Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 31475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 157(@200wpm)___ 126(@250wpm)___ 105(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 157(@200wpm)___ 126(@250wpm)___ 105(@300wpm)
I walk into my room and slide my white cotton panties down my legs. I toss them on the floor and grab a pillow off the bed.
Always having to share a room with other girls, you had to learn to be quiet when you masturbated; it was something I quickly mastered. Right now I feel like it won’t take much to get me there. Never in my life had a man looked at me like Bruce just did, and never had I experienced such emotion. It was intoxicating. I felt alive.
Looking around the room, I search for the perfect spot. When I see the armchair in the corner, I know it will work best for what I have in mind. Placing the pillow over the arm of the chair, I straddle it. It gives me what I need, firmness for pressure, but a soft surface for comfort. Just like I always imagined a cock would be.
Spreading my legs wider, I start to move my hips. I close my eyes and fight past the shame I feel from the face I see in my mind. Normally my masturbation fantasies are of faceless men: heroes plucked out of my latest romance novel. This time there’s a face. Bruce, my step-dad. In my mind, everything about him is hard, from his eyes to the set of his jaw. I picture him giving me the same heated look he gave me in the kitchen.
Rubbing my pussy against the pillow, I pretend it’s his lap I’m straddling instead of the arm of the chair. I imagine rubbing my clit against his hard-on and using him for my pleasure while he sits completely still, fighting not to touch me. Pressing myself further into the pillow, I shudder at the shock of desire that shoots up my spine. He’d be so powerless to his desires, he’d suddenly lift me from his lap, slam me down onto his desk, and put his face between my legs. He’d need to taste me. He’d use his tongue and fingers to prepare my tight pussy for his cock. He’d be so worried about hurting me, because I meant everything to him. He’d do it for hours, just worshipping, not caring about anything else in the world. Only I mattered, and I was his everything.
Every move of my hips sends streaks of pleasure through my body. My skin tingles as I think of all the things Bruce would do to my body. I move faster, pressing down harder as the images start to flash through my mind one after another until the orgasm breaks through.
I shudder as pulses run through my body, leaving me shaky and weak. My climax hits me hard and it’s all I can do to hold myself up as I ride out the waves of pleasure.
Rolling over, I collapse into the chair, letting the pillow hit the floor. I look down and see the wet spot my cum has left behind. God, if I came like that just thinking about Bruce, what would the reality be like?
I think back to the woman from last night, the same one he’s having lunch with. Did he make her cum? Would he take her on his desk at work like I just imagined? I bet she’s more experienced than I could ever be. She could handle a man like Bruce. I’ve never so much as kissed someone. I didn’t even get an affectionate kiss from my mother, but I bet Bruce kissed her.
I feel the sting of tears and I close my eyes to fight them back.
It was only hours ago I was trying to summon tears, and now I can barely stop them. No, this isn’t the emotion I want now. I want what I had in the kitchen—the thrill of being wanted, an unfamiliar but exciting feeling. But how could I lust after the man my mother married? She may have loved him, but I’m skeptical she had that ability. It’s shameful, but I can’t seem to stop myself from lusting after Bruce.
Mentally shaking myself, I force all thoughts of him from my head.
I pull out one of my suitcases and find a baby blue sundress. I slide it over my head, slip on some simple, white lace flats, and go to the bathroom to wash my face. I brush my teeth, put my hair in a quick braid, and look at myself in the mirror. I debate putting on a little bit of makeup, but my face is still flushed, and I don’t know why I need to bother.
Heading out of my room, I pause outside the room Bruce said was my mother’s. It still seems so odd they didn’t share a room. Pushing open the door, I’m shocked and rooted in place.
Suddenly, a smile splits my face when I recognize Lily dusting the dresser.
“Lily!” I squeal, running towards her and wrapping her in a hug.
“Oh my, Sophie! Look how big you’ve gotten! All grown up now,” she exclaims, and I can’t help but squeeze her tighter.
Pulling back, I look up at her. She looks the same, but with a few lines on her face and some streaks of gray in her rich, chocolate brown hair. “What are you doing here?” I ask. I haven’t seen Lily for years, and didn’t know if she still worked for my mother. She’d worked for my mother for as long as I could remember. I’m almost ashamed that I hadn't asked about her.
“I’ve never stopped working for your mother, and well, now Mr. Archer.” At the mention of my mother she pulls me into a hug again “I’m so sorry, Sophie, it was all so sudden.”
“I’m fine really.” I try to reassure her.
“Let’s go into the kitchen, we’ll have coffee and talk.”
Following her, I sit down at the breakfast bar and watch her shuffle around the kitchen. It’s clear she knows where everything is.
“You kept working for my mother after she got married?” I ask, fishing for answers. I’m curious about my mother and Bruce. They don’t seem like a fit, but when I really thought about it, I don’t think I could picture my mother with anyone. She didn’t care for affection or seem like she would ever play with the idea of marriage. I’m not sure how I came to be, and the topic of my father was never brought up.