Gold Digger Step Mom Part 3
This
is the story of how I broke every rule in the book of being a stepmom.
Sounds
crazy, right? I mean, being a parent doesn't exactly come with a rule book.
Being a stepmom is no different. Have a seat, and let me fill you in with
exactly what happened to lead up to this crazy new life of mine.
I
always knew that becoming a mom would come with its own set of problems.
Becoming a stepmom would be harder still. But when Mike proposed, none of those
problems mattered to me. I moved into his small house in the suburbs after the
wedding and vowed to be the best stepmom I could be to Greg - but Greg had his
own ideas.
I
never intended to replace his mom. I'm the woman his dad married, the person
who now cooks his meals and does his laundry. His new maid, if you will. We
barely know each other, and we've been living together for three years now! And
it seems like that's how Greg likes it. He comes home from his college classes
and goes straight to his room until dinner time. He does whatever he wants and
spends Mike's money how he sees fit - and I have to live with that.
It
doesn't bother me. Greg is a quiet and respectful young man. He isn't a rule
breaker or a deviant. Even now that he's eighteen, he doesn't act like he's a
big hotshot - he's just Greg. Sure, I wish we were closer, but until he is
willing to further our relationship, I will be nothing more than the
responsible stepmother. I'm fine with that.
His
dad, on the other hand, is a different story. Ever since his big promotion a
few years ago, it seems like he has no time to tend to his wife. He comes home
after I've already gone to bed, and in the mornings, he only grabs a slice of
toast and rushes out the door. I haven't had a conversation with him that
hasn't ended in an argument in a year and a half, and we haven't had sex in two
years. He doesn't text or call me anymore - he comes and goes as he pleases. I
don't even know if he's coming home to eat the meals I cook or not. I've been
suspecting that he's having an affair for a few months now, but I can't find
any evidence.
I'll
be the first to admit our relationship is strained, but I don't want a divorce.
In spite of my rocky relationship with my husband, I'm happy here. As long as I
keep the house clean and have a hot meal waiting for him, I can do whatever I
want. I'm living the dream!
The
only thing that could make this better is if I had a thick, hard cock ramming
my pussy a few times a week - a day, even.
If I
wanted to cheat on Mike, I could. I'm quite attractive for a forty-two-year-old
woman. My long, toned legs and my tits always get second glances when I'm out
in public. I'm very proud of my tits. They're round and firm, like melons, but
they have enough sag to them to squish between my fingers. My long blonde hair
and cornflower blue eyes make me look so innocent - if only those men knew the
dirty mind behind those eyes. I do a lot of yoga and Pilates to keep my ass and
stomach nice and firm. If I was twenty years younger, I would definitely look
into being a porn star. I certainly have the libido of one!
When
Mike stopped paying attention to me sexually, I didn't masturbate at first. I'm
a good Christian woman and a responsible stepmother; I would never do something
so depraved and sinful! Besides, I may have been a bit of a slut when I was
younger, but my libido should have dropped as I aged, right? I was all right
for a time, but as time passed and my urges grew stronger, I knew I had to do
something to keep myself under control.
I started like every desperate, lonely woman does - with porn. It worked for a while. Whenever I was alone, I'd sneak my laptop up to my room, lock the door, and look up videos like "can't pay the pizza guy" and "plumber cleans lonely housewife's pipes". I'd tweak my nipples as the video began until I couldn't take the build up anymore. Then I'd shove my fingers into my weeping cunt and flick one finger against my clit while thrusting two, sometimes even three fingers deep inside over and over until my pussy clenched around them and my hips would buck and I'd squirt all over my bedsheets. Of course, I'd wash them immediately once I came down from my orgasms. After a while, I'd start waiting until an hour before Mike was due home from work. After all, what's the point in washing my sheets five to six times a day?
But
soon, it wasn't enough. Watching the plumber nail the housewife over a counter
top was getting boring. I started looking up dirtier and dirtier porn, but it
wasn't the same. I moved my masturbation sessions from the bedroom to the
living room and the kitchen. The risk that I'd get caught was so exciting but
it wasn't enough. My orgasms became like a gentle, warm current washing over
me, like sinking into a warm bath for a few seconds, and that isn't enough to
get me through the hour, let alone the day! I craved more - I needed more. My
fingers were great, but I needed more than fingers. I needed something thick
and hard, pounding me over and over until I blacked out from sheer pleasure.
But
I'm a lonely housewife in a good Christian neighborhood. I can't go to a sex
shop or, god forbid, have a toy delivered to the house. My reputation - Mike's
reputation - would be ruined! No, I'd have to make do with what I could find
around the house. I tried everything from the handle of my hairbrush to the
electric toothbrush under my bed. My go-to was to hump the edge of our old
washing machine as it rattled away on the old spin cycle, but when Greg
complained about the racket and my husband bought a new washer-drier set that
was as quiet and gentle as a newborn fawn, I had to find something else, and
fast!
To be Continue ...................Part -04
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