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.