10am, on a sunny saturday morning. Your alarm screams at you, startling you out of a nice dream you’d been having about a world full of delicious ice cream. You groan and reach out to slap the sleep button of the offending device, but overreach and fall off your bed with a thud. You squeal as a dull thud of pain radiates out from your butt where you landed.

Shaking your head, you rub your bleary, sleep-filled eyes and yawn. The alarm screeches at you again, but this time, you reach it and slap it until it shuts up.

Still mostly asleep, you stumble to your feet, rubbing your likely already bruising ass and totter out of your room, toward the bathroom to freshen up.

Through your still sleepy haze, you vaguely register the sound of hooves clip-clopping down the hall. You hear the sound of a sharp inhalation of breath and a pleasant aroma of lavender and sandalwood wafts into you as you bang into something soft.

Finally waking from your haze, you look up to see that you’ve just bumped into Deborah, your stepmother. She’s dressed to the nines and could enflame the libido of a tree stump looking like that.

Twenty four years old and blatantly a trophy wife of your wealthy widower dad, Deborah’s long auburn hair has been teased into perfect ringlets today. Her sharp green eyes are enhanced by a subtle shade of green eye shadow. Is that an artificial blush, or is she blushing organically? Her full lips, further improved by her favourite brand of cherry-red lip gloss, are half-open, as she stares at your sleepy visage in front of her.

She looks down at you, and you notice for the first time that in your absent-minded state, your hands have found themselves perched on her stunningly well-shaped breasts. You’re not certain, but you suspect that they must be at least large D cups, if not E. They are barely contained inside a cute lilac shirt, of which the top two buttons are undone, revealing the hint of a lacy violet bra, just the kind your dad likes best.

You also note that your leg has accidentally managed to find itself nestled in between her long, supple legs, barely covered by the cute pink pencil skirt she’s wearing. The skirt has ridden up on your thighs, revealing a matching pair of sheer red lace panties, easily visible through the near-invisible pantyhose she is sporting.

“Umm…do you mind? It’s our one year anniversary, and I am going into see your dad to surprise him at work…” she says, an edge creeping into her voice that she is clearly trying to suppress.

“Wha? You…smell good, Deb.” you reply, still not cogent enough to understand the situation.

She smiles her dazzling smile that could melt the south pole, and her perfect teeth sparkle in the light.

“Thank you, but I have to go, because surprises work better when they’re on-time. I’ll be back in a few hours.” she says.

Pulling herself away, your stepmother resumes her exit from the apartment. You watch, fascinated by the clip-clopping of her two-inch heels, and the way that they accentuate the supple sexiness of her legs. Her perfect hips sway slightly from side to side as she moves off, showing off her perfectly rounded ass to perfection.

She turns back for a moment, and her eyes meet yours. For just a moment, you could swear you see a longing in her eyes, as she bites her bottom lip.

Shaking your head, you finish the short trek to the bathroom and turn on the faucet, bending over to splash water on your face. The cool, refreshing sensation does wonders for your wakefulness – you can feel the sleepiness receding back into the depths of your head.

You look up at your reflection in the mirror. Just over two years ago, on your 16th birthday, you and your mom were in a tragic car accident on your way home from your birthday celebration. Your mom said she was fine to drive, but the authorities disagreed. You got out of that accident with a scar on your back. Your mom died a day later in hospital.

A year ago, your Dad married Deborah, in a whirlwind romance that seemed far too soon for you to handle. Since then, your dad has been colder, more distant toward you. He tells you that it’s nothing, and that he doesn’t blame you, but you know that he is lying. After a year spent getting closer and closer to him as you mourned your loss together, you’re finding it hard to understand why he is now treating you like such a third wheel.

And it isn’t Deb’s fault either. From the very start, she was never trying to replace your mom, and was always very considerate of you. She never tried to overstep, and she has never tried to wield any authority over you by way of her position to your dad. Hell, she’s the one that was insisting on you and Arthur (that’s what she calls him) spending daddy/daughter time together to maintain that bond. But Dad has been avoiding those too, recently. Claiming he has to work late, or that he isn’t feeling well. You may have only recently turned 18, but you’re not a fucking idiot. You can read between lines when they’re that obvious. It pisses you off SO MUCH that he can’t just talk to you about how he is feeling. You’ve tried so many times, but he always brushes you off.

Well, Daddy, it’s time that you learned just how smart your conniving little girl has become. You’re not a little girl any more. The last two years, your awkward body has blossomed into one that any young woman would be proud of.

You inspect yourself in the mirror. Your sandy blonde hair, still showing flecks of black from the last time you dyed it, flows down your back like a river. You quickly pull a comb through it to erase the traces of hair snarls from your recent sleep. You cast an evaluative eye over your body.

Dark blue eyes stand like two darkened azure gems. Your cheekbones stand elegantly pronounced on your face, running into a cute button nose. Your lips curve into a smirk as you run your hands down your body, smoothing them over the still growing rounded C-cup breasts, your nipples immediately hardening at the touch. You feel the sensation of your palms tracing down your slim waist, over your flat, fit stomach, toned from six months of cheerleader training.

Tracing down, you note the light, downy landing strip of your teenage mound, and smile naughtily as you remember the sensation of your best friend Chloe’s lips, tongue, and fingers a few weeks ago in the cheer squad locker rooms. You remember her calm, instructive words on how to please a woman, and her cute, passionate squeals as you put her lessons to good use.

You remember clamping your aerobic thighs around her head like a vice as her rubbing, licking, and teasing bought you to a thunderous orgasm, the explosions of insatiable pleasure rocking through your tight, fit teenage body.

You remember looking down at her in your light-filled haze, and imagining Deb down there, her impeccable makeup smudged, tasting your irresistible nectar, her lipstick all over your dripping wet cunt as she takes your virginity, all the while furiously rubbing herself through her soaked panties, wanting so bad to ask you to take her but not having the courage to ask.

It is at this point you realise your are touching yourself, stimulating the pleasure nerves of your clitoris as you imagine what your step mother would sound like as you drive three fingers into her, how she would lose that perfectly measured tone and scream with pleasure. How you’d force her to say the words that would put your daddy in his place.

“You made me come harder than he ever has…”

Your moist love-juices trickle down your inner thighs as you stimulate your tight flower to full bloom, as the power of your fantasy brings you over the edge, hard.

Panting, you notice that you are wearing that smug little smile as you regain your composure, and slip into the shower.

As the hot water washes away the traces of your sinful act, a realization hits you.

This could be more than a fantasy. You were totally naked when you bumped into her today, and that look of longing she threw you…

A plan begins to hatch in your head. It’s time to remind your dad who runs this family. You’re going fuck your stepmom harder than he ever could, and you’re going to record her saying just that.

And then you’re going to show it to him.

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