J. McNab: The eager stepmother

"Do have a chair," she grinned, pointing to one at the side of the desk, and watching him almost stumble on his way. "I'm sorry Mr. Foster has been detained by another client."

Scott Birks slumped into the arm chair and gulped. "I must say, I'm not," he managed to quip, pulling himself together with a supreme effort.

She brushed at one side of her hair, pressing it away from her round, beautiful face. "I take that as a compliment, Mr. Birks." She sat down and crossed her arms at the edge of the desk. There was nothing like an expensive sweater to bring out the horniest in a man. "I gather you were expecting someone older." She had an amused expression on her face which made her green eyes twinkle.

"A hag, as a matter of fact." He looked around the office, taking it all in. "You must be a very successful realtor."

"My husband was. I just carried on after he was gone, but he'd already made the big deals – as we call them. Now I stick to residential real estate by and large. It has less headaches and is probably more rewarding."

"I see." He was dying to know if she was divorced or a widow. He tried to frame a suitable question, but gave up. "Well, I'm moving to Los Angeles and I'm primarily here for advice. I don't even know if I should rent or buy. That's why I'm here and I'm hoping you can help me."

"I'm sure I can. We have listings in all categories, but first I want to know something about you so that I shall be in a position to help you the most." She sat back, with her elbows on the arms of the chair and her hands together and tapping her chin.

"I'm married with two children. A girl who is eighteen and a boy twelve." He crossed his legs, the dull, familiar ache in his groin intensifying now that her big boobs were gloriously displayed between her sloping arms. "So it has to be a three-bedroom place, at least, and I would prefer four if possible."

"Any particular area?" She decided he was her age – thirty-five – possibly a little older, and one of the handsomest men she had ever seen. He reminded her of Murray, her late husband, but she didn't know why. He didn't look like Murray in the face, but the broad chest and athletic figure were identically like Murray's, and for a brief moment she tried to imagine him naked.

He shrugged his shoulders. "None at all. I set foot in L.A. two weeks ago and except for the route to the airport, I wouldn't know one end of the city from the other." He watched her get to her feet. She was wearing slacks – cords were what his daughter called them – and, like his daughter's, they appeared to be sprayed on, except for the flaring legs. He sucked in his breath quietly as the tightly encased ass swayed erotically as Mrs. Harper walked over to the window. "I'll… I'll have to leave all that to you."

"Yes," she murmured. "I'll have to think about it. It's never easy deciding for someone else, but that is part of our job." She turned rather quickly and caught him staring at her midsection. At the same time, he had been trying to pull at his crotch. She waited while he re-crossed his legs. Then she came and stood beside him, staring down, a half-smile allowing him to see the even white teeth just above the towering domes of her fabulous tits.

"Where are you going to be working?" she asked. For the first time in two years she had the urge to feel a cock. She was a little surprised and disappointed to see no telltale bulge at his crotch, but in a sitting position it was quite likely he was hiding it. Two years ago, at a real-estate convention, she had fallen for the first time since Murray's accidental death. She had lasted two years and then surrendered, after far too much to drink, not to the lecherous woman-haters who seemed to make up most of the convention, but to a young salesman who couldn't have been more than twenty or twenty-one. She had never been able to recall whether or not the young man actually satisfied her, but the fuck had dulled her sexual responses sufficiently for her to last until now.

"I'm with Condor Air Freight, and we're going to start hauling into and out of Los Angeles. I'm opening up the terminal, getting space and staff. So I'd say I'd want to be reasonably near or have access to the airport." The tits, when she straightened up and folded her arms under them, almost made him groan. "I know there's nothing near the airport, of course, but you'd know where would be best to live."

"Yes, of course." The warmth around her cunt was indescribable, bringing back sensuous memories of her early sex life when she and Murray had fucked with all the abandonment of carefree youth. "Let me go and see what we have in the listings and then I can get some idea of what you want to spend and so forth."

He had to turn to watch her ass again. It was only slightly larger than Robin's, he decided, firmer no doubt and beautifully rounded. He watched her all the way to the door, smiling weakly when she turned before disappearing through the door, and giving him a knowing, friendly smile.

Afterwards, they spent over an hour studying listings, reading descriptions and looking at photographs. She had suggested they move to a long, modernistic sofa which covered almost half a wall. There, side by side, she was able to describe the properties listed.

He was only half listening. The nearness of her hip and thigh against his, the haunting perfume which was penetrating his nostrils and always the big, bulging tits before his eyes whenever he turned to speak, all served to make the two weeks of stored sperm simmer in his balls. He couldn't be sure the persistent rubbing of her thigh against his was by accident or on purpose. But then she was spreading the snapshots of the various properties along his thigh, her fingers briefly touching here and there, and he thought he would go insane. Finally, in desperation, he suggested he take her to lunch before they went to see anything.

"That's very nice of you, but I'm liberated enough to take you," she said, laughing and keeping her face dangerously close to his, her shoulder pressing against his arm so that he thought his cock would burst. "After all, you are my client, and I know the best places for a sandwich at lunchtime."

During lunch he learned she was a widow, and had been for four years. He also learned about her son, Barry, who was seventeen.

After lunch, and while she was showing him some homes for sale and rent, he accepted her invitation to dinner at her place that evening, an overwhelming urge to fuck creeping into his groin as she smiled and squared her shoulders. Never had he seen such a splendid pair of knockers, and he couldn't wait to get his hands on them.

Robin Birks reluctantly replaced the telephone receiver in its cradle after talking to her husband, Scott. Beside her, young Steve idly flipped the pages of a magazine he was reading, while Donna was out in the hall nonchalantly primping at her hair before the full-length mirror. It was always this way, Robin decided, after talking to Scott. She waited all week for his call, and then when it came, she was left with a void, a let-down feeling, which would leave her morose and unhappy and strangely frustrated.

She studied the two children by Scott's first wife. There was no mistaking the fact they were not hers. Their characteristics were completely opposite from her own. Both had jet-black hair and dark-brown eyes, taken from both parents and in direct contrast to her own natural blonde hair and pale-blue eyes.

"Where are you off to?" Robin smiled at her stepdaughter, noting how mature the eighteen-year-old looked in the tightly fitted white sweater and matching shorts.

"Just driving around with Derek for an hour," Donna replied, putting the finishing touches to the hair at the side of her face. "I won't be late home, Robin."