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"She borrowed his laptop to check her email. She found his browser history instead. Now she knows exactly what her stepson has been thinking about."
I hear her scream from downstairs.
Not a scared scream. Not a hurt scream. Something else—surprise, maybe, or shock. I'm halfway down the stairs before I remember.
My laptop.
She asked to borrow it. Hers was updating, she said, and she just needed to check one email. I said sure, because I'm an idiot, because I forgot about the tabs I'd left open, because—
Oh, fuck.
I find her in the living room. My laptop is on the coffee table. She's standing over it, arms crossed, face unreadable.
"Veronica, I can explain—"
"Can you?" She picks up the laptop. Turns it toward me.
On the screen: a video. A woman on her hands and knees. A younger man behind her. And the title—Stepmom Takes It Deep.
"This was in your history," she says. Her voice is calm. Too calm. "Along with about forty others."
I can't speak. Can't move. Can't do anything except stand there while my life ends.
"Thick stepmom seduces stepson. BBW stepmom first time. Stepmom catches stepson jerking off." She reads the titles like a grocery list. "You have a very specific taste, Nathan."
"I—it's not—I don't actually—"
"Don't lie to me." She sets the laptop down. Walks toward me. "I'm not stupid. I've seen how you look at me. The way your eyes follow me across the room. The way you disappear to your bedroom after I walk past in a towel."
"Please don't tell Dad."
"Tell him what?" She stops in front of me. Close. Too close. "That his son wants to fuck his wife? That you jerk off to women who look like me?"
"Veronica—"
"I'm forty-nine years old." She reaches up, touches my cheek. Her hand is soft. "I'm overweight. I have stretch marks and cellulite and breasts that sag more than they should."
"You're beautiful."
"I'm fat." She says it matter-of-factly. "Three hundred and twenty pounds, last I checked. And you—" She gestures at the laptop. "You search for women who look exactly like me."
I don't deny it. There's no point.
"So here's what's going to happen." Her hand slides from my cheek to my chest. Presses flat. "I'm going to give you a choice."
"What kind of choice?"
"Option one: I tell your father what I found. He kicks you out. You lose your inheritance. Your life gets very, very hard." She steps closer. Her belly touches mine. "Option two: I delete your history, we never speak of this again, and you spend the rest of the night showing me what you've been imagining."
I stop breathing.
"That's not... you can't..."
"I can do whatever I want." Her hand slides lower. Finds the bulge in my jeans. "Your father doesn't touch me anymore. Hasn't in over a year. And I'm tired of watching those same videos alone in my room, wishing someone wanted me the way you clearly do."
She squeezes.
"So what's it going to be, Nathan? Door one, or door two?"
Door two.
Obviously door two.
She takes my hand and leads me to her bedroom—the master suite, the room where my father sleeps every night. The bed is king-sized, covered in a floral comforter, and it creaks when she sits on the edge.
"Strip," she says.
I strip. Shirt, jeans, boxers—everything in a pile on the floor. My cock is hard, pointing at her, and she stares at it like she's never seen one before.
"Bigger than your father," she murmurs. "I had a feeling."
"Can we not talk about—"
"Take off my clothes."
I take off her clothes.
Her blouse first, revealing a bra that's more engineering than fashion. I unhook it, and her breasts spill free—massive, heavy, sagging to her belly, nipples dark and thick. Her skirt comes next, then her underwear, and then she's naked.
All three hundred and twenty pounds of her.
Her belly hangs in soft folds. Her thighs are thick and dimpled. Her ass, even sitting down, spreads across the bed like two pillows. She's everything I've been searching for online, everything I've been jerking off to in the dark.
"Well?" She leans back on her hands. "Is the reality as good as the fantasy?"
I drop to my knees.
I bury my face between her thighs.
She gasps—actually gasps, like no one's done this in years. Her cunt is hot and wet and sweet, and I lick her like I'm starving. My tongue finds her clit, circles it, and she grabs my head.
"Fuck—yes—right there—"
I eat her out while she moans and writhes above me. Her thighs close around my head, thick and soft, and I push them wider. I want to see her—her belly trembling, her breasts swaying, her face twisted in pleasure.
"I'm going to—oh God—Nathan—"
She comes on my tongue. I feel her pulse against my lips, taste the rush of her, and I don't stop. I lick her through it, push two fingers inside her, and make her come again before she can catch her breath.
"Stop—I can't—it's too much—"
"You can." I rise up, position myself over her. "You wanted to know what I've been imagining? This is just the start."
I push into her.
She's tighter than the videos promised.
Hot and wet and clenching around me like she's trying to keep me forever. I grab her hips—soft and wide, overflowing my hands—and start to thrust.
"Yes—fuck me—fuck your stepmother—"
She says it like she's been waiting to say it. Like it's a line she's rehearsed in her head a thousand times. I give her what she wants—hard, deep strokes that make the bed slam against the wall.
"You're so big—God—your father was never—"
"Stop talking about my father."
I flip her over. Get her on her hands and knees—or try to. Her belly hangs down, brushing the sheets. Her ass rises up, two enormous globes, and I spread them apart.
"This is what I imagined," I tell her. "Every night. This exact view."
I push back into her.
She screams into the pillow. Her ass ripples with every thrust. I grab handfuls of it—soft and warm and jiggling—and fuck her harder than I've ever fucked anyone.
"I'm coming—fuck—I'm coming again—"
She comes. I feel it—the clench, the pulse, the flood of heat. And then I'm coming too, buried deep inside my stepmother, filling her while she shakes beneath me.
Afterward, we lie in my father's bed. Naked. Sweaty. Her head on my chest.
"I should delete that history," she says.
"Probably."
"But then you won't have anything to watch."
"I'll manage."
She laughs, low and satisfied. Her hand finds my cock—still half-hard—and strokes it lazily.
"Your father gets home tomorrow evening," she says. "That gives us about eighteen hours."
"For what?"
She climbs on top of me. Straddles me. Her belly rests on mine, her breasts hang in my face, and I feel her wet cunt pressed against my cock.
"For you to show me everything else you've been imagining."
She sinks down onto me.
I show her everything.
By the time Dad gets home, I've cleared my browser history. I don't need those videos anymore.
I have the real thing.