Stepmonster: A 2006 Afternoon

I swirled the last inch of pinot grigio in my glass and watched the restaurant lights fracture through it as Brittany cut in with a question.

“Remember Denny’s old BMW?” she said. “That black 3-series he kept spotless?”

I smiled. “You used to beg my dad for the aux cord every time he drove us anywhere.”

“Because your Civic’s stereo was a crime,” she sniggered. “And, I loved that car.” Brittany’s auburn hair was shorter now, sharper, the first threads of silver at her temples visible from the last time she’d dyed her hair. We were both forty-two, sitting in a wine bar that hadn’t existed when we were eighteen, in a neighborhood that used to be nothing but asphalt. “God, those last couple years before we graduated felt surreal.”

I nodded. “Especially after the wedding. Those centerpieces Lori insisted on were tragic.”

Brittany’s mouth curved. “I remember, she was already a nightmare to you but Denny wouldn’t hear it.” She set her martini down with a soft click.

“Yeah,after mom died he was a wreck. Then he met her. The trophy wife,” I added, sourly.

“I still think about that afternoon, though.” Brittany mused, a faraway look in her eyes. “You remember…after we’d started our first semester at community college? The one with Lori.”

My stomach did something complicated. Not unpleasant.

“Oh, I remember…” I said. “We’d gone to my place to do a little studying when we thought the bitch was at pilates or something…”

I looked at her across the table, then out at the rain-streaked windows, and let the present fall away. The restaurant noise faded and I was eighteen again, standing in the foyer of my dad's house with Brittany beside me and the smell of something sweet and skunky drifting from the sitting room.

---

August, 2006.

August in suburban Ohio was a wet, heavy heat that clung to your skin the second you left the car. My five year old Civic—the one my dad, Denny, bought me for my Sweet 16–idled in the driveway while Brittany and I sat for a second with the windows up, AC cranked, just breathing. Thinking about getting out in that muggy heat.

No black BMW. No silver Lexus. Garage door shut. The house looked empty.

“Step-monster home?” Brittany asked, already reaching for the door handle.

“Doesn’t look like it.” I killed the engine. “Probably at pilates or whatever she does when she’s not making my life miserable.”

We went in through the side door the way we always did. The moment we stepped into the kitchen the difference hit us—outside had been thick and humid; inside the air conditioning was cranked so high it felt almost cold. Lori never worried about the power bill.

Brittany headed straight for the cabinet. “Water. I’m dying.”

I grabbed two glasses while she filled them at the sink. That was when I heard it.

A low, steady buzzing. Soft, but constant. Underneath it, the tinny sound of laptop speakers—moans, skin, something that definitely wasn’t music.

Brittany froze with the glass halfway to her mouth. She looked at me, eyes wide, then put a finger to her lips and tilted her head toward the sitting room.

The door was half-open.

We moved quietly down the short hall and stopped just short of the gap.

Through the gap we could see everything.

Lori sprawled across the beige chaise lounge, her pink silk robe hanging open. Underneath, nothing. She was totally nude. Her bottle-blonde hair was mussed, the dark roots showing at her temples like a secret. Her eyes were locked on the laptop balanced on the arm of the chaise, mouth slightly open, completely absorbed.

Between her spread thighs, a purple silicone toy hummed against the pink-glazed folds of her pussy. The sound was wet and persistent. On the screen a blonde woman was on her hands and knees, a man’s cock in her mouth, another man fucking her from behind, the three of them moving in that mechanical porn rhythm that looks nothing like real sex and everything like performance. Lori’s free hand rested near the keyboard, fingers twitching every time the toy pressed harder against her clit. She was so focused on the screen and the sensation between her legs that she never heard us come down the hall.

The smell hit us then. Not just pot—good pot, skunky and thick—but something muskier underneath. Sex and sweat and the cloying vanilla perfume Lori always wore too much of.

Brittany's fingers dug into my upper arm. Not pulling me away. Anchoring herself.

Lori shifted on the chaise. The toy slipped, and she made a small, frustrated noise and pushed it back, the silicone disappearing between those plush lips with an obscene squelch. Her hips lifted to meet it. Her D-cups—god, they were heavy, pale globes with wide pink areolas the size of half-dollars—jiggled with the motion. The nipples were hard enough to cut glass.

I couldn't move. My pulse hammered in my throat and somewhere lower, somewhere I didn't want to examine, and my brain kept throwing up words like shouldn't and leave and this is your stepmother but my feet were bolted to the hardwood.

Brittany, though, she didn't hesitate. She pushed the door open and walked in like she owned the place.

"Britt—" I hissed, but I followed. Of course I followed. I always followed Brittany.

Lori's eyes flew open. Her hand fumbled the toy; it clattered to the chaise and kept buzzing, a fat purple slug vibrating against the beige fabric. She scrambled upright, grabbing at her robe, but Brittany was already there, plucking the laptop off the arm of the chaise and turning it to look at the screen.

"Well, well," Brittany said. Her voice was calm in a way that made the hair on my arms stand up. "Lori. What would Denny say?"

Lori's face went blotchy red. "Give me that. Get out. Get the fuck out, both of you."

"Of my house?" I said, and the words came out steadier than I felt. "Our house. My dad's house. You…you're just the woman who married him for his paycheck."

Lori flinched like I'd slapped her. Then her eyes narrowed. That mean little twist to her mouth that I'd seen a hundred times when she was telling me to ‘get a job, pay rent, contribute something, you lazy little freeloader.’

"You little bitch," she said. "Give me the laptop. Now."

Brittany tilted the screen toward me. On it, the blonde had a cock in her mouth, drool leaking down her chin, and another buried in her pussy, jerking back and forth on her hands and knees while the men groaned, thrusting into her from both sides. "Look at that," Brittany said, almost conversational. "Spit-roast. You like watching a woman get used, Lori? Or do you imagine it's you?"

"Fuck you." Lori lunged for the laptop. Brittany stepped aside easily, and Lori stumbled, robe flapping open again, those heavy tits swinging. She grabbed for the robe, but Brittany caught her wrist.

"Uh-uh." Brittany's grip looked light but Lori yanked twice and couldn't pull free. "We're not done."

"Let go of me," Lori said through her teeth.

Brittany smiled. Not a nice smile. "Danielle, get the toy."

"What?"

"The toy. On the chaise. Pick it up."

I looked at the purple thing still humming against the cushion. It was slick with Lori's wetness, the silicone glistening in the afternoon light. My hand moved before my brain caught up. The thing was warm. Thicker than I expected. The vibration buzzed through my palm and up my arm.

"Turn it off," Brittany said. "For now."

I found the little switch at the base and clicked it. The silence rushed in, and all I could hear was Lori's ragged breathing and the distant drone of a lawn mower and my own blood pounding in my ears.

"Now," Brittany said, still holding Lori's wrist, "here's what's going to happen. You're going to sit back down on that chaise. And you're going to let us have some fun."

"Go to hell."

Brittany's free hand came up and slapped Lori's left tit. Not a love tap. A real smack, the sound sharp and wet in the quiet room. Lori yelped. The breast jiggled hard, a pink handprint already rising on the pale skin.

"Try again," Brittany said.

"You can't—I'll tell Denny—you're insane—"

Brittany slapped the other tit. Harder this time. Lori cried out, a sound that was half-pain and half-something else, and her knees buckled.

"Tell Denny what?" Brittany said, still in that calm, reasonable voice. "That his eighteen-year-old daughter and her friend caught you getting off to porn? Smoking weed? In his house? While he's at work?" She leaned in close. "We have your laptop. We have your search history. How much do you think he'd like that, Lori? How much do you think he'd like knowing what his trophy wife does when nobody's home?"

Lori's mouth opened and closed. Her chest heaved. The handprint on her tit was darkening, and I could see—god, I could see—that her nipples were even harder now. Jutting. Dark pink and tight and begging.

"Sit down," Brittany said. "Last time I ask nicely."

Lori sat.

Brittany released her wrist and stepped back, hands on her hips like a general surveying a battlefield. "Danielle. Come here."

I moved on autopilot. Part of my brain was screaming what are you doing, what are you doing but another part, a part I hadn't known existed before this moment, was watching Lori's tits rise and fall and remembering every shitty comment she'd ever made about my clothes or my music or my friends, and that part was so, so quiet and so, so satisfied.

"When she backtalks," Brittany said, "you slap her tit. Got it?"

I nodded. "Got it."

"Good." Brittany picked up the laptop. "Let's see what else you've been watching, Lori. Jesus, look at this. Threesomes. Lesbian scenes. Oh, this one's interesting—'brunette forced orgasm.' That's a whole playlist."

"I don't—it's not—" Lori's voice was high and thready now, all the venom gone. "Please. Please don't tell Denny."

"Were you going to come?" Brittany asked. "Before we walked in? Were you close?"

Lori's jaw clenched. A muscle in her throat jumped.

"That's an answer right there," Brittany winked at me. Then she handed me the laptop. "Put it somewhere she can see it. Keep the video going."

I set the laptop on the coffee table, angled toward the chaise. On screen, the brunette was tied spread-eagle to a bed, and a woman with a strap-on was working between her thighs while another woman sat on her face. The brunette's screams were muffled by flesh.

"Legs apart," Brittany said. "Danielle, if she doesn't spread them in three seconds, the toy goes back in at maximum speed."

Lori made a noise that might have been a protest or might have been a sob, but her thighs parted. The robe fell fully open. Her pussy was exposed now, and I couldn't stop looking at it—the puffy outer lips, darker pink than the rest of her, shaved smooth except for a small triangle of trimmed blonde hair at the top. Her inner lips were visible even without being spread, two delicate ridges that were slick and swollen and practically glistening. Her clit was a small pink pearl peeking out from its hood, engorged and visibly throbbing.

My mouth went dry.

"Pretty," Brittany said. "Isn't it, Dani?"

"Yeah." The word scraped out of my throat.

"You want to touch her?"

"What?"

"Touch her pussy. She's been getting herself off so why shouldn't we get a turn."

Legs gone slightly wobbly, I knelt between Lori's spread thighs. The smell of her was stronger here—pot and vanilla and something sharp and wet and utterly female. My hand hovered over her mound. I could feel the heat radiating off her skin.

"Please," Lori whispered. "Please don't."

"Two seconds," Brittany said. "One—"

And Lori spread her legs, opening herself up to me.

I touched her.

My fingers landed on her outer lips, and Lori jerked like I'd shocked her. She was drenched. Not just wet from the toy—wet in a fresh, running way that coated my fingertips instantly. Her pussy was hot. Hotter than I expected. Softer too, the skin there like damp silk.

"Spread her open," Brittany said. "I want to see everything."

I used two fingers to part her outer lips. The sound it made was obscene—a wet, sticky sound, like pulling apart something ripe. Her inner lips were bright coral pink and absolutely slick. At their apex, her clit had emerged fully from its hood, a stiff little pearl darker than the rest of her, shiny with her own juices.

“Jesus,” I breathed.

“Is she wet?”

“Soaked.”

“You should taste her.”

I looked up at Brittany. She was already moving. One hand reached down and pinched Lori’s nearest nipple, hard enough to make the older woman jolt. Brittany’s other hand slid under her own skirt, and I could see the subtle shift of her wrist as she touched herself while she watched.

“Go on,” Brittany said, voice lower now. “She’s right there.”

I looked back at Lori’s pussy. Then I leaned in and ran my tongue from the bottom of her slit to the top.

The taste hit me first—tangy, salty, slightly sweet, with an undernote of musk that was pure Lori. My stepmother. The woman who’d made my life hell for two years. The woman who was whimpering and trembling under my tongue while Brittany kept working her nipple between two fingers, twisting just enough to keep her gasping.

“Good girl,” Brittany said. “Again.”

I licked her again. Slower this time. I flicked my tongue at her entrance and felt her inner muscles clench on nothing. Then I moved up and circled her clit with the tip of my tongue, and Lori made a sound I’d never heard before—a choked, unwilling moan that she tried to swallow and couldn’t.

“Oh, she liked that,” Brittany said, still pinching and rolling the tight peak of Lori’s breast. “Didn’t you, Lori? You liked your stepdaughter’s mouth on your pussy?”

“Fuck you,” Lori managed, but the words had no weight. She was shaking. Her hips were making tiny, involuntary thrusts toward my face.

“Dani, keep going.”

I didn’t stop. My chin was already wet, Lori’s slick on my lips and tongue, the taste of her filling my mouth.

Brittany moved closer. I heard the soft rustle of fabric as she pushed her skirt down over her hips and stepped out of it. When I glanced up, her panties were still on but pulled hard to the side, the auburn curls above her pussy visible, two of her fingers working slow circles over her own clit while her other hand stayed locked on Lori’s breast.

She pinched the nipple again, harder this time, and twisted.

Lori shrieked, back arching, heavy tits bouncing.

“You’re going to ask nicely,” Brittany said, voice tight with her own pleasure. “Ask Dani to eat your pussy. Politely.”

“I’m not—I won’t—”

Brittany twisted harder. Lori’s cry cracked in the middle.

“Danielle, will you please eat my pussy,” Brittany said in a high, mocking voice, still rubbing herself. “Go on. Say it.”

“Please,” Lori gasped. “Danielle, please…”

“Please what?”

“Please eat my pussy.” The words came out broken and humiliated and thick. “Please.”

“Good.” Brittany kept her fingers moving between her own legs, eyes fixed on the sight of me between Lori’s thighs. “Dani, give her what she asked for.”

I buried my face in Lori’s pussy and ate her like I was starving.

My tongue plunged between her folds, lapping at the slick heat of her, tasting every inch. I sucked her inner lips into my mouth and teased them with my teeth. I circled her entrance and then pushed inside, fucking her with my tongue in short, hard thrusts. She was tight around me, hot and clenching and wetter than I’d ever imagined a woman could be.

Above me Lori made sounds she clearly couldn’t control—little hitched gasps, stifled moans, once a full-throated cry that she cut off by biting her own hand—while Brittany stood over both of us, skirt gone, panties shoved aside, one hand tormenting Lori’s nipples and the other working her own soaked cunt as she watched.

“Hey, Dani, watch this,” Brittany said.

I felt her stand, then the soft shift of fabric as she swung one leg over the chaise. She kept her panties pulled to the side with two fingers and lowered herself straight down onto Lori’s face.

Lori made a muffled, shocked sound that turned into a wet, involuntary moan the second Brittany’s bare pussy settled over her mouth.

“That’s it,” Brittany said, voice tight. “Tongue out. You’re going to eat me while Danielle takes care of you.”

I stayed between Lori’s thighs and went back to work, licking through the slick folds, circling her swollen clit, then sealing my lips around it and sucking. Lori’s hips jerked. Her hands flew up, then dropped again like she didn’t know what to do with them. Every time Brittany ground down a little harder, Lori’s tongue clearly started working, because Brittany’s breath hitched and her free hand tangled in Lori’s bottle-blonde hair.

“Fuck—yes. Just like that,” Brittany muttered. She kept her panties shoved aside and rode Lori’s mouth in slow, deliberate rolls of her hips while I sucked and licked below.

Lori came fast.

Her thighs clamped around my head, her back arched, and a raw, muffled cry vibrated against Brittany’s cunt. I felt her clit pulse hard against my tongue as the orgasm tore through her. Brittany didn’t let up; she kept grinding down through it, holding Lori’s head in place with both hands now, panting as the older woman shook underneath her. The sight, the touch of the older woman’s tongue buried in her slit soon had Brit creaming all over Lori’s face.

That was fast,” Brittany said once Lori’s body finally started to go slack. She lifted just enough to let Lori breathe, her own wetness still shining on Lori’s chin and lips. “You really are a slut, aren’t you, Lori?”

“Stop,” Lori whimpered. “Please, I can’t—it’s too sensitive—”

Brittany ignored her. She looked at me instead.

“Dani. Jeans off. Panties too. Sit on her face and keep her quiet.”

I didn’t argue. I shoved my jeans and underwear down in one motion and kicked them aside. The air felt cool against how wet I already was. I swung a leg over the chaise and lowered myself onto Lori’s mouth, knees bracketing her head.

Lori made a muffled sound of protest. I settled my weight more firmly, feeling her nose press against me, her lips trapped against my cunt.

“Tongue out,” Brittany ordered. “You’re going to eat your stepdaughter while I take care of the rest.”

I heard the vibrator click on again. Lori jerked hard underneath me the second the buzzing tip touched her oversensitive clit. She tried to twist away, but Brittany simply pushed her thighs wider and held the toy right there, pressing firm circles against the swollen little nub.

“No—fuck—stop—” Lori’s words were broken and wet against my pussy. Her hands came up like she might push me off, then instead grabbed my hips and pulled me down tighter. Her tongue pushed out, hesitant at first, then hungrier, licking through my folds and sucking at my clit like she couldn’t help herself.

Brittany kept the toy working—sometimes directly on Lori’s clit, sometimes sliding it down to push inside her for a few deep strokes before returning to the overstimulated peak. Lori bucked and writhed, hips jerking, thighs trembling, but her mouth never stopped. She licked and sucked with increasing desperation, moaning into me every time the vibrator forced another spike of sensation through her.

“That’s it,” Brittany murmured. “Both of you. Look at her go. Sensitive little slut can’t stop eating pussy even while I’m torturing her clit.”

Lori came first.

Her whole body locked up under me. A raw, muffled scream vibrated against my cunt as the orgasm tore through her. I felt her shake, felt her fingers dig hard into my hips, felt her tongue stutter and then press flat against me as the waves kept hitting. Brittany didn’t ease off; she held the toy steadily against Lori’s clit through the entire climax, drawing it out until Lori was sobbing into my pussy.

The sound and the wet heat of her mouth and the knowledge of what we were doing pushed me over right after her. I ground down harder, riding her face through my own orgasm, thighs clamping around her head as I came. I felt myself pulse and spill against her tongue and chin, soaking her, leaving her mouth and lower face shiny and dripping with me.

When I finally lifted up, Lori was wrecked—eyes glassy, mascara ruined, lips and chin glistening, chest heaving. Brittany sat back on her heels, still holding the wet, buzzing toy, looking extremely satisfied.

"Britt—" I started.

"Flip her over."

Lori barely resisted as we manhandled her onto her hands and knees. Her body was limp, pliant, too exhausted to fight. From this angle, her ass was magnificent—two round pale globes with a pink, puckered asshole visible between them, and beneath that, her cunt, pink and swollen and still dripping.

"I want her from behind," Brittany said. "Hold her head down."

I pressed Lori's face into the chaise cushion. Brittany positioned herself behind Lori and slid two fingers back inside with no resistance. Then three. Lori whimpered into the fabric.

"You're so loose now," Brittany said. "So wet. I should fuck you with the whole toy. Would you like that?"

"No," Lori gasped. "No, please—"

Brittany pulled her fingers out and replaced them with the vibrator. The purple silicone disappeared inch by inch into Lori's clutching pussy, and when Brittany clicked it on to the highest setting, Lori's whole body went rigid.

“Now,” Brittany said, “you’re going to apologize to Danielle.”

“I’m—” Lori’s voice was wrecked, hoarse from screaming. “I’m sorry—”

“For what?”

“For being a bitch. For—” She broke off as Brittany twisted the toy inside her. “For the way I treated you. For making you feel unwelcome in your own house.”

“Keep going,” Britt said.

“For telling you to get a job. For saying you didn’t pay rent. For—please, the vibration—I can’t—”

“You can,” Brittany said. “And you will.”

She pulled the toy out and thrust it back in, hard, and Lori’s third orgasm hit her mid-sentence. This one was different—her pussy clenched so hard it pushed the toy out entirely, and a gush of clear fluid splashed onto the chaise cushion beneath her. She squirted, her whole body convulsing, and the sound she made wasn’t even a scream anymore. It was just a raw, animal noise of complete surrender.

Britt sat back on her heels, breathing hard, and looked at me with that same wicked little grin she’d had since we were fifteen. I felt myself grin back.

Lori stayed where she was, trembling, face down, the fight finally gone out of her.

- - -

Present

The wine bar came back into focus. Our glasses were empty. Outside, rain still streaked the windows.

“She was so much nicer after that,” I said, signaling for another round.

Britt laughed. “Mysteriously stopped caring about rent. Started asking if I was staying for dinner. Did your laundry without being asked.”

“Made my favorite meals. Never said a word about the music.”

“Funny how a single afternoon can adjust someone’s attitude.”

I smiled into my new glass. “It wasn’t just the one afternoon, though.” Britt’s eyes glittered. “No. It really wasn’t.”

We clinked glasses, the same private little look passing between us that we’d shared for twenty years.

“We should call her sometime,” Britt said lightly. “For old times’ sake.”

I glanced at my phone. Lori’s number was still in there, saved under the same simple name it had always been. Stepmother.

I didn’t pick it up.

I just smiled and took another sip.