do you know all this?"

"I've been a dom. A teacher in high school, a professor in college, one of my aunts, my mother's best friend."

"You never mentioned it."

"Didn't come up. I've done a lot of things I haven't told you."

I couldn't argue with that - she'd been the most innovative lover I'd known.

Renee continued. "Alabama-Birmingham has asked me to present my summer's finding. Figure while I'm in town you and I could get some sack time. It would also be a chance to meet your step-mom."

Renee back in my bed. Fuck yeah.

* * * *

Over the next couple of weeks Renee, amidst some great phone sex, taught a crash course in playing the dom. On Renee's first night in town - a Wednesday - Dad and Selena took us for ribs. The rest of the week, Dad mentioned, he'd be out-of-town. Selena, feeling competitive, had dressed to the nines. Renee wore jeans. Her unpretentious personality shone through and Dad was taken by this sweet low-maintenance woman. Selena's jealously was patent; she and Dad exchanged angry words that night.

Renee also took the measure of my step-mom. Clearly, a submissive.

During dinner I mentioned that Renee and I would stay in the city the next night. Selena noticed, then said she and Sarah would probably visit a friend in Tuscaloosa.

* * * *

Selena and Sarah had just finished dancing with two of the young studs under consideration for the evening's entertainment when Bobby, feigning surprise, introduced himself. They did not remember him; he said he'd met them that summer while visiting me. After polite small talk shouted over the pulsating music, Bobby excused himself. Sarah and Selena ducked outside. They were two randy bitches, but they couldn't pick up guys with Bobby around; he'd be sure to mention it to me. They headed home

These two horny unfulfilled girls got home to find my car. The house was dark. They figured Renee and I had used her car and headed inside for a glass of wine, kvetching about Bobby, and to devise a cover story if Bobby told me he'd seen them in a college bar.

The first thing they heard were the low guttural moans of raw sex. Being human, they tracked down the sound. I noticed them around 11:30 P.M., which means, if they drove straight home, they'd been watching for about fifteen minutes.

They watched for another ninety.

Selena witnessed a cock - much bigger than her husband's - bring Renee off over and over. She watched me perform cunninglingus - something Dad rarely did - until Renee begged me to stop. They watched me spew thick ropes of creamy sperm, grow hard again, and pound Renee like a piledriver. They watched me pay attention to every inch of Renee's anatomy, visiting not just breasts and genitalia, but hair and scalp, ears, lips, necks, hands, arms and fingers, the small of the back, the length of the spine, the fleshy cheeks of the buttocks, stomach, legs, thighs, the backs of knees, feet. Selena listened to a woman shout and yelp through orgasm after orgasm, a woman who, unlike her, never had to fake it.

As the evening wore on she also watched me dominate my older lover. When I demanded that my slut fuck me harder, Renee fucked me harder. When I told Renee how good my dick felt inside her, what a naughty nasty dirty little girl she was, told her how much she loved being fucked, commanded her to surrender her mind, body, and pussy, called her sex-doll, fuck-meat, fuck-toy, cum-rag, Renee screamed and came.

By the end of the evening Renee's name had been forgotten; she was cunt, pussy, whore, harlot. She was bitch, pet, cum-bucket, cock-whore, cum-slut. She was naughty girl, baby girl, good girl, bad girl, little girl.

Renee responded in kind. She begged to be fucked, imploring me to tear her apart with my dick. She whispered the nasty and the vile, renounced control of her body, pledged her cunt to her lover, her master, her king, her daddy. She begged to be reduced to chattel, to be fucked when, where, and how I pleased

She came on command and when she did she screeched in joy as her body convulsed and shook.

For the grand finale I tied Renee to Selena's bed and fucked her savagely. Sarah and Selena, the heat between their legs finally overwhelming their fascination with the our theater of of raw carnality, slipped out of the house, drove to Sarah's, raided her cache of sex toys and, dildos in hand, headed for separate bedrooms to try to extinguish the nuclear reaction burning between their legs.

Selena would fall asleep that night knowing the cock she had - my father's - was nothing compared to my heavy artillery. She knew her husband would never be able to satisfy her again. She knew the next time her husband she returned to Tuscaloosa to pick up an eighteen year old, she'd get second rate material. And she knew one more thing, something more subtle, but something that would take root in her subconscious. Selena had imagined she was a good fuck - she'd had no complaints - but she'd seen Renee in action; she knew she was no match for Renee's raw sexuality, that she could never go as long or as hard. She knew she was inadequate.

* * * *

Renee, who had expressed an interest in visiting Dad's business, offered to pick him up at the airport Friday morning and drive him to work before heading over to Alabama-Birmingham. Selena hadn't liked it, but muzzled her dissent. She didn't want to act the jealous shrew. Moreover, Renee was heading back to North Carolina the next day.

I walked into Dad's house at 10:00 A.M. Shoeless, dressed in her favorite blue jeans and a white cotton tank top with no bra, Selena was sitting in the kitchen idly shopping on-line, her mind fixated on what she'd seen the night before. She'd already masturbated once that morning.

When I entered the kitchen Selena, unconsciously, blushed and licked her lips. She stood, arched her back; her eyes dilated, her nipples outlined in her shirt. Her first question revealed what she'd been thinking about.

"Did you and Renee have a good time in the city last night?"

I poured a cup of coffee and stepped towards her. Selena, discomforted, stepped back.

"Steven, what's going on?"

When I didn't answer she added, "I don't have time to play games."

I stepped towards her, touched her cheek. She stared back, unsure of what to do, waiting for me to respond. I took a sip of coffee, placed the cup on the counter behind her, and stepped into her personal space.

"Steven, what's wrong. Speak up or get out. I'm busy." There was a hint of panic in her voice.

I glanced at her computer, letting her know I knew what she'd been doing, that "busy" was, perhaps, an exaggeration. Then, without a word, I leaned forward, thrust my tongue into her mouth. Selena's eyes combined shock and confusion. She was beginning to get it: I knew she'd spied on me last night.

I stepped back and waited, letting the suppositions and questions bounce around her mind. Then, my gaze locked on her, I said, "Step-mommy you know the answer to that question. We didn't go to the city. We fucked, all night long, even had an audience. You hung around long enough. Enjoy the show?"

She twiddled with her hair. Alarm was evident in her voice when she said, "Oh gosh, I mean, we didn't mean to barge in, its just that..."

I didn't let her finish. I covered her mouth, kissing her aggressively. She didn't return the kiss, but she didn't pull away.

I stepped back and looked into her eyes, my stare boring into her. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. She dropped her head, looked at the floor, tried to calm herself.

"You didn't answer my question, step-mommy. Did you enjoy the show? I dug the audience. Renee did too."

Selena's face went ashen, then she tried to gain control of the conversation. "Steven, you were in my home. I had every right to ..."

I interrupted her, my tone harsh. "From now on call me sir."

Selena didn't know what to do. She looked around the room, searching for someone, something, that might rescue her, struggling to damp down her racing heart, to slow down events. When she opened her mouth I stepped forward, pressed my body to hers, kissed her. Her lips parted. I pulled her to me and slid my tongue in her mouth. My hands went to the bottom of her tank top.

"Please don't," she whispered.

I hooked a thumb under the tank top, sliding it in one motion over her tummy and breasts, over her head, onto her back. It stretched from arm to arm behind her. Her chest and tits were exposed. It restricted her movement, unconsciously affirming who was in charge. I reached for her breasts. Sitting high on her chest, they were lovely, teardrop-shaped. The skin dark and tawny, there was a scattering of birth marks. The areolas were chocolate brown and capped by smallish nipples. I touched them; they flooded with blood.

"I asked a question. Did you and Sarah enjoy the show? You certainly hung around long enough. You were supposed to be picking up frat boys at Alabama."

Panic ripped through her mind. How did I know? What had Bobby said? Would I tell Dad? Distracted by these thoughts, distracted by my hands on her breasts, Selena stammered out her response. "I don't know what you're talking about. We just decided to go dancing; then called it an early night. We're sorry for spying on you, its just, its just..."

I trapped a nipple between thumb and forefinger and squeezed, not hard enough to damage, but hard enough to establish who was in charge.

"The question was whether you enjoyed the show?"

Gasping in response, unable to focus enough to frame a lie, the truth spilled out. "Yes, I've never seen anything like that, ever."

I leaned forward and kissed her. Tentatively at first, she returned the kiss. I released her nipple and, in a swift sure motion, unsnapped her jeans and pushed them over the curve of her hips and ass. They fell to her ankles. Just as her tank top restricted the movement of her arms, the jeans shackled her legs.

"Where did you to go after you left?"

"Sarah's. You need to stop. I'm married to your father."

"So was Mom, that didn't stop you. How did you masturbate? Did you use you fingers? A dildo? Did you eat each other out?"

Selena must have gleamed the consequences of my question. If she acknowledged how aroused she'd been, that she'd masturbated, I'd know I could have her. If she told me the truth she'd admit how much watching me dominate my older lover turned her on. She'd be letting me know, despite any objection she might voice, that it was okay, inviting me to do the same to her, to force myself on her, asking me to ignore any phony protest she might makes. She wanted to be deprived of choice; she craved the kind of fucking I'd given Renee.

Half-baked thoughts must have cascaded through her head. Should she surrender to the feelings that had been burning through her since last night, the memories that had recycled in her mind, the desire to be fucked like I'd fucked Renee? Had my comment about my mother shamed her, rendering her unable to lie? Did she rationalize her decision, decide that I was going to take her anyway, so she might as well capitulate?

Shaking, unable to meet my gaze, she diverted her eyes and gave in, dragging her friend under the bus with her. "Yes, we both did. I took one of Sarah's vibrators and went to the guest bedroom. I brought myself off over and over, lost count. I couldn't get the image of you fucking that girl out of my mind."

"You forgot sir."

Her voice low and weak, "Sir."

"Been thinking about it all morning?"

"Yes sir."

"Kiss me."

Standing on her toes, she pressed her mouth to mine. Her body, as if acting on its own, molded itself to me; I could feel the heat of her skin. When the tip of my tongue probed the outline of her mouth she parted her lips, inviting me in. The kiss went on, growing deeper, more sensual. Wetness gathered between her legs. She moaned. I kissed her again, more roughly. She brought her tongue to my lips and tried to coax them apart. I stepped back.

She looked at me through hooded eyes. Breathing heavily through a half-open mouth, she ran her tongue over her lips, passively waiting for instruction.

I grabbed the sides of her face and kissed her forcefully. The tip of her tongue flicked against mine. She moaned, tiny barely perceptible moans. She surrendered, lost in the kiss, lost in the force of my personality. My tongue took possession of her mouth, probing it, exploring it, claiming every crevice.