Step-daughter Dry Humping

By the time I reached 34 years old, I pretty much thought my chances of meeting a woman, falling in love, getting married, and starting a family of my own were pretty much over. What I had done with my life up to that point had kept me out of the country, fairly well isolated from others, and with little chance of meeting a woman I could actually have a long term relationship with.

So I changed careers, gave myself the opportunity to stay in one place for a while, see what panned out. I guess I hadn’t quite written off marriage yet, but children were probably out of the question. I figured step-daughter to be a given. That really didn’t sound so bad to me. I’m a stepkid myself, raised partly by my step-dad. Why should I have anything against that? As I thought about it, I realized I didn’t.

Still, I just dismissed the whole thought. I have never been a social person. Me meeting someone, and actually being with her as far as marriage? I’d never had a girlfriend last more than a few months. It was the realization that when I left for work in the morning, I wouldn’t be back until at least two months later, and sometimes be gone as many as six months before coming home again that killed it. Every time.

So, if I was going to get married, I’d have to change that. I did, and realized I had no idea how to go out and meet women in this country. I thought to myself, ‘Done. Fuck it. Hobbies, and jacking off will be my social life for the rest of my lonely life.’

Four months later I met her. She was 38, red headed, large breasted (F-cup), broad hipped, long legged, and just plain old voluptuously sexy. I mean real voluptuous, too. My favorite description of what voluptuous is goes back to an old Melanie Griffith movie; the little boy in the movie with her was looking at a picture of Loni Anderson taped to the side of a cash register, the boy commented, “She’s fat.”

Melanie replied, “No, she’s not fat, she’s voluptuous.”

The boy asked what that meant, she said “It means she’s fat in all the right places.” Internet ladies who use the term voluptuous to describe yourselves, I’m sorry to tell you this, but Melanie is right. If your belly exceeds the size of your bust, you’re fat. Now, don’t get pissy with me just yet, because you are still beautiful. That’s why they have the BBW description, I just ask that you use the right terminology to describe yourself. I’m a heavy man myself, so I don’t hold a woman’s weight against her. I’d rather have her hold her weight against me!

Okay, enough of the cheesy cornball jokes, back to the story. I do stand by what I said in that last paragraph, though.

We married a few months after I turned 35. She had three children from her previous marriage, and they were now my step-daughter. The older two lived with their father, the youngest lived with her. She was two weeks shy of her 18th birthday when I met her. She was built like her mother, only taller, with dark brown hair, and not quite yet as busty. Though the pictures I had seen of her mother at that age, she wore a B- cup.

This girl who was soon to be my step-daughter was firmly in a D-cup, and growing. She was in a DD (or E, depending on the bra company) by the time she was fifteen. Her tits were much larger than they were at 18, almost 19, but her chest had grown proportionately larger as well, so just one cup size up was all that was needed.

Her older sister wore a G-cup, but I never really got the chance to know her until after she graduated high school, and moved in with us. Since this story is about the one that mattered to me, that’s all I’ll say about her, but her over-sized jugs prove that there is a big titty gene in their family. Obviously passed from mother to daughter, but is that where it ended?

Yes, that is where it ended. It’s a little bit of a mystery where my wife’s F-cups came from. She had graduated high school wearing only a C-cup. It wasn’t until after first girl that she started going into the D-cup range and beyond. She told me that with her second and third pregnancies, she had made it to G and H cups. It was after she finished breastfeeding her youngest, and the milk stopped, that she finally evened out at an F. Her family then?

Her mother had the tits of a ten year old boy. The women I met on her father’s side would have considered a B-cup buxom. There must have been a recessive gene in both families that became dominant in my wife and her daughters. Since I love big tits, the bigger the better, this was paradise for me. Though I only intentionally groped the one I married, her younger daughter did provide me a chance.

Of the three kids, she was the one that mattered to me. Partly because she was there, partly because the other two were passed the age of needing a dad. At least in the manner that I would have provided. The oldest was a 19 year old son, who was about to become a father himself, so he needed nothing from me. The G- cup girl was 21, almost 22, when I met her. Maybe we would have been closer sooner had she lived with us then instead of later, but she still wouldn’t have really needed me as a dad. The youngest, though, she hated her father, but still needed a dad. In time her relationship with her father improved, but I fit the role she needed.

She developed a little crush on me early on. It would fade when she got interested in a boy her age, but come back stronger after they split up. She had also gotten her mother’s chronic case of the hornies, too. Massive sex drives in these two.

Myself, I got a little bored with my wife’s sex drive. After a while, fucking her was like fucking a corpse: missionary position, banging my dick into the same spot until she came, which took only about 30 seconds. I hear women complain about men in bed, not going the distance. We had quite the role reversal going on here, but I did my best to work with it, though. She would get so upset if I didn’t cum, but she would be dry five minutes after cumming herself. If I kept going, it would hurt her. No fun there. So I’d try out little things, trying to get her to cum throughout the day, hoping she would last a little longer when we really got down to it. Hell, I only needed ten minutes. She eventually started slapping me away, telling me I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. Yeah, ultimately, we didn’t last.

All beside the point of this story, so let’s get back to my daughter’s crush. Yes, daughter. I always called her that. I don’t have kids of my own, and since she hated her father, we just rolled with it. She never called me dad, but that’s how she introduced me to her friends. Some of her girlfriends called me ‘daddy’, and it made me giggle to hear it. It got a little weird sometimes when I’d show up at the high school for whatever reason, and hear the scream of daddy, and be glomped on 3 sides, by 3 obviously unrelated girls. I felt loved, though, accepted. I certainly did not mind those teenage breasts being pressed into me.

One day, when my daughter was 17, I had just come home from… somewhere, probably work. She was in the kitchen, I went in to get a drink of water. Turned out she was in an ‘I love daddy’ mood. I gave her a hug from behind, kissed the side of her neck, and asked her how was school. I missed it then, but when I kissed her neck, she pressed her butt back into my crotch. She giggled, said it sucked, then waited for me to leave the kitchen, kind of hovering at my shoulder.

I went back to the bedroom, intending to molest my wife while she was in the bathroom, getting ready for work herself. She always got pissed when I’d kiss her, and make her have to put on her lipstick again. She was often naked when in the bathroom, so I’d pull out my cock, and rub it in her ass-crack. I couldn’t be too aggressive, or she’d hurt herself in some way; mascara or eyeliner jabbed in the eye, toothbrush down the throat, something stupid like that.

When she bent over to do something in the sink, I’d slip into her pussy, and gently fuck her. The bathroom was small, so I had to be gentle, otherwise I’d put a hole in the wall behind me, and drive her face through the mirror. All this little game did was get us ready for when she got home. Unfortunately there was no game that evening; she was fully dressed, made up, and working on her hair. I had to settle for a kiss, fondle her through her clothing, then hear about the destruction of her lipstick.

I went back out to the bedroom. I was about to sit down on the bed, and pull off my shoes, when the girl came charging into the room at me. She threw her arms around my neck, and tackled me onto the bed. She had a wild look in her eyes, like she was ready to start laughing madly. She leaned over my face, and gave me a big wet kiss on the cheek.

“Well, hello!” I said, and began to kiss her all around her neck and face making an ‘om nom nom’ sound. She began to laugh hysterically as I buzzed around her head and neck.

While I was doing that, she pulled her legs up onto the bed, and she straddled me. Placed herself so her jean covered teenage pussy was right over my jean covered cock, and she started to grind. Her mother was maybe ten feet away in the bathroom, now with the hair dryer running. She goes completely deaf when she has that thing blasting her head, and she basically goes through an aerobic workout whipping her hair about trying to get the right lift and fullness out of it. I could have fired gun right then, and she wouldn’t have heard it, let alone heard the bed creak as her daughter dry humped me.

So, as I was lying there feeling my daughter grind my rapidly hardening dick, I figured what the hell. I reached around, gave her ass a squeeze, and gave her nip on the collarbone. The collarbone is a sensitive spot on her mother, and apparently worked for her, too. She pulled away from my face, placing her massive melons right in sucking distance.

She normally wore a tank top of some kind under her t- shirts to help contain them, but she wasn’t wearing one then. All she had on was a v-neck t-shirt that was cut wide, and low. When she slid her chest to give access, the neck was pulled even lower, releasing her bra covered tits.

Being that we were acting like a couple of teenage idiots, I buried my face into the soft valley of her cleavage, and motor-boated her for all I was worth. She pressed her chest into my face, burying me in even deeper. With the soft warmth of her skin, the smell of her perfume, I found myself starting to push my hard cock back into her grinding hips. I was sorely tempted to reach up, pull the cups of her bra out of the way, and feast at her what I assume to be luscious nipples. Unfortunately, hair only takes so long to dry.

I heard the hair dryer shut off in the bathroom, so I quickly pulled my face out of her bra, spanked her tight round ass, and kicked her over onto her back, rolling with her, so I ended on top of her. Then I sat back onto my heels. This allowed her shirt to spring back into place. Then, trying to cover our now awkward positions, I tickled her, making her scream with laughter until she said she was about to pee. I let her up, and she jumped up off the bed, running to her bathroom.

If my wife saw anything she felt was inappropriate, she never said. My step-daughter and I never played like that afterward. When her mother went to work that night, she left to hang out with her friends. When my wife got home, we had the wonderful dinner, and I took her to bed. I pretty much abused my rights as a husband that night.

When we got done, my wife said, “Jesus Christ! What got into you? It’s like you were trying to shove my womb up my throat!”

At least we came at the same time that night.