A Week With My Stepmom

Family Erotica

Dad is away working for a week. So I'm alone with my new stepmom.

Sex with her passes through my mind 93 times a day. I wish it didn’t, because I know I shouldn’t feel this way towards my stepmom; but ever since she moved in, I’ve had a growing sexual attraction for her that I can’t shake.

She’s 39, tall—about 5’9—and has brunette hair that waves down to her slim but curvy waist. Her face is welcoming but cute with high cheekbones, and expresses an air of playfulness whenever she’s in a good mood. Her voice no longer resembles the naïve and high pitch tone of a teenage girl, but rather the soft and mature voice of a woman with sexual confidence. Her breasts are large enough to show cleavage no matter what she wears, and her ass, well, she trains regularly with some Booty Bootcamp group so there’s nothing she doesn’t look tight in.

Strangely, she married my Dad. He’s not even particularly wealthy, but he is funny. Other than that, though, he’s just a regular guy with a corporate job that has him travel abroad sufficiently enough that I hardly notice when he’s gone. It does make me wonder what she’s with him for.

The Saturday Night Workout

It’s a Saturday night and Dad’s away on a work trip for the whole weekend. It’s just me and my stepmom, Kate, in the house—not unusual. I’m in my room and can hear her doing one of her virtual Booty Bootcamp sessions in the lounge. Hissing and panting; some woman shouting words of encouragement while keeping track of a countdown timer…it sounds hard. I’m starting to imagine her in tight leggings, bending over, on all fours, working up a sweat…

But now I’m wondering, why does she do it? Is it for herself or for guys? If it’s for herself, why does she care whether she has a big butt or not? So then, if it’s for guys, that must mean she DOES care about what guys think of her, maybe she WANTS more attention from guys? Maybe…she does it because she wants to be sexually attractive to guys… well it certainly can’t be for my Dad because he’s never here, and even when he is, they don’t seem to have much sexual chemistry.

“AANNDDD SQUAT! Go girls! Just 30 more seconds!” I can hear more heavy breathing, some groaning. At this point I can’t help it…I’m hard as a rock. I reach for my phone and pull up some pics I found of her deep into her Facebook timeline. The first one is her in a pink bikini on a beach in Spain, lying down with the sun lighting up the detail of her tanned legs. I try to imagine running my hands up her thighs towards her pussy, slowly pulling her panties aside to begin to rub her.

2nd pic. She’s in some infinity pool facing out towards the ocean. She’s lifting herself out the water enough that I’m looking straight at her tight ass in bright blue panties with water dripping off her smooth skin, and her wavy dark hair just waiting to be tugged.

Seeing these while hearing Kate actually groan and sweat in the other room is enough to send me over the top; I cum straight into my joggers.

I get out of bed and go to the bathroom to wash my hands and change my clothes; it sounds like her workout is over, too.

As I open the door to leave, Kate is standing right in front of me, still breathing heavily from her workout. She’s looking me straight in the eye.

“Why are you so flustered? You been working out too?” She asks with a flirtatious grin.

I’m struggling to think of something normal to say.

“Yeah, ummm, just some push ups and stuff.”

Kate shrugged and walked past me into the bathroom. We were so close I could almost feel her rub against me.

Dinner

Two glasses of red wine down, Kate’s making dinner for us both. She calls me into the kitchen for something.

“My phone’s dead, can I use yours to connect to the speaker while I cook?”

“Okay,” I said, and passed her my phone. I left and went back into my room.

Meanwhile, she opens my recent apps and immediately sees it: my photos, the screenshot of her bending over in the infinity pool.

Kate is stunned for a moment, trying to understand why her stepson would have this saved on his phone. She’s a little embarrassed, but starts thinking it’s quite cute.

“Does he think I’m hot?” she starts wondering.

She finishes off dinner and calls him in.

“Hey, food’s ready!” she yells from the kitchen, her voice carrying that playful lilt I’ve come to obsess over. I take a deep breath, trying to shake off the lingering heat from earlier, and head downstairs. The smell of garlic and herbs hits me as I walk in. She’s standing by the stove, stirring something in a pan, still in her workout gear—those tight leggings hugging every curve. I try not to stare, but it’s a losing battle.

We sit down at the table, plates of pasta in front of us. The wine’s still flowing, and her cheeks are a little flushed—maybe from the workout, maybe from the glass she’s sipping. Conversation starts light: the weather, some dumb TV show she watched last night. But then she leans back in her chair, twirling her fork, and fixes me with a look that feels… different.

“So,” she says, her tone teasing, “you’ve been keeping busy up there in your room, huh?”

I nearly choke on my pasta. “Uh, yeah, just… you know, chilling.”

She smirks, taking a slow sip of wine. “Chilling. Right.” There’s a pause, and I swear I see her eyes flicker with something—curiosity, maybe amusement. “You’re a funny one, you know that?”

I force a laugh, my mind racing. Does she know? Did she see something on my phone? My stomach twists, but I play it cool, shoving another forkful of food in my mouth to avoid answering. She doesn’t push it, just keeps eating, but the air feels thicker now, like there’s something unsaid hanging between us.

Dinner wraps up, and I offer to clean the dishes—anything to get out of that charged space. She nods, stretching her arms above her head with a little groan that sends my imagination spiraling again. As I scrub the plates, I hear her footsteps behind me, soft and deliberate.

“Hey,” she says, her voice closer than I expect. I turn, and she’s leaning against the counter, arms crossed, watching me. “Thanks for letting me use your phone earlier. You’ve got… interesting taste in photos.”

My heart stops. The sponge slips from my hand into the sink. She doesn’t say anything else, just gives me this half-smile—part playful, part unreadable—and walks out of the kitchen, leaving me standing there, water dripping down my arms, wondering what the hell she’s thinking.