Love Father and Stepson Part -1

Story Line: Wife enjoys stepson filling in for his dad.

I had strong feelings for Marshall when I married him. He was 57 and I was 35. He was a rarity even then: a successful lawyer who was nice.

 

Was it love? Yes, but I did have an idea that I would dominate him in bed. We had already enjoyed each other sexually but I hadn’t realized that he was already on the downside. Since then, I’ve made it my business to learn about how couples go into the downturn.

I figured I didn’t have to worry too much about myself. Yes, women dry out down there, even when they resort to the stuff that promises to keep you wet. But I still had some years before I had to worry about that. I remember finding out that my mother was not enjoying sex after menopause. Her inner lips actually retracted so you couldn’t even see them. She said it was too painful to have sex.

But Marshall didn’t have 20 years before he started losing it. First, he had trouble getting it up and then I noticed that his equipment had shrunk. I didn’t turn into a castrating bitch because that wouldn’t have helped matters. But I did start asserting myself.

I always knew he had a panty fetish. I wore sexy ones–lacy and hicut. They might be aqua or red or black. I realized that for some men, plain white ones excited them the most. This was true for Marshall.

Gradually I took control. I told him I would not abandon him because he no longer was able to be as exciting to me sexually. But I did say that I hoped he would let me take charge so we could enjoy each other most successfully. Then I let him know I wanted him in panties. All the time.

Since he had that fetish, it was pretty easy to pull that off. We even talked about what kinds he liked. He began wearing my plain white cotton briefs. Then I started having him wear the panties I had worn the day before. I gradually stopped wiping a whole lot. He became accustomed to pulling up my panties which had lots of pee and shit stains, even some period streaks.

His penis had really become much smaller. I was able with minimal stimulation to get him hard enough to stick it into me, but I teased him about not feeling it very much. He was just happy to be fucking at all.

I taught him how to please me orally. It was a learning experience for him since he hadn’t been used to going down on a woman, and I have a lot of hair down there since I delight in my luxuriant flaming red bush. I did have to show him how to warm me up and circle around my clit until I was ready for him to graze it with his tongue.

He admitted to me that he had been wary of providing oral service but that he now loved the way I tasted when I got aroused. I kissed him deeply when he said that and then had him kiss my lower lips. Then I released just the smallest splash of hot pee. He looked at me with the realization on his face that I was now in control.

That being the way I wanted it, he was willing to follow my directions to move his tongue back through my legs and start using it on my bottom-hole. I knew it would be funky even without my deciding to wipe only slightly after I used the toilet. But I did now cut back on my wiping. And I got him putting his lips around my peehole so I could release right into his mouth.

I didn’t even have to push him into swallowing. He actually seemed to enjoy the taste of my pee. His reward for that was my teasing him enough so he felt that he was being allowed to have sex with me. His hard little cock now was able to penetrate me, but it didn’t do much to bring me off. I now taught him how to play with me with his fingers and that meant I didn’t have to jill while he was in me.

When I mentioned that he owed me, this led to my introducing a spanking after we had sex. He did manage to cum inside me and his fingers did bring me off. Then I sat on the side of the bed, and he got across my lap. I began spanking him lightly with my hand and would let my fingers go down into his crack and tease the underside of his scrotum and dip into his tight little anal opening.

I found it was more fun to have him wearing panties. I had him put on a pair with lace mesh on the front so that when he was across my lap, I ran my finger up his shaft through the mesh. He responded wonderfully to this kind of tease, and I found it satisfying that he started to get hard, and this led to the mesh getting into the tiny hole at the tip of his cock. It was a mild punishment mixed with arousal.

He said that it was painful but exciting. I told him that after he spurted during that teasing, I was going to take down his panties and give him a good dose of my thin cane on his backside.

“Oh, Mommy,” he cried, “that’s going to hurt!”

“That’s right,” I answered. “You were naughty and came in your little panties, so now Mommy is going to cane your bottom.” I found it stimulating to stare at his 57-year-old bottom, with its age creases and some mottled patches. It was the start of my viewing him as a 57-year-old boy who needed to be disciplined.

He learned to stand up and bend over the bedside and I would lower his panties very ceremoniously. I had plenty of room behind him to lay the cane across his bottom, draw it back, and flick it just hard enough to give him a light stinger. We worked up to a regular dose of six of the best.

Giving a caning became a dessert for me after our sex. I became wetter as I prepared to apply the cane to his bottom cheeks than I ever did before or during our fucking. I would announce the grade he had earned for his sexual performance. It was always low.

I often gave him a 63 and loved the psychological impact that had on him as he had to accept that he had failed by two points. We added on an extra stage of our sex when he did get a failing grade: he now would lick my bottom-hole and learn to twirl his tongue inside my hole. I was not especially clean in there, by intention, so he soon became accustomed to tasting my residue.

Marshall was deeply in love with me, and I found that my becoming the dominant partner increased my affection for him. It also seemed to get him cranked up. When we were in bed close to each other, he confessed to me that he liked the way I took charge of our sex life. I pulled my pajama top over my head and brought his face to my breasts.

“Lick them,” I said softly, “don’t suck.” He began licking and I felt them get firm and pointy as they responded to his attentions. I was feeling warm and happy.

“How do you feel about wearing my panties?” I asked him.

“They feel good, Jan,” he answered, “and having them on makes me feel that much closer to you.”

I pulled him close and kissed him sweetly on his lips. “How did sex with me compare to your past relations with your ex-wife and other women?” I daringly asked.

“I was able to perform better then,” he admitted. “Now I need your help to get hard and I’m definitely smaller, so it’s somewhat embarrassing, even humiliating,” he responded. “But I do love you, Jan, and what you’re doing has been good. I didn’t ever expect that being spanked or caned would stir me in my groin, but it did.”

I managed to find an old-fashioned teacher’s grade book at a store where they carried a lot of school supplies. It had a sort of composition-book cover and when I showed it to him, he said it took him right back to when he was in junior high. He remembered his female teachers making entries in the grade book when they called him out for misbehaving in class.

I made up a form on the computer that I designed to resemble the kind of report cards we used to have in junior high. I told him I was going to enter his grade every time after we had sex. It was clear that this both frightened and aroused him. It struck me that he still was in thrall in his mind to those strict young teachers who punished him for misbehaving by giving him failing grades in conduct.

“It might be fun, Marshall, for you to refer to me as Miss Bennett when we are discussing your behavior,” I suggested. I took out my thin cane and swished it in the air a few times and watched him as he seemed to shiver.

“You understand that when you’re naughty, Marshall, I do have to discipline you, don’t you?” I asked him.

“Yes, Jan–I mean, Miss Bennett,” he answered.

“Did your mother ever punish you physically?” I followed in questioning him.

“Yes, Miss Bennett,” he replied sheepishly. “I was spanked and I feel ashamed to tell you this, but she used to make me bend over and spread my bottom cheeks and she would slip a thin sliver from the soap bar into my bottom,” he managed to tell me as his face reddened.

“That stung when she put that into your bottom, didn’t it?” I asked sympathetically.

“It did,” he said, “but she would just say that that was how she dealt with naughty boys.”

“And I have a feeling she gave you enemas too, didn’t she?” I went on.

Now his face was really red as he thought back to things that occurred 50 years earlier. “She did do that, and she made me retain them until she was ready to let me expel on the toilet,” he said slowly.

He added that he did have to tell me something he was still very embarrassed about but that he decided I needed to know.

“She caught me going through her hamper and trying on her worn panties,” he began. “I was horribly embarrassed, and she knew it. She told me that if I did what she told me, she wouldn’t tell my father. I was desperately worried that she would tell him and then all hell would break loose.”

“When you come home from school,” he remembered that she had told him, “I’m going to lay out a pair of my panties for you to put on under your regular trousers or shorts.”

“And did you wear her panties when you came home every day?” I asked, amazed at how my husband recalled exactly how he had been shamed almost a half-century ago.

“I did,” he admitted, “and even though it was so embarrassing, it also excited me incredibly. She would check my panties and see if I had made more stains from jerking off in them. It was very arousing wearing her panties the day after she had had them on. I sniffed the crotch, and it had that amazing smell from being right up against her pussy,” he recalled.

This was getting me hot by now. I slipped off my pajama bottoms and spread my legs so that he knew I wanted him to lick my pussy now. He got down between my legs and lovingly began to apply his tongue to my already wet cunt. He was doing what I wanted so well that I was dripping. Even if he was small and not all that hard, I wanted him inside me.

I lay back on the bed, legs lewdly spread, and beckoned him with my forefinger. He was excited too and he was able to hold himself above me nicely as I reached for his cock and slipped it inside my pussy lips. It really was small, and I didn’t feel like I was being fucked the way I like to be.

But I was feeling very full–of love for him. He was doing his best to please me and was willing to let me take full control of him. I told him I loved him dearly even if he couldn’t satisfy me fully. He kissed me very sweetly and I felt him ejaculate and the spurt was enough to register with me.

He didn’t last long, of course, and soon his small penis was getting smaller and just about slipped out of me of its own accord. He said shyly that he needed to go to the bathroom.

I looked at him severely now and said he would have to get permission from me whenever he wanted to use the toilet. His face blanched at the control he could see I was assuming over his most private bodily functions. I told him he would have to ask me to be allowed to do “weewee” or “plop-plop” and that he would have to use those childish words. I did say that he could call me by my first name when he was seeking this permission.

“Jan,” he replied slowly, “may I go to the bathroom to…do plop-plop?”

“Yes,” I answered sweetly, “I will go with you and watch you make your doody.”

When we were inside our master bathroom, I watched as he pulled down the panties, I had had him put on and he sat down on the toilet.

“Now go ahead and weewee, or make a sissy,” I smiled at him, “and then tell me when you feel your doody coming out.”

I listened as he pushed his little penis down so it aimed at the toilet bowl from inside the front of the seat. I could see that he was not too accustomed to peeing like a girl but that he was also used to peeing in that position after he had had a bowel movement.

“Oh, Jan,” he then said in a high-pitched voice, “my doody is coming out now!”

I watched as I heard a plop into the toilet water.

“Are you finished making your doody?” I asked as a mother might ask her young son.

“Yes, Mommy,” he answered sheepishly. “I made a big one.”

“Oh, I’m proud of my big boy now,” I gushed as I indeed felt a gush inside my pussy as I became wetter from monitoring his toilet behavior. “Now take some toilet paper and turn around so I can watch you wipe your bottom-hole, sweetie,” I announced.

He did just that and I observed as he wiped his anal area thoroughly, pressing the tissue deep into his hole and then disposing of it into the toilet. I gave him permission to flush.

I looked at him deeply now and softly said, “Mommy needs to make a doody now, too. Would you like to see her do that?”

“Oh yes, Mommy,” he responded, “will you really let me see you go plop-plop?”

“Get into the bathtub then and lie on your back,” I said by way of response, and I saw that he was realizing what he was letting himself in for.

“Oh, Mommy,” he now said, “you’re going to…go on me, aren’t you?”

“Yes, dear,” I said in my best maternal tone, “I am going to let you see me make a doody right over you in the tub.”

He was already on his back when I climbed into the tub and squatted right over his face.

I felt my pee coming down my urethra and it first dribbled and then surged out and landed directly on Marshall’s surprised face. He opened his mouth to breath and the stream drizzled right into it, causing him to struggle for a moment to maintain his breathing.

But he had no time to reflect on being peed on.

“Oh, Mommy,” he cried, “I can see your little hole spreading and now, oh, the doody is pushing out, it has a point and now it’s sliding out and…”

My turd had slid several inches out of my bottom-hole before it broke off or tailed off and plopped onto his face.

I looked down as I squatted and saw a dark brown thick turd about six inches long lying on Marshall’s face. He still had a shocked look on his face.

I reached down with a tissue and carefully picked it up and flipped it into the toilet next to the tub. Then I looked directly into my husband’s eyes and softly said, “I need to be cleaned — my bottom does.”

Marshall understood all too well what he was being more or less ordered to do. He leaned up and without wasting time staring into my anus, he applied his tongue to my fetid hole.

I felt his tongue on my hole and then he managed to push the tip into my anus. That felt really good. It also stimulated my muscles, and I felt some more doody pushing down and so did Marshall.

“Oh, you’re making another one!” he cried.

“I want you to take it in your mouth this time,” I said as I felt it start to emerge from my bottom-hole.

It was a nice-sized one and it did pass right into his open mouth, and I told him he could get up now and spit it out into the toilet. He somehow managed to do this, which took a good deal of coordination on his part.

Then I looked him in the eye and observed, “Now you need to get back under me and clean me again down there.”

* * *

Marshall’s son Jonathan was 20 and still lived at home. Although he was tall, dark and good-looking, and this meant that he had a string of girlfriends, he had always been very friendly toward me from the time Marshall began bringing my around. He seemed pleased that his father had chosen to marry me and I never imposed myself on him in my capacity as his stepmom.

I did notice that Jon was often looking me up and down. I had the distinct feeling that he was undressing me with his eyes.

Soon after I took control of Marshall, I was sitting at the kitchen table having my mid-morning coffee. Jon, who was between terms at the university he attended, walked in and I invited him to join me.

He sat down with a coffee and asked me if I was pleased with my marriage to his dad. I told him that I was, and he responded by asking me how I felt being married to a man in his late 50s when I was in my mid-30s. Jon and I had not stood on ceremony previously, so I didn’t now.

I told him that I loved his father and wanted only the best for him.

“Does he satisfy you in bed?” Jon asked directly.

I did hesitate but then answered that because I hoped he would understand that I was thinking of his father’s best interests, I would answer his question, which I did feel was a very intimate one. Normally, I would have deflected it or expressed my annoyance at his asking me that.

“No, he doesn’t,” I answered pleasantly, and he did a double-take.

“I’m surprised,” he replied. “I mean that I’m surprised you married him if that was clear to you before the wedding.”

“It was,” I said bluntly, “but I do love him.”

He gave me a questioning look.

“I’ll continue to play this straight with you, Jon, but answer one question for me: would you like to go to bed with me?” I ventured.

His face flushed a bit but he smiled and said that it would be his fondest wish.

“Then your wish will be granted,” I said with a smile. “Does that surprise you, too?”

“No,” he quickly said, “but when?”

“When your dad gets home from work,” I responded.

“You mean he will be in bed with us or he will watch,” Jon asked, seeming anxious at how I might answer.

“Watch,” I replied.

“Does he know about this?” Jon asked me.

“No, but I’m planning to tell him when he gets home,” I informed him.

“Do you think he will approve of this?” Jon went on.

“Letting him know is a courtesy,” I said firmly. “I make the decisions now.”

I then added that I would like to tell Marshall what was going to happen without Jon’s being in the room when I disclosed my intention.

Jon just nodded. He was off in his own world now, already contemplating the pleasures of spending time in bed with his attractive stepmother..

I sat down next to Marshall on the couch in the living room and leaned into his arms. I told him that I hoped he realized that I loved him and whether we could make love didn’t affect that.

“Are you planning on having it off with someone else?” he asked.

“Yes,” I answered. “I told you I will always love you but I’d like to spend time in bed with someone who can satisfy me.”

He nodded his agreement but then asked, “So who is it?”

“”Jon,” I said flatly.

“OK,” he said, seeming to have absorbed this blow without showing any emotion.

“I’d like you to be in the room if you’d like to be,” I said.

“What for?” he replied. “To watch?”

“Yes,” I said. “I would feel better if you were there.”

He grimaced but nodded his agreement again.

That night, I met Jon in the living room and we walked to my bedroom. When we got there, I asked him to undress me. He carefully unbuttoned my blouse and unzipped my skirt, helping me take off the first and letting the second fall to the floor. We both flipped off our shoes and slipped off our socks.

I was now in bra and panties and I reached over to unbutton his shirt and unbuckle his belt. He helped me by removing the unbuttoned shirt and unhooking his trousers and slipping them off. Now he was in boxers.

He carefully reached back and unhooked my bra standing in front of me. My tits stood out as he took the bra. Then he put his thumbs in the waistband of my pale blue French-cut panties and slid them down and off my legs. I was now naked. I pulled his boxers down and his large cock popped out. I saw that my panties were already displaying my wetness. I sort of hoped Jon wouldn’t notice that.