Date: Thu, 5 Nov 2020 09:02:22 -0600
From: David Alex Dante <davidalexdante@gmail.com>
Subject: Steve and His Stepdad - 3 - bisexual incest

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

If you enjoy the story: make a donation to Nifty, send me an email, or
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STEVE AND HIS STEPDAD: PART 3 (bi mmf inc)

By David Alex Dante (davidalexdante@gmail.com)

After Mike and I jacked off together to the video, he began to act more
distant with me. He was still coming to our house occasionally for
dinner, but the conversation around the table was less about me and my
interests, and more between him and Mom as they planned their next
weekend outing. Mom began to spend more and more time over at his
place, and it became common that I'd see her briefly on Friday and then
not again until Sunday. This gave me lots of time to get in trouble,
and I took full advantage of it, but this story is about what happened
because of Mike.

The day school let out, I was dejected because I hadn't found a summer
job yet. None of my interviews were panning out, not even at the place
I'd worked last summer. I didn't want to be broke and bored all summer,
but without a job I would be. I even had an interview at a diner on the
last day of school, but when I told them I had never waited tables
before, I could tell I wouldn't get the job.

Mom greeted me at the door when I came home. "Why the long face?"

I explained how the interview had gone, and waited for her to
sympathize with me. But she had a smile on her face and a certain shine
in her eyes that told me she wasn't going to help me wallow in my
depression. "Well, I'm really sorry to hear that, but I have big news.
Sit down."

I sat at the kitchen table, dropping my backpack on the floor beside
me. This was a habit that usually annoyed her, but she didn't say
anything, so I knew she must have been in a particularly pleasant mood.
You could see on her face that she was happy: everything about her was
glowing.

"Mike and I have decided to move in together." This was not what I was
expecting. The two of them had been dating for less than a year, and I
hadn't seen this coming. Also, I didn't know if "Mike and I" would
include me, and that was distressing.

"You know Mike lives over by the golf course," she continued, meaning
the nicer part of town where people with money lived. "And our lease
here is up at the end of June. I think it's the right time. I know how
well the two of you get along, there's plenty of room at his place, and
I'm sure there'll be no trouble." She was talking fast now, almost
babbling, and I could tell this was a rehearsed speech. "I'm ready to
live my life, Stevie. And my life is Mike's."

If I hadn't seen my mother behaving so submissively toward him, I
wouldn't have read anything into that sentence. But I caught the double
meaning and it sent my thoughts racing. "Are you - are you and him
gonna get married?"

Mom laughed softly. "No. Not yet. I've been married, you know. I want
to live together, for now." She reached out and patted my hand. "Don't
worry, when you want to move in with some girl before you marry her, I
won't be a hypocrite."

I understood she was trying to be reassuring, but that felt like the
least of my worries. "Mom, if we move, I have to change schools."

"No, you won't," she said. "Mike has a car he's not using, so you can
use it to drive to school and back. I wouldn't want you to have to
change for your senior year."

She had plotted this all out, and there was no way for me to object. I
couldn't very well tell her I didn't want to live with this guy because
I'd watched her blow him and then jerked off with him. So I forced a
smile, and said, "Well, sure. I'm happy for you, Mom."

Mom looked relieved. "Thank you, Stevie." She kissed my cheek,
something she hadn't done in years. As she pulled away from me, I felt
goosebumps on my neck that I wasn't expecting to feel. "Thank you," she
repeated, and walked out of the kitchen. "Mike's invited us over for
dinner tomorrow," she added from the living room.

"Invited you." Mike's dinner invitations had never extended to me.

Mom appeared again in the kitchen doorway. "No, Stevie, invited you.
Invited both of us. I want you to get to know him better."

Of course, if I was being totally honest with myself, I wanted to get
to know Mike a lot better. But I still had reservations about the idea
of adding anyone, especially him, to the two-person family unit we
already had. Still, there was no leverage for me in this situation. Mom
had made up her mind, and I knew from long experience that when she was
set on a plan, nothing dissuaded her. I figured I could make it through
a year of this without anything else unusual happening. Of course, I
would later be proven wrong about that, to an extent I could hardly
imagine.

Dinner the following night was actually the first time I ever saw
Mike's house, and it was impressive. Our little two-story house was
crowded into a row of other houses that had all seen better days.
Mike's place was a sprawling ranch-style house, with a large patio and
an in-ground pool, situated in a prosperous neighborhood. As he showed
me around the house, I could tell he was really proud of it, and he was
more engaged with me than he had been in weeks. Once the tour ended,
Mom ducked into the kitchen to make the side dishes as Mike headed to
the patio to man the grill. When I tried to go in and help Mom, she
shooed me out the door: "Go do whatever Mike needs."

I laughed to myself at the ironic turn of phrase as I strolled out onto
the patio. Mike was standing over the grill, supervising the steaks as
they cooked. He nodded at me but didn't say anything, so I decided to
start with the obvious. "Nice house, man."

"Thanks, Steve." Mike was already tall, but he stood a little taller
when he said that. "You know, I worked hard to get where I am. Nobody
handed me anything. I had to go out there and get what I was after."

I nodded. "Yeah. That's the business world, right?"

"Not just the business world," he said, fixing me with a meaningful
gaze. "That's life, Steve. I mean, don't get me wrong, the business
world is cutthroat. But your whole life as a man is about claiming what
you want." He glanced up, seeing that the patio door was still closed.
"For example. You think I waited for your mom to decide that she wanted
to date me? I met her, I knew what I wanted, and I told her." He
paused. "And she said yes."

"I bet she did," I said, neutrally. Though we both knew what he was
really talking about, I didn't trust myself enough to let on.

"Do you think I waited for Lisa to decide... what she wanted?" I knew
damn well he wasn't talking about her decision to date him. I froze,
but he kept right on. "You've got to decide what you want, for
yourself, by yourself. No one else can tell you what you want. And once
you know, you say it, you go out there and you put in the work. Make it
happen. Men who know what they want get what they want."

On the one hand, I was a fairly cynical then, as most teenagers are. I
knew that Mike was feeding me a line of bullshit and calling it advice,
and I knew that he was making obviously coded references to what had
already happened between us. But, on the other hand, I was a teenager
who had grown up without a male authority figure at home. There was
something fatherly and appealing about this grown man telling me that I
should go for what I want. What I didn't know, at that time, is what I
wanted sexually. Everything made me hard, and I was still figuring out
what my identity would be. I found Mike's decisive take on manhood
attractive both in the sense that I wanted to be like him and in the
sense that I still thought about being with him.

"What do you want, Steve?" Mike's question broke my reverie. He was
still paying enough attention to the steaks to make sure they were
finishing nicely, but the inquiry was directed squarely at me.

"I don't know," I said. "Maybe I don't have to know yet." After all,
Mike wasn't the only one who could use double meanings.

He shook his head, frowning. "Guys who don't know what they want don't
get anything." He turned one of the steaks. "I can help you get what
you want."

That felt more direct than anything he'd said, and now it was my turn
to glance at the sliding door to make sure it was still closed.
"Listen, Mike," I said, before I could stop myself. "If you're talking
about the stuff, you know, from our house, from the bedroom? I don't
know what I was thinking. I got carried away, okay, and I don't even
care, and I don't want to talk about it." Of course, I was talking
about it, and flustered, too. He let me talk, turning the rest of the
steaks, eyeing me silently.

Just when I was about to say something else, Mom opened the patio door.
"Mike, how's it going?"

"Two minutes, babe, maybe three." He then lowered his voice to make it
clear he was speaking to me, though he didn't seem to care if my mom
heard: "I know."

For some reason those two words made me nervous, almost to the point of
panic. He didn't say them in a villainous tone, but I could now feel
the same domineering energy he had used with Mom, and he was using it
with me. I didn't know what I wanted, but I wasn't sure if I wanted
that kind of attention from a guy who was about to be my honorary
stepdad. I felt an anger rising inside me. I stormed back into the
house so quickly that Mom noticed ("Hey, where's the fire?") and I went
directly to the bathroom. I took a piss, washed my hands, and then
splashed some cold water on my face to calm down. Something about Mike,
and his way of seeming to look right through me and know my innermost
secrets, was making me anxious. But I knew I had to keep it together
for Mom's sake.

When I came back for dinner, Mike behaved as though nothing had
transpired outside. He made light and casual conversation, bantering
and laughing with Mom and me. He included me in the pouring of the
wine, and when Mom made a move to object he looked at her and said,
"Lisa, really?" in a way that would have made me laugh had I not known
their dynamic. Just as before, I found I liked the wine, and the three
of us polished off the bottle.

When dinner was gone, Mike went and got what looke like a small wine
bottle, but both bottle and liquid were clear. "Limoncello," he
announced. "The traditional after-dinner drink of my people." Mike was
one of those Italian-American types who referred to Italians as "my
people" as though he regularly spent summers on the Riviera. He set out
three shot glasses and filled each one to the brim.

"No, no, Mike, just a taste for me, really," said Mom. "I have to drive
home."

"The night is young," said Mike.

"And I don't think Steve needs any," she said.

"Lisa, really?" he repeated. She opened her mouth and closed it again.
I had never seen my Mom hold her tongue for anyone. Her willingness to
express her opinions freely was what people loved, or hated, about her.
But around Mike she was a different person, a person I'd never seen
before, and I was starting to understand how that may have happened.

"Saluti," said Mike, raising his glass of limoncello. We clinked
glasses and I touched the liquid to my lips. The flavor was unlike
anything I had tried before, with hints of sweetness behind the
powerful taste of the alcohol. I took a second sip, deciding I liked
it. We finished the drinks, chatting and laughing, and Mike poured
another round. Mom didn't say anything else about having to drive, and
I hoped she wasn't relying on me. I wasn't an experienced drinker, and
I wasn't sure how much of what I was feeling was intoxication versus
how much was general sexual tension. When I got up to take another
piss, I felt lightheaded and slightly unsteady on my feet, but I also
felt that I was seeing things more clearly than ever.

When I got back, Mike was alone at the table. "Where's Mom?" I asked.

"Your mom has a headache," Mike said. There was no concern in his
voice. "I told her to take a few Advil, lie down for a while. She's in
the bedroom, upstairs."

"Oh," I said. "Too much wine, huh?"

"Could be," he assented. His breezy tone made me think that he was
lying, but what could I do to challenge such a simple statement? "Want
to go for a swim?"

"I wish," I said. The pool did look enticing on a night as warm as this
one, and the feeling of cool water against my skin might break some of
the spell Mike was casting on me.

"Well, what's stopping you?"

"I didn't bring a suit," I said. I gave it the same intonation that he
had given the statement about my mom's headache: studiedly casual, yet
matter-of-fact.

"Who needs a suit when it's just us guys?" Mike said, as though going
skinny-dipping would be the most obvious thing in the world. "I never
wear a suit. That's why I built a fence."

I shook my head no. I knew that swimming nude with Mike would do
nothing to de-escalate the sexual tension. But, to my own surprise,
even though I was shaking my head from side to side, I heard myself
say, "Sure, that sounds good." He nodded, and went to a nearby closet
to grab some towels. Things started to happen on automatic pilot: All
at once we were out on the patio, standing by the edge of the pool, and
Mike was already peeling off his shirt.

I carefully folded my shirt and shorts, laying them on a chair. I stood
there in my briefs, and decided I would tell Mike that I would swim in
my underwear. It felt like the last way I could assert some control
over the situation. When I turned around to explain this to him, it was
at exactly the right moment to see Mike peeling off his jeans. He had
been going commando under them and so was now completely nude. In
repose his cock was fat and heavy, the shaft looking impossibly thick,
but the head jutting out even more in an exaggerated mushroom shape.

I knew he saw me looking, and he walked slowly by me to the steps that
led down into the pool. He pushed back from the steps with the
languorous stroke of someone who wanted to float slowly through the
water. I stood at the edge, still in my briefs. The heavy silence was
pierced by Mike's voice: "Take them off."

I obeyed. Even though I had folded my other clothes carefully, I kicked
my briefs off and left them on the ground. I walked into the pool, and
now I could see he was watching me. I knew he could see my body, so
much less developed and muscular than his, and I knew he could see my
prick, which was already starting to fill with blood.

Once we were in the water, we swam lazily, staring up at the sky.
"Steve," he said, finally, "I hope you know I care about your mom. And
that I want what's best for her."

"Yeah," I said nonchalantly. "I know, Mike." At this point the cool
water, the alcohol in my bloodstream, and the thrill of the nudity had
all combined to infuse me with a reckless abandon. Any reservations I
felt about the whole situation were melting away. I swam closer to him,
lowered my voice. "I know you care about her. I get it. We're good,
man."

Mike floated, facing me. "I want what's best for you, too, Steve." He
reached behind him and put his palms on the side of the pool. Without
ever turning around, he used his powerful arms to pull himself up so
that he was sitting on the edge of the pool. During the entire
movement, I saw the water flow off his muscular form, and I saw his
heavy prick and balls revealed as they broke the surface of the water.
From my perspective, still in the pool, his cock sat long and fat
between his legs as his muscular legs dangled into the water.

"Come closer," he said. I didn't know if the alcohol was making me do
things or if it was my excuse, but I was still feeling that same
recklessness. I swam to the edge where he was, and he spread his legs
apart slightly. He reached down to adjust himself, and kept his hand on
his dick. I watched. I didn't even pretend not to.

"I want you to know the truth, Steve." The husky whisper made me feel
like Mike and I were the only two people in the universe. Any thought
of Mom, up in his bedroom resting with a headache, was far from my
mind. I looked up at him, making eye contact as I began to float higher
in the water. All of these movements were bringing my face within
inches of his crotch.

"Sure, Mike," I said, as softly as I had ever spoken to him. "Tell me
the truth." Mike smiled that half-smile, and then leaned forward and
reached down. He put his hand against the back of my head, touching my
hair gently. Slowly but firmly he pushed the back of my head, bringing
me toward him. For about the first two seconds, I could pretend he was
simply touching me to show affection, but very quickly I could not deny
that he was moving my head toward his cock. I knew that if I wanted to
stop this, now was my only chance. If I let things continue, I would be
marking myself as a willing participant, crossing the last line that I
felt protected me from him. Still, I let him bring me within inches of
his prick, as I held my breath and decided whether to break away.

"Suck my cock, boy." Hearing him say it seemed to change everything. It
was the same tone I had heard him use with Mom. I opened my mouth and I
put the head of his cock in it. He was already leaking precum, and the
salty taste of it mixed with the chemicals from the pool. I could smell
the faint but distinct scent of his balls and I felt the unique texture
of his cock against my tongue. And all the while, he kept his hand on
the back of my head, keeping me in place with his knob in my mouth.

"Go on," he said. "Take it." And sure enough he was pushing harder, his
cock stiffening even more as I sucked the head, getting more of the
shaft past my lips and into my hungry mouth. I reached up out of the
water to touch his heavy sack, and I heard a hum of contentment from
him. I remembered how I had seen my mother rub his balls and the area
behind them, and I reached back there to rub and was rewarded with a
deep and stifled cry of pleasure.

Mike's cock was easily the biggest I had ever sucked. I had seen
classmates in the gym showers that were bigger than me, but none of the
guys I had played with had been quite my size. I had measured my own
cock at seven inches in length, but Mike's seemed so much longer than
mine, and thick in a way that made it seem totally unfamiliar. My other
hand found its way to his shaft, encircling it and feeling the girth,
while I continued to caress his balls. All the while I heard the low
rumbles of satisfaction coming from the depths of Mike's chest, and
felt his breath heavy and regular on my hair.

I began to take more of his cock into my mouth, sucking up and down on
the first half of it. As I went further down on it, eventually I gagged
myself, and he let me pull back momentarily. But soon after, he was
pushing my head again and saying, "Yeah, take it, take my cock." I
remembered the tone that he had used with my Mom, but I didn't know if
he would start talking to me with the same kinds of dirty names. When I
finally managed to get most of his cock into my throat, I had my
answer: "Fuck, yeah. You like Daddy's big cock, don't you?"

I moaned as I took more of his cock in my mouth. The taste of his
precum against the back of my tongue was salty and tangy. I felt the
cool water all over my skin, and my own dick harder than it had ever
been. I didn't have a free hand to touch myself, but I felt that if I
did, I would surely shoot a load right away. Mike was using his hand to
move my head in earnest, and I felt that I was under his control as I
pleasured him. To my surprise, he pulled my head away, and his hard
cock fell back against his abs with a wet smack.

"You like Daddy's cock, boy?" Mike's hold on my head was no longer
affectionate. He had quite a lot of my hair between his fingers and his
grip was strong.

"Yeah," I said huskily.

"Fuck," said Mike, pulling my head back. "Say you like Daddy's cock.
Say you want to suck my cock, boy."

"I want to suck your cock."

"Say it, boy." Mike held me by the hair, pulling up and back. His cock
loomed in my vision, and I could see a drop of precum leaking from the
slit. "Say you want Daddy's cock."

"Give me your cock, Daddy." The minute the word "Daddy" was out of my
mouth, Mike pushed my head toward him with all his strength. My face
was wedged against his shaft. I licked at the part of it nearest my
face, trying to move backwards to get my lips back around his fat
prick. All I wanted was for him to fill my mouth with his leaking cock.

"Fuck yeah," he growled. "Lick me, boy. Lick me good." I licked the
shaft, and since I couldn't move upward on it, I moved down. Soon I was
licking and kissing the base of his cock and moving down onto his
balls. The skin of his sack was surprisingly soft against my lips and
tongue. I liked pleasuring him this way, but I wanted more of him in my
mouth, and I knew how I would try to get it.

"Put your cock in my mouth, Daddy."

Mike pulled my head back. "What did you say, boy?"

"Let me suck your cock, please, Daddy. Cum in my mouth. I want your
cum." The words tumbled out of me, one after another. I had never said
anything like this before, and I had hardly even let myself think it.
But now I felt myself flying through the thinking and the saying, and
arriving right at doing. I let him guide his cock back into my mouth
and I began to let him use me for his pleasure. I wasn't gagging
anymore, and I felt a certain relaxation as he filled my mouth with
more of his hot, salty precum.

"Yeah, that's it, boy," he said, using his other arm to lift himself to
improve the angle for fucking my throat. "Take my fuckin' cock, just
like Lisa does." I felt my cock, already hard as steel, leaking more
precum into the water. I had never cum without touching myself before,
but now I felt that it was possible. The idea that he was using me the
same way he used my mom was so hot that I didn't care whether she came
out and saw me in this position.

"Fuck, yeah, fuck," he grunted. "You like sucking Daddy's cock, don't
you? I knew a boy like you needed Daddy's cock. Such a good boy. Such a
good boy," he said, running his fingers through my hair as he pumped in
and out of my mouth. I tasted the precum leaking from his cock, saltier
than before, and coming out in more volume. I felt his thrusts into my
mouth become more rhythmic. I knew what was about to happen and I
wanted it.

"Oh, fuck, faggot cocksucker, take my load, fuck! Yeah!" He pulled his
cock halfway out of my mouth and reached down to stroke it. I tried to
get more of it in my mouth, pushing myself even further toward him. I
felt the head of his cock on my tongue, exploding with bursts of jizz.
His cum tasted saltier than mine, and he shot more than I'd ever seen
anyone do. I got the first few shots in my mouth, and as I was trying
to swallow, he continued to shoot the rest of his load all over my face
and neck while making guttural noises from the back of his throat.

When he finished, he let go of my hair. Without saying a word he pushed
himself forward, back into the water, landing just to my left. He
ducked under the surface, popping up again halfway across the pool. I
reached down and touched my own cock, which was still hard enough to
cut glass. I experimentally gave it a few strokes, but since I had
never actually gotten off underwater, the sensation was unfamiliar
enough that I wasn't sure how quickly I would actually cum. Mike swam
back toward me, looking me in the eye this time. We didn't say anything
for a few moments. As I felt the cum on my face and neck beginning to
dry in the warm summer air, I drew a deep breath and submerged myself,
swimming away from him.

When my head popped up out of the water, I saw Mom's silhouette through
the door to the house. She slid the door open, looking tired at first,
but smiling when she saw us both in the pool. "Well, I see you boys are
having a little dip," she said. I was glad that the pool was not lit in
a way that would let her see under the surface of the water, as I still
had a raging boner.

"Perfect night for it," said Mike, wading by me toward the steps. "Want
to join us?"

"No, thanks." As soon as Mom saw Mike start to walk out of the pool,
the light from the patio illuminated him and she began to laugh
nervously. "Oh, Mike, you're naked."

"We like to skinny dip," said Mike, as though we were pals. "It's a guy
thing."

"Well, I guess." Mom smiled as Mike walked toward her, dripping wet and
naked. His cock still seemed half-hard to me, and Mom's eyes definitely
went towards it.

"Feeling better, Lisa?" Mike asked, as he gently touched her hair.

"Oh, I am," she said. "You were right. I closed my eyes, and it made
all the difference."