Birds & Bees talk with Stepmother

Birds & Bees Talk with Stepmother

Stepmother, Elizabeth, has an interactive talk with her virgin stepson, Homer, about sex.

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Author’s Note:

As Literotica no longer accepts true, incestuous stories, this story is not true. Alas, unfortunately, and sadly, this incestuous story is a work of fiction. I’m sorry but nothing in this story is factual. It’s all make believe. Everything is embellished for sexual sensationalism.

With that said, Elizabeth asked me to write this fictional story about her stepson, Homer. Instead of just telling him about sex, a novel way for her to sexually educate him, she imagined teaching him about the birds and the bees by actually having sex with him. Something she wished would really happen, she sexually fantasized over her stepson.

‘Every stepson wished they had a sexually, consensually, and willing stepmother who would have incestuous sex with them,’ I thought while writing this. ‘Wow! What a woman? What an unbelievable woman to have sex with her stepson while teaching him about the birds and the bees.’

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With her unembarrassed and unashamed for Homer to see her naked, she masturbated herself while imagining her stepson seeing her naked. She masturbated herself while imagining seeing her stepson naked. She masturbated herself while imagining having forbidden sex with her stepson. Suffice to write with her sexually frustrated and horny, taking long, bubble baths every day, she masturbated herself in her tub.

‘Maybe by having the sex talk with my stepson, with one thing leading to another, I can fuck him and suck him without feeling guilty, remorseful, and/or ashamed,’ she thought.

With her never actually having had sex with her stepson, this fictional story is her imagined, incestuous relationship of her having sex with Homer. This is what Elizabeth wished would sexually happen. Whether this story is make believe or not, this story is her masturbation fantasy of having incestuous sex with her stepson.

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Birds & Bees Talk with Stepmother

After my husband, Bob, went to prison for life without parole, I was home alone with my 20-year-old stepson, Homer. My husband’s child from his first marriage after his wife was killed in a car crash, I had raised him since he was a child. By making it look like a tragic automobile accident, we all suspected that Bob had murdered his first wife to marry me, a stripper that he met at a strip club.

What did I know? I thought he was just a nice guy with pockets bulging with money to spend on me. Not treating in the way that men normally treat a stripper, he was always kind, loving, and respectful. He loved me as much as I loved him.

Bob gave me full custody of my stepson after he began serving his lifelong sentence. I loved Homer as if he was my flesh and blood. With me his only relative, willing to care for him and love him, I only wanted the best for him. Yet, as Homer grew older, and with him now 20-years-old, I started to sexually think about him in a forbidden, incestuous way.

Fortunately for me, no longer having to work, as if I had won the lottery, my husband left me money, a lot of money. Actually, he left me a small fortune. He left me a little more than two-million-dollars in cash hidden all over the house.

With him having carpentry skills, he painstakingly hid the money in secret locations. God forbid we had a house fire; I’d be tearing out walls trying to save the money before saving myself. Instead of squandering money on fast cars, partying with whores and strippers, and buying drinks for friends, once he met me, he saved his money. Thinking more about me and Homer, should he go to jail, he squirreled away his cash from the armed robberies that he did and the murders for hire that he was paid to do.

Except for his occasional visits to strip clubs, not to see strippers, he talked with and planned jobs with his mob friends without fear of being recorded. He made all of his nefarious, criminal deals, in strip clubs while we lived a quiet life in suburbia. I’m glad that the police arrested him at a strip club instead of arresting him at home. Then, even when they came to my door with a search warrants, one for our house, one for our garage, and one for my car. I was relieved that my neighbors were not home and were all at work.

Making a mess of everything, they tour the house apart while looking for my husband’s loot. Instead of having of bringing currency sniffing dogs, dogs that can sniff out the ink on money, they brought drug sniffing dogs, but my husband didn’t deal in drugs. Besides, with Bob’s money buried behind walls and mixed with plenty of coffee grounds to throw off a dog’s scent, cash sniffing dogs are generally used at airports to sniff luggage.

Bob’s special talent was planning robberies and, if the money was good, murder for hire. He was a skilled hitman. During their surprise raid, the police found nothing, not a dollar. No doubt suspecting that the police would knock at his door one day, Bob hid his money well. They not only searched the house but also, they searched the garage, and they searched my car.

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As devious as John Wick when hiding anything, everything in the house appeared as if it belonged there. Yet, with secret panels opened with a remote control, in the way that Tony Soprano hid his guns in plain sight in secret panels in his house, Bob did the same thing with his money. Nothing to find in the garage, the garage walls weren’t even insolated. In the way that they searched the 1970 Lincoln Continental Mark111 in the French Connection, dissembling it, they searched my Chevy Impala and still found nothing.

As long as I was careful and not flashy spending money, I had plenty enough money to last our lifetimes. The verbal agreement that I had with my husband was that I would care for his son and he would care for us by allowing me to use his illegally, gotten money. Also, that I would deposit money in his prison account for him to buy whatever he needed at the inmate commissary.

I had plenty enough money to pay for our monthly mortgage on our house, pay all of our monthly bills, eventually buy a new car for myself, buy Homer a car, and pay for his college education. Even after paying all of those monthly expenses throughout the years, I’d still have more than a million-dollars in cash left to support ourselves. We never worried about not having enough money to support ourselves.

Other than a safe deposit box at the bank, the only thing that I couldn’t do was to deposit the money in my checking account at bank. With that amount of cash calling undue attention to myself, any deposit over $9,999.00 would alert the IRS. The last thing that I wanted was an IRS agent auditing us, looking up my skirt, inside my bikini panties, and inside my low-cut double D cup bra for undeclared income.

Instead, of depositing large, lump sums of cash that would trigger an IRS investigation and a subsequent audit, I made regular, smaller, one to five-thousand-dollar deposits of cash in my checking account. I bought money orders to pay some of my bills. Being smart about hiding the money, I used debit cards, gift cards, and charge cards to buy whatever else we needed. Instead of calling attention to ourselves by buying a new Cadillac Escalade, we blended in our neighborhood by continuing to drive our three-year-old, Chevy Impala that Bob had registered in my name instead of in his name.

Had the house and the car been registered in his name instead of in my name, the justice department would have taken the house and the car and sold them at police auction. Bob was smart. A professional criminal all of his life, he knew all the angles. He knew how to keep what was his without anyone taking it or confiscating it.

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With Homer a bit of a nerd by not only his first name but also with his upkept hair, wrinkled clothes, and his glasses, he was unpopular at school. He didn’t have to tell me that he was a virgin because, with him constantly masturbating in his room or in the bathroom, shaking the whole house, I already knew that he never had sex with a woman. A young man filled with excess testosterone; it was clearly obvious that he was as horny as he was sexually frustrated.

Feeling sorry for him, with his father not here to have that birds and bees talk with him, the least that I could do for him was to not only talk to him about sex but also to teach him about sex and women. I needed to tell him all that he needed to know to live and survive in a world that was all about sex and money. Yet, with me as horny as I was sexually frustrated, not stopping with just telling him about sex, the least that I could do was to no longer have him be a virgin by actually giving him sex, incestuous sex.

‘With my husband not here and with me a whore, why not have sex with Homer,’ I thought? ‘No one will know what we do behind closed, bedroom doors. Do I dare fuck and suck Homer? Do I dare allow him to not only see me naked but also allow him to touch and feel me where a stepson should never touch and feel his naked stepmother?’

Now, that having sex with Homer was more of a reality than it was a fantasy. I continued thinking about having incestuous sex with my stepson. Even though we’re not blood related, sex between a man and a woman living under the same roof is deemed incestuous as much as it’s deemed forbidden. Yet, what did I care, sex is sex? I wanted to suck him as much as I wanted to fuck him.

‘Sexually aroused just by thinking of what I’d do and all that he’d do, did I dare allow my stepson to see me naked? Did I dare allow him to touch, feel, and fondle my naked body? Did I dare stroke, suck, and fuck his cock? Did I dare give Homer sex, incestuous sex,’ I thought while masturbating myself?

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Killing two birds with one stone, again, with no one knowing what we do behind closed, bedroom doors, and with me consensually willing, we both could take care of one another’s sexual needs by having sex with one another. It wouldn’t be as big of a deal for me to have sex with my stepson as it would be for him to have sex with his stepmother. Honestly, with it being a long time since I had sex, I’d love to suck and fuck my stepson as I’m sure that he’d love me to suck and fuck him, too.