Dominated by Her Stepdaughter, Chapter 81

Carla helped Annabel up and they headed toward the bar to look for water. Amira had now sunk back against her chair with her eyes closed and Loren’s head gripped between her powerful thighs. Loren was using her thumb and tongue to try to coax an orgasm out of her lover as Amira muttered, “Jesus ... motherfuck...” and then trailed off into a series of incoherent moans and groans.

Finally Amira released Loren and she sat up, looking over somewhat sheepishly at Kim, who was watching with a bemused expression. Loren wiped the back of a hand across her mouth and took a deep breath; she had been working hard. Carla offered her water, which she gratefully accepted.

Moving slowly and unhurriedly, Carla and Annabel began to get dressed, and Loren and Amira soon followed. After exchanging phone numbers they bid each other goodnight, hugged and kissed. Loren and Amira stayed behind to close up as Carla and Annabel followed Kim to her car.

They drove back to Carla’s house mostly without talking, listening to dub reggae on a college radio station. After dropping Carla and Annabel off, Kim blew them a kiss and headed home.

They both needed badly to pee, so Annabel went into the downstairs bathroom while Carla headed upstairs. Carla took her time, scrolling through text messages that had arrived while she was in the club. One of them was from Dylan, who had been home alone, feeling restless. Carla briefly considered writing back, but the message was several hours old, and it was too late to open a whole new can of worms.

When Carla finally stepped out of the bathroom Annabel was standing there, naked except for her collar. She was holding Carla’s favorite strap-on in front of her, a pleading and supplicant look on her face. Thinking back over all they’d done that day, Carla decided that Annabel had been extremely well-behaved and deserved to be indulged. She took the strap-on from her stepmother and harnessed up.

What followed was like choreography, with every move seemingly plotted out in advance. Annabel turned and started walking down the hall; Carla followed a few feet behind. Watching the exaggerated sway of Annabel’s hips as she moved, Carla imagined herself a nervous teenager having her first experience with an older woman. This was far from the case, of course, but through the power of imagination she was able to momentarily feel some of that sense of excitement.

* * *

Carla’s actual first experience with an older woman had been with an employee of her father’s, a Frenchwoman named Martine. They’d met at a cocktail party Carla’s father had hosted at the house, just a few days after Carla graduated from high school, and just a couple weeks after her 18th birthday.

Carla didn’t particularly enjoy attending her father’s business functions, but she didn’t feel like leaving the house that day either, and knew that there would be good food and drink. She dressed appropriately for the occasion, in a flirty but not slutty black cocktail dress.

As she drifted around the edge of the party, sipping expensive Bordeaux and nibbling on canapés, Carla found herself drawn to a particular voice. It was melodious and feminine, with a lilting French accent, but also intelligent and authoritative. The voice’s owner was facing in the opposite direction; from her angle all Carla could see was dark brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, a dark gray suit jacket, and a cluster of eager-looking businessmen hanging on every word.

Gradually Carla managed to circle around to the other side and finally got a look at the woman’s face. Her features were sharply defined and perfectly symmetrical, with high cheekbones a slightly upturned nose. She was smiling but her mouth had a hint of cruelty to it, which Carla found extremely sexy. When her bright blue eyes alighted on Carla’s, Carla felt suddenly exposed, like she’d been sized up, evaluated, and judged all in a moment.

The woman was saying something about marketing in Europe that Carla had a hard time following and after a minute, not wanting to be part of the adoring throng, she tore herself away and went to refill her glass. 20 minutes or so later she was standing on the deck looking out at the ocean when she felt movement beside her and subtle whiffs of cedar and sandalwood wafted into her nostrils.

“A very boring party, no?” said the new arrival in bemused Gallic tones.

Carla turned to her and grinned nervously. Although this woman was something short of a classic beauty, there was a presence about her that Annabel found intimidating. Up close, the faintest hints of crow’s feet were detectable at the corners of her eyes; Carla guessed that she was in her mid to late thirties. “I’ve been to worse,” Carla answered, shrugging.

“Martine,” said the woman, extending her hand. Carla took it and afterward they stood talking for the better part of a half-hour. The conversation itself was quite innocuous — Carla discussed her plans for college, Martine said a few things about her work and answered Carla’s questions about France — but there was something more going on underneath it. Carla felt a connection, and when she looked into Martine’s eyes, she knew the older woman did too.

But eventually, to Carla’s disappointment, Martine excused herself. “Better get back to it,” she said, “or they’ll be talking about me.” She kissed Carla on both cheeks and went back inside.

After the party Carla didn’t think about Martine much. There had definitely been something about her, but who knew when they’d see each other again, if ever. Once or twice she found herself idly fantasizing about getting to know Martine better, but tried not to dwell on it.

Then about a week later, Carla was sunbathing topless on the deck when she heard the doorbell ring in the distance. She wasn’t expecting anyone and, feeling drowsily contented, was inclined to ignore it. But then it sounded again and reluctantly she roused herself, put her bikini top back on, and went to the door.

It took her a few seconds of squinting to recognize the woman at the door, and by the time she’d said, “Oh, hi,” Martine had squeezed past her into the house without being invited. In the living room they faced each other and Carla said, “Um, my dad’s not home right now. He’s on a business trip in Mexico.”

“I know that,” said Martine with calm self-assurance. “I didn’t come to see him. I came to see you.”

“Oh,” said Carla, feeling her heartbeat accelerate. And that was that. A few minutes later Carla was laying back on her bed with her legs spread as Martine ate her pussy.

That was one thing that Carla learned from Martine: make a woman come and she’s putty in your hands. And Carla was. Despite her naturally dominant temperament, Carla found herself yielding to Martine’s greater experience and commanding aura. Martine had her every which way that day, and they began a torrid affair that lasted for several weeks, until Martine was transferred back to Europe. She told Carla to look her up if she ever made it to the continent, but the opportunity hadn’t yet come up.


* * *

Carla wasn’t really thinking of any of this at the time; she was completely in the moment as she followed Annabel to the bedroom. The difference in their gaits was pronounced: Annabel’s was a sashaying dance of seduction, while Carla walked with a swagger, the shaft of her strap-on thrusting proudly ahead.

When they got to the bedroom Annabel got onto her hands and knees atop the bed. Carla bit her lip and shook her head; how lucky was she to have a beautiful creature like Annabel offering herself this way? She reminded herself to never stop appreciating how fortunate she was.

Moving slowly and deliberately, wanting to make Annabel wait for it as long as possible, Carla took cords and bound her wrists and ankles to the bed — tightly enough for her to feel constricted, but loosely enough that she could support her own weight with her ass in the air. The desperate expression on Annabel’s face, the gentle roll of her hips, and the shiny wetness of her pussy all indicated that she was very ready to be fucked. But she’d enjoy it that much more, Carla thought, after a good spanking.

So Carla got out her gentlest flogger and began to lash the older woman’s rear. The idea was to stall as much as to punish, and Carla paused between blows, trailing the strands of the flogger along Annabel’s back, butt, and thighs. The need between Annabel’s legs grew more acute by the minute, and she was many times tempted to begin pleading for satisfaction. But she held her tongue and put herself in Carla’s hands.

When the head of the dildo finally pushed into her, Annabel exhaled loudly and pressed down on the bed with both palms, angling her hips toward Carla. Carla reached around and cupped Annabel’s breasts with both hands, then penetrated her the rest of the way.

Annabel’s face contorted and she moaned helplessly, but somehow it wasn’t enough for Carla. She wanted to mark Annabel inside, to touch a part of her stepmother that she’d never touched before.

Hastily loosening the bonds that held Annabel’s feet, Carla rolled her onto her side and lifted her right leg — which was now on top — high into the air. All the yoga had made Annabel exceptionally flexible, and Carla pushed her to the limit, splaying her wide and driving in deeper, deeper.

Annabel felt like she was being turned inside-out; her pussy lips were gaping wide, the sweat pooling under her arms and between her breasts. She gazed up into Carla’s eyes, found them both affectionate and pitiless. In that moment she surrendered herself completely and the first of several increasingly powerful orgasms wracked her body.

When the last one finally subsided, Annabel had nothing left. She gazed up through half-open eyes as Carla untied her hands; then she rolled over and by the time Carla had pulled the blanket up over her, she was fast asleep.

After brushing her teeth Carla climbed into bed. It had been a long, eventful, and thoroughly satisfying day. Carla rested one hand on Annabel’s flank, draped the other across her eyes, and settled in for the night.

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