My step son is older than me

I am lounging on the deck of my new yacht, the sun kissing my skin as the Mediterranean waves lap against the hull. Monaco's glittering coastline fades behind us, but my mind drifts back to how it all started.

I was only nineteen, fresh-faced and ambitious, scanning the casinos and beaches for a man who can provide the life I crave. Being born poor is luck but dying poor is a choice. Especially if you were born pretty. I almost gave up after three weeks of idling around with no prospects except from security men and waiters. Finally I spotted him. Mr Thompson, or Tom as I call him. Tim's dad, in his fifties, silver hair slicked back, exuding that effortless wealth from years of shrewd investments.

He was sipping champagne at a private table, eyes locking onto me like I was the prize he had been hunting. We talked, flirted, and within weeks, he was proposing. No prenup in sight; he was too obsessed, showering me with attention and promises. Who wouldn't be obsessed by a skinny young blue eyed blonde? I said yes, sealing my future without a single clause to tie me down.

Now, a year later married and sailing toward my private island, I am playing my part perfectly. His son, Tim, twenty-five and brooding, glares at me from across the deck. He hates me. His bitterness stems from his mother's divorce— she walked away with nothing thanks to the ironclad prenup his dad enforced back then. And from the fact that I am thirty two years younger than his dad, and five years younger than him.

Tim sees right through me, knows I am after the money, which is spot on. I plan to divorce once I've secured enough, but for now, I am his stepmother, and I twist the knife by calling him "son" every chance I get. "Pass the sunscreen, son," I say sweetly, watching his jaw clench. He mutters under his breath, fists balling, but he obeys. It fuels my thrill; I will not let him ruin this golden setup.

His dad is away tonight, jetting off to oversee the skyscraper construction in the middle east, a towering monument of glass and steel, all under my name, just like the yacht and the island. The properties pile up, investments in my allure, and I am soaking it in. With him gone, the yacht feels like my playground, and Tim is the only other soul aboard. I decide it's time to push further, and see his limits. I slip into a skimpy bikini that hugs my curves, the fabric barely containing my full breasts and the swell of my hips. My long hair cascades down my back as I saunter toward the cabin where he is sulking with a drink.

"Tim, son," I purr, leaning against the doorframe, my voice dripping with mock affection. He looks up, eyes narrowing, but I catch the flicker, that unwilling spark as his gaze traces my body.

"Dad's not here. Why don't you try to act like a grown up for once?" He sets his glass down hard, standing to tower over me, his broad shoulders tense. "You're a gold-digging bitch," he growls, but he doesn't back away when I step closer, my fingers trailing up his chest. I feel his heart pounding under my touch, his breath hitching. "Maybe," I whisper, pressing my body against his, "but can you blame him for not being able to resist this?"

He grabs my wrists, but instead of pushing me away, he yanks me into the cabin, slamming the door. His mouth crashes onto mine, rough and demanding, teeth nipping at my lips as his hands roam my sides. I moan into the kiss, tasting the whiskey on his tongue, my nails digging into his shoulders. He hates me, but his body betrays him, cock already hardening against my thigh. I grind against it, feeling the thick length strain through his shorts.

"That's it, Tim" I gasp, breaking the kiss to nip at his ear. "Show me how much you hate me."

He snarls, shoving me onto the king-sized bed, the sheets rumpling under my back. His hands tear at my bikini top, freeing my breasts, nipples pebbling in the cool air. He dives in, sucking hard on one, his tongue swirling around the peak while his fingers pinch the other. I arch up, pleasure shooting through me, my pussy clenching with need.

"Fuck, you taste good," he mutters, voice thick with lust, before trailing bites down my stomach. I tangle my fingers in his hair, guiding him lower as he yanks off my bottoms, exposing my slick folds.

Tim spreads my thighs wide, his breath hot against my core before his mouth descends. He licks a long stripe up my pussy, tongue delving into my wetness, lapping at my clit with hungry strokes. I cry out, hips bucking as he sucks the sensitive nub, two fingers plunging inside me, curling to hit that spot that makes stars burst behind my eyes.

"Eat my pussy," I moan, riding his face, my juices coating his chin. He groans against me, the vibration sending shocks through my body, his free hand gripping my ass to pull me closer. I am soaking, thighs trembling as he finger-fucks me harder, tongue flicking relentlessly until I shatter, orgasm ripping through me in waves, my walls pulsing around his digits.

But I am not done; I want more, want to claim him fully. I push him back, stripping off his shorts to reveal his cock— thick, veined, and throbbing, pre-cum beading at the tip. Just as big as his dad, seven fucking inches. I wrap my hand around it, stroking firmly from base to head, feeling it twitch in my grip. He watches, chest heaving, as I lean down and take him into my mouth. My lips stretch around his girth, tongue swirling over the underside as I bob my head, sucking deep. He thrusts up, fucking my throat, his hands fisting the sheets.

"Shit, Daisy, your mouth... so fucking tight," he grits out, hips snapping. I hollow my cheeks, taking him deeper, gagging slightly but loving the control, the way he unravels.

I pull off with a pop, climbing onto him, positioning his cock at my entrance.

" You want to fuck your step mom? Want this pussy that's driving your dad crazy?" He nods, eyes wild, and I sink down, inch by inch, my walls stretching around his thickness. We both groan at the fullness, the heat. I start riding him, slow at first, rolling my hips to grind my clit against his pelvis. His hands grip my waist, guiding me faster, our skin slapping together. "Harder," I demand, bouncing on his cock, breasts jiggling with each thrust. He sits up, capturing a nipple in his mouth again, sucking as he pounds up into me, his balls slapping my ass.

It feels incredible, his hatred twisted into raw passion, our bodies slick with sweat. I clench around him, chasing another peak, and he flips us, pinning me down to drive in deep, relentless strokes.

"Take my cock," he growls, one hand between us rubbing my clit, the other bracing above me. I wrap my legs around his waist, meeting every thrust, nails raking his back. Pleasure builds, coiling tight, until I come again, screaming his name, pussy milking his cock. He follows seconds later, burying deep and flooding me with hot cum, his body shuddering as he empties inside me.

We collapse, panting, his weight a welcome press. After a moment, he lifts his head, eyes conflicted but sated. "I'm so jealous," he admits with his cock twitching inside me, voice rough. "Dad gets this— gets you— every night." I smile, tracing his jaw, feeling the power shift.

"If you're a good boy, son, we can do this again." Not that we'll wait for I am already getting horny again and his cock is already semi hard inside me. We are just getting started.