Backseat With Stepdad Novels & Stories

I trudged down the short hallway to the living room. My step dad sat on a sofa with my baby brother, Josh in his arms. They were dressed for the occasion. Stepdad ignored me and I couldn't care less. I smiled at Josh who beamed back at me. "Hi Kayla." He wanted to hug me and struggled to leave his father's hold, but the man grabbed him before he could make a run for it. "Now, Josh. What did I tell you about interacting with strangers?" Stepdad asked the two year old. My smile faltered.

The limo was waiting outside, long and black and sleek, and the driver was standing ready with the door already open. There was even a red carpet runner on the driveway, which felt excessive because it's just us here, in this secluded estate. Dad helped Mom in first, always the gentleman with his hand at her elbow, and he helped her slide in gracefully and then settled into the back seat. "Come on, kids!" The interior had front-facing back seats for the parents and rear-facing front seats for us. Dad gestured toward the rear-facing seats. "You two up front." I went first, being very careful with my dress, the slit and the heels.

I say and he looks at me with eyes dark but not moving, he folds his arms and leans his weight on his hips. “Fuck, Winter, you shouldn't be doing something like this, what will your mom think?“ Kaden, my stepfather says and I shake my head, pressing my hands together to plead. The door opens and Uncle Justin walks in with a smirk, “relax brother, she's just exploring like young ladies her age” Justin says and I almost moan at the tension in the room. “She's my step daughter, and you're her fucking Uncle” Kaden says strictly and Uncle Justin climbs into the bed, staying behind me to present me to his brother…my stepdaddy.

stepdad. I stared at the wall separating our rooms, my breath coming in shallow hitches. I was twenty-one now, back from university for the holidays, but in this house, I was still the "smartest girl in the world" to him. Jordan had married my mom six years ago, stepping into the void my biological father left with a grace that was almost saintly. He was the man who had tied my shoes, the man who drove me to every dance, the man my friends at school whispered about with envious sighs.

Our over the top outfits made it all feel so adult and risque, but I felt strange about actually going in front of my stepdad while I was in a thong bikini that barely covered my nipples or vagina. “Let’s go out back, and oil each other up. It won’t take long before he comes out to check on us.” she said. I agreed, and on the way to the sliding glass door leading to the backyard, we passed Tim. “Jesus Cara.” he said, turning his head and looking at my ass. I felt a lump form in my throat and I froze in place, thinking I was in trouble. “Look at you, you’re such a woman. You look gorgeous, baby.”

The Mercedes bounced and creaked in protest and the chauffeur winced from his place behind the wheel. I hopped into the car, buckled my seatbelt as the deep wound of betrayal festered in my mind. Every curse word known to man and wolf was running through my mind as I crossed my arms over my chest and glanced out the window. I saw my twin sister Freya standing on the porch next to my father looking lost and hopeless. Even from a distance I could see her crimson red swollen eyes leaking out a fresh batch of tears.

I hadn’t worn panties — it was way too hot for that — and now the bare lips of my pussy were pressed against the warm leather seat. Mark, my 48-year-old stepdad, got out to pop the hood. I watched him through the window. Even in this heat, he looked good — broad shoulders stretching his t-shirt, thick arms flexing as he checked the engine. He’d been in my life since I was sixteen, and over the last year, the tension between us had grown thicker than the humid air. Twenty minutes passed. Roadside help said they couldn’t get to us for hours. Mom paced beside the car, frustrated. That’s when the beat-up old pickup truck slowed down and pulled over behind us.

I grinned and gave my stepmom a quick high-five as I walk away. We piled toward the car. My stepMom slid into the passenger seat beside Dad. The car was stuffed with foodstuffs and house equipment for Grandma’s new place. There was literally no room left. Damien and I stared at the single empty spot in the back seat. “Mom, the car is full,” I whined at the same time Damien growled, “Where the hell are we supposed to sit?” Dad didn’t even look back. “Alexia, sit on your brother’s lap. We’re not leaving anyone behind and we’re already late. Grandma wants to see all of you. End of discussion.”

Like he knew this was moving way too quick too. I sat in the second row in a pale blue dress that itched at my neck. Tyler was next to me, staring straight ahead. Every time Mom looked our way I forced a smile. It hurt my face. I missed Dad. I missed the way our old house smelled on Sunday mornings. This new guy was about to be our stepdad and new Dad and I barely knew his middle name.

In the right order at roughly the right speed, the last one landing underneath the third the way it is supposed to, the way it does the thing it does. My father says: "Oh." Just that. The same syllable he produced at a kitchen counter last Wednesday when I told him I was going to ask him to walk me down the aisle. Kane, from the doorway: "Show-off." And Richie, from the sofa, quietly, to nobody: "She got it in two." *** We stay in there for another hour. I do not remember what we talk about. That is not the part I kept. What I kept is this: a room in the east wing of a penthouse I was brought to as collateral, with the door open, and four people in it, three of whom did not exist in my life