WARNING:

This book contains graphic sexual content and extreme violence including forced consent, reluctant sex and extreme violence. All characters engaging in sex are 18+

Adults only! Not for sensitive readers.

Schooled by my Stepmom

I had been fantasy fucking my stepmother since I was old enough to have an orgasm. At first it was out of self-righteousness. Every time she would scold me, correct me, tap me on the hand for dipping a dirty finger into a pie. It was my form of revenge: a big ‘I’ll fuck it out of you’ act of rebelliousness.

I wonder now if that was the inception of my sadistic tendencies. One thing was clear, older women did it for me and it wasn’t until I had slept with one that I realized the young, thin, pretty little things would never be able to do it for me on that level.

I knew she was a professor at the local college, despite having had her around for most of my adolescence, I refused to learn anything else about her. Whether she had sex regularly, masturbated, or had an opinion on any of the above had never entered my mind and I certainly had never spent enough time at my father’s house to wonder. Holidays at dad’s were spent playing Play Station until I was in a coma or out partying and too hung-over to care.

In my first year, I was accepted to the local college, which happened to be on my father’s door step. Though logical to move in with him for the duration of my studies, it was not my first option nor one I would have chosen willingly.

She had thankfully made her presence scarce and retreated daily to the study where she did who-knows-what for hours on end. It was a room I had never ventured into for fear—well, fear is too strong a word—of another scolding. She made it very clear, prancing around in her turtlenecks, grey slacks and sensible shoes that the study was her domain. I had lifted my head from the TV screen long enough to notice that there had always been a steady stream of students walking in and out of the room, however my curiosity passed as quickly as it had arrived.

Where was I...? Oh yes, year one!

Like most freshman, I was more concerned with the party life on campus as opposed to the list of subjects I had to take. I decided the safest course of action was to choose some nondescript economics degree with a link to a psychology degree. I’ll never forget my reaction to the time table. Introduction to business theory, accounting 101 and Sexology 101. ‘Huh’? The last had to be a mistake, surely the psych elements of my education would involve introductory subjects?

The first class was to be held that Monday morning and the lecturer had yet to be announced. Like the sheep we were, we streamed in, in our hoards—mostly guys, of course. It was so packed, that some of the guys were sitting on the floor in the aisles.

When she walked in I was literally left speechless. A five-foot-six siren in black suede stilettos, a tight knee-length black corporate skirt, a button up white shirt, revealing a black lace bra, hair pulled back into a tight auburn bun, black rimmed glasses that pointed at the edges. She was curvy in all the right places, gorgeous toned calf muscles, perfectly round ass and hips, and breasts full enough to tighten the shirt and threaten to pop out. She was a fifty-year-old Khloe Kardashian. My initial reaction was that I was dreaming. Everything except the glasses were familiar, but completely out of place, ahhhh but the glasses I knew all too well. The rest of her face—the eyes, the perfectly painted lips, the sharp chin—were all so familiar, it was almost chilling.

“I am Professor Jane Carter, I am the course head, and I will be lecturing you,” she stopped to chuckle derisively before continuing. “I will be lecturing you for the next four years, should you be brave enough to remain in this class,” she looked up and directly at me. My hard-on was instant. Whether out of recognition or out of years of playing with myself to the thought of her, I don’t know. It was my fucking stepmother, dressed like a porn star, about to teach me about sex. The worst, I learnt, was yet to come.

“Who knows what a fetish is,” she asked loudly, brazen. I almost died. This was the woman that didn’t speak louder than a few decibels on purpose to torment my near-deaf father, this was the woman who wore turtlenecks for-fucks-sake. Talk about a Jamie-lee Curtis turn around?

As she launched into the introduction to the course and some of the material we would be learning, I tried desperately to remember what she had been wearing that morning and I came to a blank. ‘Curse me, for never paying attention,’ I certainly did from then on.

“Ladies and gentlemen, a fetish is a strong and unusual need or desire for something or someone,” she looked directly at me again and I felt the heat of it spread through my body like wild fire. Some know-it-all raised her hand in the back of the room “Like Fifty Shades”. The girls giggled, she grinned. “Exactly,” she replied. “Of course, the book represents only one facet of fetishism, and it doesn’t do so very well, but it certainly gives you the general idea,” she went on.

I watched as student after student nervously asked questions. It was as if I was seeing her for the first time. The way she leaned her generous hips against the desk, leaning in to listen intently. The way she sucked on the end of her pencil, forcing it in and out between her lips, while she thought of an answer. The way she rolled back her head to laugh loudly at some amusing comment or the other. She was breath-taking and now I wanted to fuck her for an entirely different set of reasons.

I was almost disappointed that she had not acknowledged me in class. When I had left, she never bothered to look in my direction. I wondered what my father had seen in her years ago or whether he knew about this side of her, and suddenly I wondered what the inside of her study looked like.

I rushed home only to be thwarted by a locked door. Lock picking on YouTube looked far easier than what it was. “There’s no need for that,” she said smoothly behind me. I froze. “Although, you can only get in by invitation,” she whispered in my ear. She had changed clothes again. Embarrassed at being caught, I blushed. “It looks like you need to be punished,” she said seriously. For some reason, a tap on the hand did not come to mind. I swallowed hard. She passed by me and leaned against the closed door, arms crossed over her chest, assessing me. Far too close and I was frozen to the spot. “You’re not ready for an invitation,” she finally concluded. I was crestfallen. I was her stepson dammit! I didn’t need an invitation. The scent of lipstick clung to her breath as it wafted over my face. I could feel my heart beat in my eyeballs as I fixated on her mouth. When had she developed luscious lips?

That evening, staring at the ceiling while stroking my cock she was all I could think about. In truth, the invitation was all I could think about. What did it mean to have to obtain an invitation? What would I have to do to get one?

Admittedly I had never attempted to develop a relationship with this woman and neither had she, so why was her ignoring me so deeply irritating? Why did it suddenly bother me so much? I had had enough affection from my mother, so it certainly wasn’t that. I had no lack of sex or sexual offers, so it wasn’t that either. Eventually I concluded that it was the unknown, that deep and mysterious side of her that unsettled me.

Over the next few weeks, I attended every embarrassing class. I endured every glare, every stare, every, dare I say longing, glance. Then it dawned on me, she was communicating with me, she probably had always been, and then given up when I didn’t get it.

“I want an invitation,” I whispered in her ear after having waited for everyone to leave the class room. She looked up at me from over the rim of her expensive glasses and smiled. “You have to earn it,” she whispered back with a grin. “Tell me how,” I persisted. She licked her lips assessing me the way she had the day I attempted to break into her office. “Well it depends on whether you’re able to perform certain tasks,” she said honestly. I bit my lips, I wanted to take her right there on the podium.

“What are they?” I was on the verge of begging. “You need to start by talking to me,” she said packing her things. “Huh?” I said confused, wasn’t that what I was doing. “When did you lose your virginity?” she attacked. I was floored. “I’m a sexologist, what did you think I wanted you to talk to me about?” she asked very seriously. What happened next was very unexpected. “Come, have a cup of coffee with me, and we’ll see about the invitation,” she smiled warmly. It wasn’t a sarcastic smile or one a parent would lovingly offer her child. It was professional and full of an understated intention to dig through my mind.

She bought two coffees and led me to a bench on the sunlit side of the campus lawns. Students waved as we walked past. She was obviously well liked. “Well, when did you lose it?” she prodded. I wasn’t exactly comfortable, having known her my entire life, this conversation seemed like it should have been natural yet it was contrived. “Um, I must have been about thirteen,” I answered, swallowing hard. She nodded. “How did you feel afterwards?” she continued. I thought for a moment. I really hadn’t given it much thought. It had been while I was on summer camp with Jolene Knowles, one of the older girls at camp. She cleared her throat bringing me back into the present. “I’m not sure how I felt,” I replied. “It was over before I even knew what had happened,” I said more to myself.

“When last did you have sex?” she asked, placing a hand on my knee. The jolt of electricity shooting from her hand to my crotch was unmistakable. “A few weeks ago,” I lied. I hadn’t had sex in months. “Do you have any preferences?” she asked, running the tip of her finger over the edge of her lower lip, drawing my attention to it. Her eyes were a deep blue and her pupils were dilated. Her breathing had deepened. It was as if she was getting off on what I was telling her, and the more detail I invested into it, the more aroused she seemed to get.

“Well I’m straight, but I have watched some gay porn,” what was I thinking admitting that? “Mmmmm. Did you enjoy what you saw?” she asked quickly. I blushed and turned away. “It’s not the gay sex that turned me on,” I confided. I don’t know why I did, a part of me wanted to turn her on, a part of me wanted to share all my dirty secrets and a part of me wanted to see where my confessions would take me. “Have you tried anal sex?” she asked in a very breathy voice. There it was, she had guessed at my very secret desire. Looking back, I realized that she was a trained Sexologist. I nodded in response, it was all I could do. My eyes never left hers, and I could feel our body heat mingling. “I think you’ve just earned your invitation,” she said, getting up to leave as if nothing more than a conversation between a teacher and her pupil had transpired. I watched her walk away and I suddenly felt very empty.

Knock, knock!

I looked over at my phone, it read two thirty am. “Come with me,” she said, as I opened the door. My half somnolent state was quickly replaced by a wired and raging curiosity. She wore a sheer night gown that, god help me, left nothing to the imagination. She reached for my hand and interlaced her fingers with mine. Walking me to her office, she opened the door and led me in. She switched the lights on behind her and then turned to lock the door.

What I saw was not for the faint of heart! The ceiling was mirrored, on the walls were an assortment of fetish paraphernalia. One end of the ceiling sported some form of hanging contraption, a swing, I later found out. “You have a dungeon in here,” I breathed, a mix of shock and excitement. “Does dad know about this?” I asked turning to her. As I did so, I felt my knees go weak. She was completely naked and preparing to dress a strap-on. My mouth went dry. She was a goddess, pure perfection. Her breasts, though aging, were round and full; with large damask areolas and thick, fat nipples. Her belly was round and plump, her curves were divine. She let her hair hang loose down her back. She stood before me menacing and heavenly. “Who do you think built it for me?” she finally grinned her reply. “What are you doing?” I asked in disbelief.

She cocked her head and arched an eyebrow. “Would you like me to seduce you?” she finally asked. Mrs Robinson had nothing on my stepmother. I didn’t know what to say. The idea of my father sleeping a mere few rooms away and catching us was arousing. “It’s all right Cal, he and I have an understanding,” she assured, pouring a generous amount of lube onto her palms. She began to rub it on the black dildo attached to the strap-on. I was transfixed. She had guessed again at what I had wanted, or at least wanted to experience. “I can’t do this,” I said coming to my senses.

She stopped me, placing a hand on my shoulder and turning me around gently. “Cal, you and I both knew this day was coming,” she whispered. “You’ve been jerking off to memories of me since you were eleven,” she said. My mortification was my undoing. I grabbed a fist full of her hair and kissed her hard. She laughed a victorious sort of laugh. She kissed me back and bit my lip. “I want you on your knees,” she said forcing me to the ground. “Now suck my cock like you want to punish me,” she ordered. I was too far gone to care about the consequences. I wanted what she was offering and I wanted her. I sucked until I gagged and saliva streamed from my mouth. I sucked until my eyes watered and my throat was raw.

“Take your clothes off,” she ordered moving away from me. I pathetically obeyed. She reached a hand around my head and forced her lips to mine. She kissed deeply, sucking and plunging. Her naked heated body pressed to mine. I reached for a breast and squeezed. She groaned into my open mouth, a lioness’ roar. “I want you so badly,” I whispered. “And you will have me. But first,” she broke the kiss and turned me around, bending me over a gymnastic horse. I was stunned at the speed and strength with which she had doubled me over. Then I felt it. A cold wet pouring of lube over my ass crack. I squealed. “Breathe,” she said. “It’s going to hurt until you relax and get used to it,” and then she slid a finger deep into my anus. I cried out at the shock of it. “You smell so good,” she said. I couldn’t see, but imagined that she was smelling my scent on her fingers. She plunged two fingers in, swirling them around. I let out a loud whoosh. I was uncomfortable but not yet painful, and it felt magnificent. It was a strange kind of relief to be filled and explored there.

She threaded her fingers through my hair and pulled my head up. “Tell mommy how much you want her to fuck you,” she ordered, licking the side of my face. “Oh god, please mommy,” I knew it would enflame her arousal to call her that and without any preparation she thrust her black cock into me. I felt winded and blinded by the sudden pain. The pain was quickly replaced by a pounding and growing pleasure. She had hit my prostate dead on. My cock was so hard it was pulsating.

She pressed her sweat soaked body against mine, thrusting gently. Then she reached around my hips and fisted my cock, groaning in my ear. “Looks like my baby boy needs a cock ring,” she said. I felt a cold silver clasp, expertly, surround my balls and cock. The pressure was intense. I was going to cum and stay hard all at once. “More mommy,” I growled. I wanted her to fuck my ass the way I had seen them do on so many of the gay pornos. Hard, furious and possessive. The idea that it was a woman, my stepmother, drove me to the point where sanity met madness.

“So, you want it like this?” she pulled out almost all the way and then slammed back into me. “Again, again, again mommy,” I begged and she obliged. Over and over she pounded into me and my body would not release. I could feel my ass clench and my balls ache but it would not come. I cried and begged, she ignored me. At some point, I must have collapsed because I woke on her couch, alone, when the sun was rising. ‘Class,’ was all I could think.

I ran my way to her class, my ass tender, and my balls aching. I felt amazing. My only thoughts were to find her. To my great distress she had not come to class. I was left with the TA, droning on about the virtues of tantric sex. I went home to find her office locked and her room equally empty. I could not look my dad in the eye long enough to ask about her so I went to bed. The idea of masturbation was empty, I no longer wanted to play with myself. I wanted her to play with me.

Some days went by when I could no longer keep quiet. “Where is Jane?” I finally asked my father over dinner. He cocked and eyebrow at me. I mumbled something that she was my Sexology lecturer and that she had been gone for a few days. That seemed to curb his curiosity. “She at a conference in Seattle,” he finally replied. I felt as if my guts had been wrenched from me. Why hadn’t she told me? Was she doing this with someone else, some other student? The thoughts enraged me.

That very night I heard the car pull up the driveway. I heard her enter the house and greet my father and then I heard her make her way to ‘her study’. I waited until I heard my father enter his bedroom. I immediately ran to the study and entered. “You haven’t received an invitation,” she said. “To hell with invitations,” I reached for her and kissed her hard, drawing blood. I ripped open her slacks and tore the turtleneck from her skin. It would no doubt leave welts, but I didn’t care. “Your father is still awake,” she resisted me, shoving and pushing. I pulled her back against the door and locked it. Shoving my hand down the front of her underwear, I began fingering her dry pussy. She cried out, yet thrust against my fingers. She was dripping in seconds. “Cal, we shouldn’t. Not like this,” she cried between ragged kisses. “Like you said mommy, this has been a long time coming,” I pulled the offending fabric from her crotch and pulled her to the floor.

“Look at me!” I ordered her to open her eyes. I wanted to see her reaction when I entered her. Pulling her legs apart and spreading them as wide as I could with my knees, I thrust my long, hard cock into her. Savagely pulling out and back in again. Her eyes wide, her scream suppressed by her own fist in her mouth. Her eyes rolled back and her hips moved, possessed. I reached for her arms and held them above her head. “You want this?” I asked. She couldn’t speak. “Fuck, you are damn tight and hot,” I noticed. She began to weep. It was becoming obvious that she had not done this in a while and that this was what she had craved and needed the most. “He doesn’t touch you, does he?” I asked, part jealous and part possessive. She shook her head. “It’s why he built this for me,” she confessed. I kissed her then, tenderly, deeply. My thrusting deepened.

“Harder,” she begged. “I need you to fuck me harder,” she asked. I rose, taking her with me. As she had done to me, I bent her over the gymnastic horse and parted her legs. I didn’t hesitate, I thrust immediately into her tight dripping pussy and fucked harder. Holding her hips I thrust so hard I felt the furniture move. Her orgasm was glorious, like a hot velvet vice around my engorged cock. It was so intense that mine arrived without warning. Hard waves of ejaculation filled her crevice. I couldn’t stop the pounding and pussy juice mingled with semen as it ran down her thighs. When we parted, she held me close and kissed me deeply, meaningfully. Much later, smiling and laughing we cleaned up and headed to our respective rooms.

We had many, many encounters after that night, and oh boy, four years can sure go by in the blink of an eye if your Stepmom is your teacher.

Hope you enjoyed this one!

Ivy
xx