My Step Daughter

Ellen took her place.

She straddled me slowly, her hands braced on my shoulders, her face inches from mine. Her breath smelled faintly of me. Her eyes searched my face for something - permission, perhaps, or reassurance.

"Slowly," Rita coached, her hand on Ellen's hip. "Let yourself adjust."

The head of my cock pressed against her. She was impossibly tight. Impossibly hot. Ellen gasped - a high, startled sound - and her fingernails bit into my shoulders.

"Mommy," she whimpered. "Mommy, it's ... this feels so wonderful. Better than my vibrator. So much better."

"I know," Rita murmured. "I know, baby."

Ellen sank lower. Her mouth opened but no sound came out. Her body resisted, then yielded, and I watched her face transform as she took me deep. Her first ever, I felt her inner muscles flutter and stretch around me.

"There," she breathed. "There. Oh god. Oh my god."

She began to move. Tentative at first - tiny rocking motions that barely shifted my depth. Then bolder. Her rhythm was unpracticed but genuine, her body discovering what it wanted in real time. Her breasts bounced with each descent. Her head fell back, exposing the long column of her throat.

Rita's hand slid down her daughter's stomach. Lower. Her fingers found the small, hard nub at the top of Ellen's slit, and Ellen jerked as though she'd been electrocuted.

"Mom - I - "

"Let it happen," Rita said. "Don't fight it."

Ellen's movements became erratic. Desperate. Her inner walls gripped me in pulses that matched the frantic beat of her heart. Her mouth formed words that never quite made it past her lips.

Then she shattered.

Her whole body locked. A sound tore from her throat - raw and surprised and utterly unselfconscious. She collapsed forward against my chest, trembling, her breath hot against my neck.

But Rita was already guiding her off me. "My turn again. Just for a moment."

They switched places with a fluidity that suggested instinct rather than planning. Rita straddled me facing forward this time, her legs wrapping around my waist, her breasts pressing against my chest through the fabric of her blouse. She kissed me - deeply, hungrily - and I reached under her shirt to cup the familiar weight of her.

We moved together. Her mouth never left mine. The kiss deepened as the pressure built, and when she came it was with a full-body shudder and a cry that she poured directly into my lungs.

Ellen was on the floor. Her legs were spread, her fingers working between her thighs, her eyes glazed and fixed on us.

"Come here," Rita said to me, climbing off. "Let her feel it. Finish what we've started."

I went to my knees between Ellen's legs. The tile was cold and hard and I didn't care. Her folds were pink and swollen and wet - so wet - and the dark hair at her mound was the same shade as her mother's. I lowered my mouth to her.

The first stroke of my tongue made her gasp. The second made her arch off the floor. Her hand found the back of my head and pressed me closer, and I licked into her the way I'd learned to lick into Rita, finding the rhythm that made her thighs tremble and her breath hitch.

"Inside," she begged. "Please. Please."

I positioned myself at her entrance. Her eyes met mine, and something passed between us that wasn't quite trust but wasn't quite not.

I pushed inside.

She was tighter than Rita. Different. Her body clutched at me in sharp, fluttering pulses, and I had to move slowly - had to let her accommodate me inch by inch. Ellen's mouth opened in a silent scream. Her nails raked down my back.

"Yes," she hissed. "Yes. Fuck. Don't stop."

I didn't stop. I found a languid rhythm, pulling back until I was nearly out of her before sliding home again. Her hips rose to meet me. Her legs wrapped around my waist. The sounds she made were high and breathy and utterly without restraint.

She came with a scream that echoed off the kitchen tiles.

I kept moving. The pressure in my spine was becoming unbearable. I felt the approach of my own release and tried to pull out, but Rita was suddenly behind me, her hand on my lower back, pushing me deeper.

"Stay," she whispered. "Let her feel all of it."

I couldn't have stopped if I'd wanted to. The climax ripped through me with a force that turned my vision white. I emptied into Ellen in long, pulsing surges - one, two, three - and felt her body clench around me again, another orgasm triggered by the heat of my release.

We collapsed together.

For a long moment, the only sound was breathing. Three sets of lungs, each at a different tempo, slowly finding their way back to something like normal.

Ellen untangled herself from me and sat up. Looked down at the evidence of what we'd done, pearling at the seam of her thighs. She touched it with one finger, brought it to her nose, then her tongue.

"My first time," she said. Her voice was hushed but steady. "So good. So deep. Look - your cum is dripping out of me." A pause. "I'm not on the pill. But one time shouldn't ... I mean, the chances are low." She looked at me, then at Rita. "Next time, though. And I hope there's a next time. Next time we should use a condom."

She rose to her feet with a dancer's grace, walked to me, and pressed her lips to mine. The kiss was gentle. Almost chaste. The complete opposite of everything that had preceded it.

"Thank you," she whispered against my mouth.

---

The days that followed were unlike anything I'd experienced in seven years of marriage.

No sex. Just feeling. Just presence.

Ellen had transformed. When she got home from her college courses, she'd cross the room and kiss my cheek - a casual gesture, but one that said more than words ever could. She hugged me. She asked about my day. She called me Sean instead of "that guy" or "him" or the pointed silence she'd wielded like a weapon for seven years.

On Tuesday, I opened an account for Rita on a site I'd found months ago - an online community for erotic stories. She'd been hesitant at first, but by Wednesday morning she was sending me links from her phone with subject lines like "This one made me use Ellen's vibrator" and "Skip chapter three, the rest is incredible."

She masturbated almost every day now. Sometimes twice. I'd come home to find her flushed and relaxed on the couch, the faint hum of a toy still echoing from the bedroom. She'd smile at me and pat the cushion beside her, and we'd talk about her day - really talk, the way we hadn't in years.

"Our life has changed completely," I said Thursday morning, watching her butter toast with the same humming contentment she'd shown all week.

She looked up, and her smile was radiant. "I know. I want to keep changing it. Sean, will you go shopping with me? I need new underwear. The things I own are all so old. So ... practical."

We went that afternoon.

The boutique was tucked between a bookstore and a coffee shop, its window displays featuring mannequins in lace and silk. Rita's eyes went wide at the threshold.

"You choose," she said. "I want to know what you want to see me in."

I chose a bodysuit in deep burgundy - sheer mesh with a delicate floral pattern, the crotch left deliberately, provocatively open. Two bras: one black lace, one emerald satin that matched her eyes. A set of thongs in colors I'd never seen in her drawer. A slip that ended at mid-thigh and clung like a whispered secret.

She tried everything on in the fitting room and sent me photos from behind the curtain. I nearly dropped my phone.

After the boutique, we passed a storefront with tinted windows and a neon sign that read PLEASURE EMPORIUM. Rita stopped.

"Is that..."

"A sex shop," I said. "Want to look?"

She didn't answer with words. She pushed the door open.

The interior was dim and smelled of scented candles and silicone. Rita moved through the aisles with the focused attention of a scholar, pausing at the display of vibrators and dildos. Her fingers trailed over them - testing textures, weighing them in her palms.

"This one," she said, holding up a curved silicone piece in soft lavender. "And this one." A smaller, sleeker model in turquoise.

She carried them to the register without a hint of embarrassment.

At home, she gave me a show.

She emerged from the bedroom in the burgundy bodysuit, the sheer fabric doing nothing to hide the dark circles of her nipples or the triangle of hair at her mound. The open crotch framed her sex like a piece of art. She turned slowly, letting me see every angle, and by the time she faced me again I was straining against my zipper.

"Like what you see?"

I crossed the room in three steps.

We didn't make it to the bed. The floor was fine. The wall was fine. She rode me on the armchair, then bent over the ottoman, then lay on her back with her legs hooked over my shoulders while I drove into her with a rhythm that made the pictures on the walls rattle.

She used the lavender dildo while I watched, her eyes locked on mine, her mouth open in a continuous moan. Then she used it on herself while I fucked her from behind, and the combination made her come so hard she sobbed.

We finished tangled on the bed, the bodysuit torn at one shoulder, my release cooling in the crease of her thigh. Neither of us moved to clean up.

"Tomorrow's Friday," I said into the quiet. "Are you okay with going back to Alex?"

She turned her head on the pillow. Her eyes were sleepy but bright.

"I certainly am. I need to tell him something."

"What?"

"That his hypnosis didn't work at all. And yet somehow, I've changed completely." She laughed, low and warm. "He's going to be so confused."