My Mother & Stepmother Ch. 02

"You look just like your picture," she said.

My mind blanked out after she said the I looked just like my picture. I didn't hear what she said next. Too busy staring at her pretty face and her shapely body, whatever she said didn't register in my brain.

She had big tits. I love big breasted women. What man doesn't love women with big tits? I wondered what her bra cup size was. With my mother a double D, and my father having a sexual attraction to big breasted women, I figured that Brianna was at least a double D, too.

"I'm Brianna. Your stepmother," she said with nervousness while holding out her hand to shake my hand.

Stepmother? What? Huh? She's my stepmother? She was so very pretty. Why would someone who looked like her marry my father? Why would someone as young as her want to be tied down to an old, unhealthy man?

One of the reasons why my mother wanted to have sex with me, she told me my father had erectile dysfunction. She told me that he hadn't touched her in years. She told me that even erectile dysfunction drugs didn't work on him. With Viagra not even working to make him hard, why would she want someone who couldn't even get an erection?

"With him not here to welcome you home, your father asked me to give you this," she said surprising me.

'Wait. Back up. What? Huh? My stepmother? Hold on. Unable to make sense of her in my head, she's my stepmother? I can't believe this raving beauty is my stepmother. My father asked her to give me something? I wondered what it was my father asked her to give me. Well, I didn't have to wait long to receive what my father wanted me to have and what he wanted her to give me.'

My mind was spinning. With me having lots of questions, I wondered how she met my father. I wondered why she would marry him. Seemingly like such an utter waste to make her his wife, with him unable to have sex with her, my father could no longer get and maintain an erection. It would be one thing if he had money, which he didn't, why would this raving beauty marry a dying, old man?

# # #

She walked closer to me and pressed her pelvis against my pelvis and her big tits against my muscular chest. Then, an unexpected pleasure, she looked me in my eyes and kissed me. Brianna, my stepmother kissed me. I couldn't believe my stepmother kissed me on the lips.

She not only kissed me; she parted my lips with her tongue and French kissed me. It was a long, wet kiss. Surprised that her tongue was in my mouth, I didn't know what to do with my hands. On cloud nine, I couldn't believe this beautiful woman that I didn't even know, had just met, and who claimed to be my stepmother, French kissed me.

'Wow, what a kiss,' I thought?

It was a kiss like no other. Never have I had a better kiss than that from any woman, including my mother, especially my mother. Immediately, while imagining making love to her, I had an erection. Instantly, I wanted to rip her clothes off and have deep, penetrating sex with her. I wanted to fuck her. I wanted to fuck my stepmother.

Her hand was so soft and so warm that, conceivably, I could fall in love with her from just shaking her hand and from holding her hand. Surprising me with her firm handshake, she had a strong grip. With me always horny, I couldn't help myself from thinking of her wrapping her manicured fingers around my cock and masturbating me with her firm hand. Then, not giving me a chance to continue to imagine her stroking my cock before sucking my cock and fucking my cock, she floored me with what she said next.

"I don't know if you heard me and if you did, if it registered, but I'm your stepmother," she said again with a nervous, little laugh. When I didn't acknowledge her the first time, she said her name again. "You may call me Brianna."

'What? Huh? Brianna? She's my stepmother. No way. I heard her the first time but thinking that she was a stripper that my friends hired to prank me, I thought she was joking.'

I couldn't believe it. Indeed, hard for me to believe that she was my stepmother, I thought she was joking the first time she said it. Indeed, again, I thought she was a stripper hired by my friends to play a joke on me.

Only, she was no whore. She was no prostitute. She was a lady and I was lucky to have someone like her in my life.

I stared at her in shocked disbelief. I looked at her as if she was crazy. As if she was kidding, I looked at her stunned.

'How in the world did my father bag this beauty,' I thought? 'When did that happen? Even more than that, why did my father marry another woman a short time after my mother died and after being married to her for more than 30-years.'

"My stepmother? Seriously? You're my stepmother?" I took a step back to look at her. "If you don't mind me asking, how old are you?"

Unable to hold it any longer before passing out in shock, I dropped my duffle bag by feet. It was heavy and I was dizzy from the knowledge that my father had died and married a woman as his wife and as my stepmother before he died. She laughed.

"I'm thirty-four. How old are you," she asked with attitude?

I returned her laugh with my laugh.

"I'm 38-years-old," I said glad that we were nearly the same age.

# # #

As if admiring a high fashion model modeling clothes on the runway, I took another step back to look at her again. A true vision of loveliness, with her quite the eyeful, I needed to take her all in. Tall, blonde, and beautiful with big, blue eyes, she was shapely thin and sexy with big tits. She looked more like a model than how I'd ever imagined a dowdy, middle-age stepmother looking.

Coincidentally enough, she looked like one of the models from the new car shows that my father dragged me to see every year. More my father's type, my birth mother, Mary, looked nothing like Brianna. She was short, and with age, had grown fat with huge, double D, sagging breasts.

"Your father married me just before he contracted COVIDs," she said.

'This woman is just full of surprises,' I thought. 'First, she tells me that she's my stepmother and then, she tells me that my father contracted COVIDs and died in the hospital. What next?'

Then, she floored me again by what she said next.

"We never had sex," she said as if she needed to tell me that.

'They never had sex? Why would my father bother marrying her if he had no intention of fucking her,' I thought?

Giving me a sexy look and naughty smile, she looked at me as if she wanted to have sex with me. No ands, buts, or maybes, not caring if she was my stepmother, I'd definitely have sex with her if she'd consensually have sex with me. As if it wasn't enough to have sex with someone so beautiful and sexy, after having incestuous sex with my MILF of a mother, it would be hot to have sex with my young, beautiful, and sexy stepmother.

'She never had sex with my father. I couldn't believe it. Why didn't she have sex with my father,' I thought? 'Something that she clearly wanted me to know, why would she tell me that,' I wondered?

# # #

Still in shock, I never figured my father would be lucky enough to have sex with someone who looked like her. Every testosterone filled man's sexual fantasy; she was drop dead gorgeous. Now instead of wondering why my father didn't have sex with her, I couldn't stop thinking about having sex with her myself. I wanted to have forbidden sex with my stepmother in the way that I wanted to have incestuous sex with my mother.

Already lusting over her, I wished that I could have sex with her. Even at a time like this, when finding out my father had died from COVIDs, needing her to sexually comfort me, I still wanted to have sex with his wife. Stepping in his shoes, with her a one-of-a-kind beauty, I'd love to take his place and be married to Brianna.

"He didn't even kiss me," she said. "We didn't have that kind of a relationship," she said with a shrug. "He thought more of me as his best friend than as his lover."

Again, something that I didn't need to know but was glad that she told me. Unable to stop my sexual fantasies, I imagined kissing my stepmother in the way that she kissed me at the airport. I imagined making out with her while feeling her everywhere through her clothes. I imagined French kissing her again and again. I imagined making love to her before fucking her hard and fast enough for her to have multiple, sexual orgasms.

I looked at her while wondering what she looked like in her sexy low-cut bra that showed a lot of cleavage. I looked at her while wondering what she looked like in her bikini panties that showed her shapely ass and the impressions of her pussy slit and camel toe. I looked at her while wondering what she looked like topless. I'd love to see her big, naked breasts. Undressing her with my eyes, I looked at her while wondering what she looked naked.

I looked at her while imagining her wearing a low-cut, short, sexy, sheer nightgown that left little to the imagination. Not stopping there, I imagined slowly stripping her naked while touching her and feeling her naked body everywhere that a stepson shouldn't touch and feel his stepmother. I imagined making love to her while French kissing her before fucking her long and hard, long enough and hard enough to give her multiple, sexual orgasms with my cock and hearing her call my name.

'Douglas. Hump me harder. Hump me faster. Fuck me, Douglas. Fuck me. Fuck your stepmother,' I imagined her saying.

# # #

Stopping me in my tracks, she's my stepmother. I can't have sex with my stepmother, can I? Yet, with us not related by blood, I certainly can have forbidden sex with my stepmother.

Nonetheless, how can I do that to my father's memory? Yet, if I could have sex with his wife, and with her not even my real mother, why couldn't I have sex with his second wife? If I had sex with my mother, Mary, an easy transition to make, why couldn't I have sex with my stepmother, Brianna?

Then, knowing my father, it wouldn't surprise me if he had picked out Brianna for me. That would explain why he never kissed her. That would explain why they never had sex. Instead of thinking of her as his woman, he thought of her as my woman.

"It wasn't a romantic romance but more of a platonic relationship," she said looking uncomfortable confessing more behind why she married my father.

Telling me what I needed to know, she explained why she married my father.

"We were just friends, good friends. I was his hairdresser for several years, and as if I was his therapist, he unloaded on me once a month. He told me everything," she said. "I knew more about him than I knew about myself. He told me all about you," she said with a dirty laugh as if she was hiding a secret.

# # #

My father always had good taste in women. He had a thing for beautiful women with big tits. Back when he married her, my mother was very pretty. A rare beauty with jet black hair, she had big brown eyes and double D, cup breasts. All of the men were after her but my father was the one who got her.

Even though he looked but never touched, my father surrounded himself with beautiful women. As if he was an admirer of the opposite sex, he seemingly collected beautiful women. He had more female friends than he had male friends. To be honest, if his intention was to find me a wife, I couldn't have picked a better girlfriend than if I had picked Brianna out myself,' I thought.

"With him knowing that you'd be discharged from the Army soon, he bought a house to give us," she said.

Biting her tongue as if she was about to say that my father bought us a house as our wedding gift, she corrected herself.

"He bought the house to give us a place to live," she said suddenly looking sad that my father was dead. "When he became ill, wanting me to have control of his assets, he married me in the hospital. Otherwise, they wouldn't even allow me to visit him."

Again, shocking me by what she said next, not only did my father buy us a house but also, he found me a woman to live in the house with me. Seemingly, my father thought of everything that I'd want, a house, a beautiful woman, and his car. With him a big saver and not a big spender, he left me a generous inheritance, enough to get me started in my new life without having to worry about money. With my pension from the Army about $3,000 monthly, I was financially doing okay.

"I loved him. I really loved him. He was a good man," she said wiping a tear from her eye.

With tears in her eyes, her eyes resembled two, blue pools of water that I wished I could dive in and submerge myself in her rare beauty.

I don't know why, perhaps to comfort her but I put my arm around her shoulder and, surprising me, as if we were suddenly a couple, she put her arm around my waist as we exited the airport. As if we were boyfriend and girlfriend, we walked like that until we got to the car, a triple black, Lincoln Town Car with extended wheelbase. The last factory limousine ever made by Lincoln or by any other American, car company, given an extra layer of black paint when new, looking best in black, the car was a rare beauty, and prized by limousine companies.

A car buff who loved cars, my father kept his car washed, waxed, and detailed. Even though it was a 2011, eleven-years-old, having never been in an accident, the car looked brand new. He could well afford to buy a new car but he loved that car. He talked about it and bragged about it while comparing it to a Rolls Royce, as if it was the best car ever made.

"They don't make cars like this anymore, Douggie," said my father with pride. The longest and heaviest car on the road, he loved Lincolns, especially Lincoln Town Cars. "The American Rolls Royce. Riding on an air suspension, no other car rode as well. I can fit four people in the backseat and two, dead bodies in the trunk," he said with a laugh.

Clearly happy with his car and proud of owning it, he beamed me a smile while wiping an imaginary spot from the hood with his handkerchief.

"I never liked front wheel drive cars," he said shaking his head. "They're too twitchy and too unpredictable in a slide especially when braking hard," he said. "This car really holds the road. Moreover, there's nothing quieter than this car," he said. "Because it's a rear-wheel-drive car, reminding me of my old Mustang GT, in the way that it handles, it gives me enough body feel for me to know what it's going to do before it does it," he said.

He held his hands out as if he was steering a car.

"Most new cars today are unibody construction, the frame is part of the body. If you bend the frame, you'll need to buy a new car whereas, the Lincoln is body on frame. They take the frame and put a car body on it. A body on frame car can take a hit and will last a lifetime and should you bend the frame, unlike unibody construction cars, the car can be fixed."

Schooling me in cars, he gave me a brief education of the difference between unibody constructed cars and body on frame cars.

"That's the reason why until car manufacturers stopped making them, police and taxi cabs used body on frame cars. The police would drive the cars for 200,000 miles and sell them to taxi cab companies and they'd drive them for another 200,000 miles. Cheaper to manufacture, maintain, and repair, body on frame cars make for better off road vehicles and tend out last unibody construction cars," he said.

He continued his lecture on the advantages and disadvantages of car construction.

"Because of the weights they carry, most trucks are body on frame, Ford 150 and Chevy Silverado. Better handling cars and more predictable in the turns, most high-performance cars are rear wheel drive, Rolls Royce, Bentley, Mercedes, BMW, Jaguar, Ferrari, Maserati, and Lamborghini are all real wheel drive. Moreover, able to pull heavier loads, rear wheel drive cars are better for towing," he said.

# # #

When we pulled up to the house, I couldn't believe it. I've always loved this neighborhood. Pretending that I lived here, I rode bike here every day. They had these stone front houses that I absolutely loved. Instead of being a cookie cutter neighborhood with all of the houses looking the same, each house was uniquely different from the other.

I was pleased to notice the two-car garage off to the side and down a driveway. Glad that the garage was in back instead of in front, I hated those houses where all you saw in the front of the house was the garage. It had a big, backyard and a well-cared for lawn in front. A two-story house, if I was to hazard a guess, with it looking big from the outside, I'd guess the house was around 3,000 square feet.

"Open the garage doors. I want you to see how big it is. It's a 2 1/2 car garage, room for two cars with space to create a workshop," said Brianna not spoiling my surprise by telling me what was behind the garage doors.

As soon as I opened the garage, I saw it, a brand new 2023 Mustang GT. The car was Cyber orange, metallic, tri-coat with black 19" wheels and with a black and orange interior. Brianna handed me the keys to the car and had me start the engine. Music to my ears, it sounded in the way that a 500-horsepower engine should sound. Costing my father, a lot of money, a new Mustang GT retails for around fifty-thousand-dollars before options that can easily jack the price up to seventy-thousand-dollars.

# # #

As soon as we walked around front, Brianna handed me a key to the house and allowed me to do the honor of opening the front door. Perhaps, because it didn't have any furniture in it, the house looked huge. Increasing my size estimate, judging by the size of the huge rooms downstairs, I increase my estimated size from 3,000 square feet to 3,300 square feet.

This was our house. I couldn't believe we had our own house. If the experiment of living together didn't work, we could always sell the house and have enough money to buy two, smaller houses.

We explored the four upstairs bedrooms. Each bedroom was a suite with its own bathroom. The bathrooms were huge and the closets were all walk-in closets. Taking a quick tally, this was a four-bedroom, six bath house. I imagined having sex with Brianna in every room and in every bathroom of the house.

The basement was unfinished. It looked big, really big. I imagined a game room with a giant TV, a pool table, a ping pong table, and a model train set.

My father really outdid himself. I couldn't imagine a nicer house than this. Only, with my father a laborer all his life, I wondered how he could afford it.

'Where did my father get money enough to buy this beautiful house,' I thought?

A lucky man for picking winners, Brianna told me that my father won a million-dollars on a scratch ticket. So happy that he could do something nice for her, he paid off her car and her student loans. Instead of doing the work myself, for $30,000, I hired a contractor to finish the basement.

# # #

We spent the next several months living together, shopping for food together, eating together, and sleeping in our own bedrooms across the hall from one another. With the two bedrooms nearly identical, I gave her the master bedroom with the bigger closet. Thanks to my father and to my monthly retirement pay, with us having plenty enough money to live comfortably, we no longer needed to work.

As if we were a retired, married couple, we played board games during the day and watched movies at night while cuddling on the couch. Giving me the chance to get to know her, and giving her the chance for her to know me, we talked about everything and laughed over nothing. With us totally compatible, it was a good and relaxing life.

Only, nothing was happening in the romance department. It was as we were afraid to make the first move. It wasn't until we lost the power during a severe rain and thunder storm that Brianna asked me a question that I couldn't refuse. Pitch black in the house, we couldn't see our hands in front of our faces. I'll be investing in emergency lighting and a small power generator in the future. For now, a bit romantic, we had candles and flashlights.