The Price of Lust: Step-Mom's Merciless Financial Domination

Transcript

Hi honey, I don't mean to interrupt. I know you're about to go out with your yummy little college friends. Oh, is it the fit ass swimmer or the really tall engineer you're clubbing with tonight? Either way, I hope you'll invite them inside.

The eye candy in your entourage is always top notch. Anyway, I just came in because I needed to know what time you think you'll be home. I have some very naughty lingerie I want to wear for your father, but I want to make sure you don't come home and barge in while I'm writing your dad's face on the kitchen table or something.

What? I'm sorry? Am I making you uncomfortable? Is it the insinuation that I regularly check out your college bros and would absolutely love to turn a few of them into my affable fuck dolls?

Or the talk of me getting off on your filthy rich daddy? You don't think I can't see the tent you've pitched in your shorts there? Like I haven't noticed you can barely tear your eyes away from my tits to make polite eye contact? Or that you've been clumsily straining to catch a glimpse of my mini skirt as I lean against your dresser to chat?

Your breathing just got shallower and I can see your pulse pounding right there on your neck. You seem nervous, kiddo. Is part of you putting two and two together? And if I'm lusting after your friends and sleeping with your dad, there could be a possibility I may be thinking naughty things about you, too.

There is an uncanny family resemblance and I actually do prefer lamb over mutton. The energy and enthusiasm of a twenty-something male is quite an exploitable resource of pleasure when it's properly trained. Have you been trained yet? From the way you've unskillfully ogled me since the day I moved in, I know you've been fantasizing about me.

What it feels like to run your hands down my soft bronze skin, to press your lips against my pouty mouth and slip your tongue inside me, penetrating me there first as a prelude to deeper pleasures. Your flushing face and trembling exhalations give you away. Remember that time a few months ago when your dad was on that business trip to Europe? You were home for spring break and I decided to have a nice relaxing bath in that ridiculously opulent master suite.

Shit, that bathroom is bigger than half the apartments I've lived in. It's clear across the house from your room and yet you kept remembering things you needed to have from your dad's bedroom desk, conveniently, repeatedly walking past the bathroom door that I'd left slightly ajar. I knew you were peeping in.

I knew that day. In fact, there was no actual reason for me to leave that door open. Well, except for the fact that I wanted you to see me.

I could feel it every time your eyes were on me. I'd lift my tits above the waterline, run my hand down them, linger on the nipple a little too long, and let out a sigh. You didn't think that's just what ladies did in the bath, did you? How many times have you jacked off to that memory? The way your breath just caught, I'll take the answer is a lot.

You're trembling, still painfully aroused from the look of it. I don't know how much longer those pants are gonna hold against all that pressure. I bet if I so much as looked at it, you would cream all over yourself.

What would your daddy think if he knew? Breathing harder now. How much is fear? And how much is animal lust? Take your cock out.

Right now. Take it out. Show me what I've inspired.

Is that it? I guess genital mediocrity really is genetic. Your father's perpetually half-limp prick is also fairly substandard.

God, neither one of these can possibly pleasure me properly. I don't want anything much to do with his, but I've trained him to service me properly with his mouth. For when all my young lovers are busy, or to clean me up after they've finished.

But I'm not with your daddy for his non-existent sexual prowess and trainable mouth. Seeing how the apple hasn't fallen far from the tree, I hope you've at least started to figure out how to make up for your disappointing inferiority through your other resources. That's the only way your father truly keeps me happy.

He knows he has nothing to offer a powerful, intelligent, and sexually ravenous woman like myself. Sure, he can learn some skills to not be entirely fucking useless, but anything of substance? You know as well as I do your dad is an awful bore.

He's got nothing of value really, except his money. His money can buy him access to the things he desires most, but even though he married me, he'll still never fuck me. I torment him with my body, giving him glimpses of heaven, but he's rarely entitled to a release.

Did you know that? All the moans and screams from the big bedroom, and I don't even allow your daddy to come. Of course, the day he put the house in my name, I rewarded him several times over.

And he thanks me. He thanks me for denying him every time. Quivering at my feet, half-soft dick leaking pathetically on the floor, and I stand over him, gagging him with my foot as I watch him transfer thousands into my account.

If he sacrifices enough, I sometimes even allow him to jack off and come all over my pretty little feet. But only if he'll clean up every single drop afterwards, slurping it up like the cump-hungry whore he is. Just like he does when he laps the dripping cream pies of my well-hung alpha bulls out of my hot pussy, all swollen from a proper fucking by a real man.

God, look at you, sitting there jacking yourself off in front of your stepmom. Did you even notice you'd started? That your compulsion to cease thinking, to start stroking and giving me everything you have just naturally took you over?

Even now, you can't manage a word. You're just sitting there, fist pumping away, a blank look across your idiot face, and building desperation behind those eyes. That's the one I like to see.

So that's my cue, Junior. I'm gonna count down from ten to really get you to focus all that throbbing ache on me, and help you shut out the world completely. So it really will just be you and me.

And when I get to zero, you're going to open that banking app and transfer the entire balance to me. And I know your father still gives you an allowance. And I know it's an obscene amount that a little piece of shit like you has no business having.

And when I'm done counting you down into subspace, you're going to understand that all your money belongs to me. That what happiness you think that money will buy you actually comes from giving me everything. Because that's what makes me happy.

And when I'm happy, I'm very generous with my attentions. And you're going to beg and send to get as much of it as you need, aren't you, Mr. Busy Hands? So, ten.

Let your mind roam over my body, taking in every curve. Think of how soft and warm my skin is. How it would feel as your fingers pressed into my flesh as you stroked me, rather than your own greedy, sad little cock.

Nine. Realize that this anticipatory trance is truly more satisfying than any sexual experiences you've managed to wrangle for yourself. Eight.

Know that you will strive to do whatever it takes to feel more of this, the free fall of subspace, when you feel held fast in stepmom's control. Seven. As you stroke in worship, unable to keep your hands off of yourself, you grow ever more desperate for commands to blindly obey, as doing so brings order to the chaos of this ecstasy.

Six. Recognize there is nothing you can ever do to be worthy of the pleasure being inspired by my perfection. And hand, still furiously pumping between your legs, fall to the floor and look up.

Five. Praise the view, pantied pussy peeking out from your forbidden upskirt peep. And I know you're weakened and brought to the edge, so I open my thick, juicy thighs just enough to allow you a clearer view of the promised land.

Four. Your mind flows upwards, wondering what it would be like to bury your face in my hidden valley. But instead, you will reach for your phone and open your banking app.

Three. You know it will feel so right as that transfer leaves your account, hearing the notification hit my phone, an intoxicating brew of erotic desperation and release combined. A rush as if you've found your purpose.

One you just have to feel. Two. Know that I am a compassionate and just goddess who always rewards those who kneel and serve.

My blessed sadism is hard earned, but immeasurably fulfilling. What pleasures will I initiate you into once you fulfill this command? One.

Your stroking is at a fever pitch, and I'm going to stoke those fires through sacrifice. Feel the ache and weight of those swollen, denied balls, that stiff cock jumping to find friction at any cost, and know that sending, sending is the only proper emptying you deserve. Zero.

Your pelvis rubs.