Date: Fri, 23 Oct 2020 09:05:03 -0500
From: David Alex Dante <davidalexdante@gmail.com>
Subject: steve-and-his-stepdad-1 (bi incest)

This story is fiction. The people and events in it are not real.

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STEVE AND HIS STEPDAD: PART 1 (bi mmf inc)

By David Alex Dante (davidalexdante@gmail.com)

When I was a junior in high school, my mom started dating a guy named
Mike that she met at a party. Mike owned a small construction business,
and he lived in the nice part of town in a big house with a pool. I
didn't mind Mike, but he and I didn't have a lot in common. Mike was
what my mom called a "man's man." He was tall and muscular, with a
shaved head, and liked hunting and spending time on the lake. When he
came over to our house, which wasn't often, his conversations with me
were limited to brief, awkward questions about school and then lengthy
digressions about professional sports. I knew my mom really liked him,
and I certainly didn't mind him, but I had no idea where it would all
end up.

My dad had died when I was less than a year old, so it was always just
me and my mom of us for as long as I could remember. Mom even took a
job as a teacher's aide at my middle school when I was in fifth grade
so that we could be on the same schedule. I didn't mind it at first,
but when my buddies and I moved up into seventh and eighth grade, they
started to talk a lot about how hot she was. I knew she was hot, but I
didn't like talking with the guys at the lunch table about it. The more
they talked about the way she would carelessly twist strands of her
long dark hair, or the way her tits looked that day, the more I thought
about those things, too. But I pretended to be offended and grossed
out, so they wouldn't know how much I agreed with them. Even once we
were all in high school, my friends would still rib me about how hot my
mom was. My disgusted, offended reactions were a running joke.

As my junior year went on, and Mom spent more and more time with Mike,
I realized her supervision of me was becoming more lax. When I left the
house, whether it was a weekday or a weekend, she seemed completely
disinterested in where I was going or when I would be back. I noticed
that on weekends, when I had an eleven o'clock curfew, that she was
hardly ever there when I came home. This was also due to the fact that
was spending more weekend nights at Mike's house. In spring, she
cheerfully announced one Saturday afternoon that she was going to
Mike's house and wouldn't be back until in the morning. She left me
twenty bucks for dinner and told me, if I went out, to be home by
midnight. I liked the newfound freedom, and I liked how cheerful and
relaxed my mom was when she came back from nights at Mike's house.

One Friday night in March, Mom invited Mike over to our house for
dinner. She spent all day in the kitchen getting ready, even sending me
to the store for parsley that she had forgotten to buy. The end product
was an Italian dinner with all the little touches, right down to the
big chunk of Parmesan on the table to shave directly onto the pasta.
Mom was really proud of our heritage, and I knew that she reserved this
level of Italian dinner for people she really wanted to impress. She'd
certainly never done this for any of her other boyfriends.

"Damn, Lisa," said Mike, as he helped himself to a second helping of
pasta. "You outdid yourself."

Mom beamed. "I'm glad you like it."

"Steve, how do you eat like this all the time and stay so skinny?" It
was true that I wasn't built like Mike, but I bristled at the word
"skinny" - I had been working out hard with my baseball teammates and
had put on ten pounds of lean muscle in the last year.

"She doesn't cook like this all the time," I said.

Mike grinned. "Guess I'm getting some special treatment, huh?" He
reached toward Mom, and did something I'd never seen before: He took
her face in his hand, caressed her cheek down to her jaw, and let his
finger linger before letting go. "Special treatment from my special
girl." There was something about the way he said the last three words
that felt meaningful, but I couldn't put my finger on it. My mom was
smiling, but she was absolutely still, letting the tips of his fingers
stay as long as possible against her face.

When Mike pulled his hand away, she asked, "Do you want more wine?"

"Sure," he said. "Why isn't Steve having any?"

"Because I'm seventeen," I said, before my mother could beat him to it.
This was one of her priorities as a parent. She didn't care what kind
of music I listened to, or who my friends were, or what I wore. But she
absolutely drew the line at alcohol and drugs, and talked about alcohol
in particular quite a lot. She had a family history of alcoholism and
was open about the dangers of drinking. For the most part, aside from a
few parties where I'd had a drink or two to be polite, I had stayed
within the lines.

"He's a young man. And a young man needs to learn how to drink, Lisa,"
said Mike. "Why don't you go pour him a glass of wine, too?"

My mother opened her mouth, and I knew exactly what she was going to
say. To my surprise, she remained silent. She looked like she was going
to speak, but she sat there without saying anything. He stared her down
for a few long moments, and neither of them spoke. This was not
something I was used to seeing from my mother, who could be
quick-witted or quick-tempered as the situation demanded, but was
hardly ever at a loss for words.

"I said," repeated Mike, evenly, "go pour him a glass of wine." He
waited a beat and then added, "That's a good girl."

At the last phrase, my mother rose from her seat and went directly into
the kitchen. Mike had said it in the tone of voice that one might use
with a favorite pet. It didn't sound mean or intimidating, but to me it
seemed patronizing.

My mother soon came back from the kitchen with the bottle of wine and
an extra glass for me. She placed the glass in front of me, then put
the bottle there, too.

"Well?" said Mike, expectantly.

"Do you want some wine, Steve?" asked my mother. I was absolutely
stunned. After all my mother's anti-alcohol tirades, I would have been
less surprised to have her offer me a line of cocaine.

"Well, of course," I said, meaning it as a joke, but my mother
immediately lifted the bottle to pour me a glass. After she poured
mine, she topped off Mike's, then put the bottle down in the middle of
the table. Her own glass remained half full.

"Cheers," said Mike, lifting his glass. I took the cue and clinked mine
with his, then with Mom's. We all started to eat again as though
nothing unusual was happening. Mike resumed the conversation by talking
about whether the White Sox would have a chance this year, but I kepet
an eye on Mom throughout dinner. I began watching more carefully the
little interactions between them, looking for clues that would tell me
more about their dynamic. It had never occurred to me before to think
about what kind of girlfriend my mom was to Mike, or what kind of
boyfriend he was to her.

I liked the wine more than the other types of alcohol I had tried at my
friends' houses. To be fair, it was a pretty google bottle of wine. The
three of us polished it off as we finished dinner, and then Mom served
chocolate cake for dessert. Mike went into the bar cabinet in the
living room after dessert, which I always thought was mostly empty
glasses and other mixology accessories, and poured himself a bourbon
from a bottle I didn't know was there. I was secretly relieved he
didn't offer me any.

"Damn fine meal, Lisa," he said. "Steve, your mom sure is good. In the
kitchen, that is." I smiled at the way she blushed. "Good in every room
of the house," he continued, and I watched her blush even more. It took
a lot to make my mom blush, but I felt the tension between them. I
couldn't get a handle on Mike: was he patronizing her, or was he
indulging her? I didn't understand. All I knew was that she was loving
it.

"It's late," I said, changing the subject to lighten the mood. "We
should probably clean the kitchen."

Mom stood up, but Mike took her arm. "Leave it for in the morning," he
said. "Steve's right. It's late. Let's call it a night."

Mom was standing, with Mike holding her arm, looking like she wanted to
go load the dishwasher. She always preferred that we clean the kitchen
right after dinner. But Mike kept his hand encircling her wrist, and
finally she said, "You're right, it is late." I was stunned, again, at
my opinionated mother giving in to her boyfriend. I had never seen her
act anything like this.

"Heading out tonight, Steve?" Mike looked disappointed when I told him
I had no plans, and that I would stay home and probably just watch TV.
I wasn't sure if he was disappointed that I wasn't going out and
getting into teenager trouble of some kind, or if he wanted me out of
the house before the after-dinner activities began. Because I may have
been a fairly inexperienced teenager, but I knew one thing for sure:
they were going to fuck.

After a few minutes, Mike and Mom headed upstairs to the master
bedroom. I stayed downstairs in the living room and flipped through the
channels. There was nothing particularly interesting on TV. I watched
ten minutes of a horror movie I'd seen half a dozen times, and then I
started flipping channels again to look for something better. When I
found nothing, I turned the TV off. The moment I turned the TV off, I
heard Mike's voice, carrying clearly down the stairs into the living
room: "Fuck! Suck it."

I was frozen. Mom had had boyfriends before, but sleepovers at our
house had been infrequent, and I had never heard the sound of her
having sex. The master bedroom was at the far end of the upstairs, so
the fact that I could hear Mike was a testament to his booming baritone
voice. I sat, now listening on purpose, but couldn't hear anything.
Then a few moments later I heard him again, saying, "Suck it, bitch.
Suck my cock."

I was stuck between a rock and a hard place. I knew the most
appropriate thing for me to do would be to stop listening to them and
go to bed. But the layout of the house was against me. My bedroom was
upstairs, at the other end of the hallway. I would have to go up the
stairs and get much closer to the source of the sound before I could
shut myself away in my room. And, frankly, I was somewhat turned on,
especially by the idea of Mike calling my mom a "bitch." So I didn't
move. I stayed absolutely still on the couch, careful not to make a
sound, and strained to hear.

I thought I heard my Mom's voice, but I wasn't sure. Then I heard
Mike's boisterous laugh. "No," I heard him say. Mom was talking again.
Another laugh from Mike, followed by, "Suck my fuckin' cock."

Without thinking through what I was doing, I stood up. My cock had
become half-hard inside my jeans. I wasn't sure if I was turned on by
the idea of my mom having sex, or if I was turned on by Mike's
take-charge attitude toward her. I took a step toward the stairs, and
then I heard quite clearly, "Be a good girl for Daddy."

Oh, shit, I thought. This is hot as fuck.

I was wearing socks, and this helped me to walk slowly and quietly up
the stairs. I told myself I was going to my room, but every step up the
stairs brought more sounds that sharpened my mental picture of what was
going on: Mike's ragged breathing, my mom's low and stifled moans, and
finally, the unmistakable sound of a blow job. When I got to close to
the top of the stairs I could hear the wet sounds her hand and mouth
made on his cock.

I knew I should have turned right, and gone straight into my own room,
to jack off. Both my bedroom and the hallway bathroom were in that
direction, so there was no reason to go left unless you were headed to
the guest bedroom or the master bedroom. But I was thinking with my
dick at that point, and I realized when I looked in the direction of
the master bedroom that I could hear so well because the bedroom door
was wide open. Something, maybe the wine, gave me the courage to take a
few steps in the direction of the master bedroom, and I thought I'd
stop there to listen. But my feet propelled me forward until I could
see in through the open doorway.

As soon as I could see the inside of the bedroom, I saw Mike and my
mom, both in profile. My mom was on her knees, in a bra and panties.
Her heavy breasts were almost completely exposed by her flimsy bra.
Mike was standing in front of her. He was completely nude, and looked
even more muscular and intimidating without clothes than he did by day.
His huge cock was erect, exactly parallel to the floor, and Mom was
circling it with her hand as she slurped away loudly at it. He was
looking down at her, with a blissed-out smile. Mom's eyes were closed.

I knew that at any moment either of them could look up, and I'd be
busted, but I was so turned on by the scene before me. Mike put his
hand gently on the back of her head and pushed her head down further.
She took his cock all the way in her mouth and then made a slight
gagging noise. He gave her a little mercy, letting her come off it, and
then pushed her back again. He said, "That's it. Suck my cock. Be
Daddy's good little girl."

Mom moaned and continued to suck his cock with abandon. She moved one
of her hands to Mike's balls, which led me to notice them for the first
time. I had been distracted by the length and girth of his cock, but
then I realized his balls were huge even in proportion to his massive
dong. Mom was sucking the head of his cock, rubbing his balls and the
area behind them, and moaning softly, almost inaudibly. Her eyes were
firmly closed, and I couldn't stop looking at the smile on her face as
she sucked his enormous dick.

All of a sudden, even though my eyes were still on my Mom, I felt a
chill down my spine. I looked up, and sure enough, Mike was looking
directly at me. I wasn't sure how long he'd been looking, but his mouth
was curled into a half-smile. He made a motion with his head that may
have been a nod at me, and then he began running his hands through my
mother's hair more roughly. In doing that, he turned her slightly, and
I immediately understood that if she opened her eyes, I wouldn't be in
her line of sight. He made another of his deep groaning sounds, and
then he said, "Suck Daddy's big cock. Be a good girl for Daddy. Be a
good little cocksucker." He turned and he looked me straight in the
eye. "You know youw want to be a good little cocksucker, don't you?"

In that moment I didn't know if he was talking to me, or to her. There
was a dominant edge to his voice, and though he was still caressing
Mom's hair and holding her head in place on his dick, I had no doubt he
was looking directly at me. He continued, "That's right, you love
Daddy's big cock, don't you? Fuck, yeah, fuck. I love your mouth on my
cock."

I adjusted my dick through the outside of my jeans because I was harder
than hell. Mike's gaze went down to my bulge, and he smiled even more
broadly. He pulled his dick all the way out of my mom's mouth, and
rested it against her cheek. "Who's my cocksucker?" he asked, this time
in a half-whisper.

"Me," said Mom, also quietly.

"I said, who's my cocksucker?" Mike was louder again.

"I am," she replied. I watched as he grabbed the base of his cock,
pulled it away from her face, and then used it to smack her on the
mouth. The impact was loud, but not hard enough to hurt her. Still, she
gasped. He did it two more times. The meaty slap of his flesh against
hers cut through the quiet of the house. In between each one, I was
sure that both of them could hear the sound of my heartbeat as it
echoed loudly in my own ears.

"Suck it, bitch," said Mike as he slid it smoothly back into her mouth.
"Take my cock. Be a good cocksucker for Daddy." Mom's left hand went
down to her panties, and though I couldn't see because of the angle, I
knew she was touching herself between her legs. Her right hand stayed
on Mike's enormous cock as she continued to pleasure it with her mouth.
Her eyes were also not pointing in my direction, but it looked like
they stayed closed the whole time.

My cock was harder than it had ever been, and I felt the precum leaking
from my slit and wetting the inside of my briefs. Mike was definitely
looking at me now, smiling, and reaching to his own nipple to touch it
as Mom deep-throated his big prick. I couldn't stop looking at him: his
muscular chest with its light sprinkling of blond hair, his arms and
shoulders looking impossibly muscular, and the defined V-shape that
pointed the way down to his crotch. More than anything, I was turned on
that he was looking at me in this totally forbidden situation, watching
me as I watched my Mom service his cock.

After another minute or so, he looked down at Mom and smoothed back her
hair gently. He then looked up at me and said, loudly and in a tone
that did not let me miss the double meaning, "That's enough for now." I
knew that Mom would hear it as directed at her, and I took it as my cue
to get out of view of that doorway as quickly and as silently as
possible. I shuffled my way back to my own room, where I was glad I had
left the door cracked. Once safely inside, I pushed the door all the
way closed, my heartbeat sounding in my ears even louder than before.

I quickly stripped off my own clothes, and lay naked on my bed. My cock
was like granite, and the head was already slick with precum. It only
took me a few strokes before I blew a massive load. The first few shots
went into my face and hair, and the rest landed on my chest and
stomach. I lay there, panting, covered in my own jizz, unable to
believe what had just happened to me. I couldn't sort out why I had
done it or what about it had turned me on. I assumed that nothing like
it would ever happen again. Soon enough, I would find out that my
assumption was totally wrong.