My name is Terry and I'm thirty-eight years old. Not exactly in my prime anymore, but I lift weights for at least an hour every day so I've got a pretty good body. I'm told I look something like Jean-Claude, the martial arts star, though I'm not quite as muscular or as handsome. Still, I'm in fine shape for my age and I feel even better. I have more energy now than when I was sixteen.
Three years ago I married a woman who had an 15-year-old daughter by a previous marriage. One of the big draws for the marriage was that the woman also worked out in the gym (I love taut women) and that she was as horny as I was. I mean, we fucked constantly, in just about every place you could think of. Despite the fact that we both worked and that she had a kid to take care of, we managed to screw each other two or three times a day nearly every day of the week. This was just about as close to heaven as I could get.
A woman like this is a rarity, and after a year of dating (and no slowing down in the sex department), I decided to snap her up before someone else did. So despite my reservations about marriage, fidelity, and sleeping with just one woman for the rest of my life, we tied the knot and proceeded to settle down together.
I should make it clear that I didn't get married just for the sex, though that was a vital component. And not just because my wife was beautiful. I've had beautiful, horny women before and while I'd fuck them day and night given the chance, I wouldn't dream of throwing away my bachelorhood for them. My wife has other qualities which I absolutely adore, but I won't bore you with romantic drivel.
Unfortunately, one of those qualities isn't a sharp wit. My wife isn't stupid, not by any stretch of the imagination; she's just average when it comes to overall brain power. Having an informed conversation with someone who takes what Oprah says as gospel is a bit difficult, and can at times be frustrating.
On the brighter side, my stepdaughter is very intelligent and has always been quite mature. I quickly discovered, even before I married my wife, that the girl and I (her name is Rachel) had much in common and so we became fast friends. We often did things together that my wife wasn't interested in, such as seeing the latest horror films (the "Nightmare on Elm Street" series was one of our favorites) or checking out the new selections at the bookstore or messing around with the most recent computer games. I wasn't attracted to Rachel at this point, as she was only 15 when I married her mother and I'm no child molester.
At first, married life was quite good. Even better than being a bachelor. For the first couple of years my wife remained as horny and as buff as she'd been when we were dating. No problems, no major spats, everything was pretty grand.
Then it happened, and I'm beginning to think that this is some sort of women's conspiracy, because it's happened to all of my friends too. My wife stopped going to the gym regularly, and then dropped her membership altogether. Because she didn't work out anymore, she quickly lost her finely toned figure and even put about twenty extra pounds on her ass. And though I loved her, I sure as hell didn't love the cottage cheese and the ripples and the flab. But I didn't say anything, hoping that she'd take a good look in the mirror some day and decide it was time to get back on track.
It gets worse, though. Soon after my wife went out and bought a new wardrobe to accommodate her expanding figure, her interest in sex began to wane. I mean, it really waned. We went from two times a day to once or twice a week so fast it made my head spin. Then to once or twice a month. And this I did say something about, only to have her tell me that now that we were 'comfortable' in our marriage we didn't need to have sex so much. And that if I truly loved her, I'd respect her needs and desires, etc. etc., and stop complaining, you aren't a teenager anymore so don't act like one.
So, just because I'm past the age of thirty I'm not supposed to want to fuck anymore? What shit is this? When I told a couple of buddies about this, they just laughed and said 'welcome to the married life, pal. Time to start screwing your secretary.' They thought this especially funny, as my secretary is a man, not a woman.
Months passed and the situation didn't get any better. My wife stabilized at about 25 pounds overweight (no tone at all) and once a month sex. I was dying the entire time, horny as hell and wanting to fuck just about everything that moved. I tried a number of what I thought were subtle, romantic ways to rekindle the old passion, but to no avail. Again and again I was told to 'live with it'.
My wife began to fill her spare time after work with mind-numbing sitcoms like 'Cheers' and 'Roseanne', as well as the dutifully recorded Oprah and Jenny Jones and whoever the hell else was on, which left me not only horny but also more and more in the company of my stepdaughter Rachel. Stepdaughter by marriage only; you can't really be a father to a child when you miss the first eleven years of her life.
Neither of us could stand to watch what passed for entertainment on TV, so we went to movies or down to the gym (Rachel had started working out with me by this time) or loaded up a game on the computer to play. Often we just sat around and talked. It was at this point, when Rachel was thirteen and fast approaching eighteen, that I realized that she was no longer a child but one hell of a woman.
Funny that I didn't see it before, perhaps because she changed so much in the course of a couple of years and I was pretty satisfied with my marriage for most of that time. Rachel had had gone from a skinny little tomboy to a full-chested, slim-hipped, long-legged beauty, both muscular and soft in a way that only the young can really be. And her face, brown eyes and shoulder-length brown hair (my favorite), was just as fine as her figure.
This revelation first dawned on me one night when both of us were in the hot tub talking. Sounds erotic, I know, but it wasn't; we all used the hot tub on a regular basis, and my wife and I hadn't fucked in it for months so I didn't associate it with sex.
It was night and there were no lights out on the back deck, but the glow from a couple of windows made it possible to see somewhat. Rachel and I had been talking about the boys at her junior high, and I started to tease her about it. Things soon degenerated into a splashing fight and during the scuffle she wrapped her legs around my waist and tried to dunk me under the water. She'd tried this before on occasion, and now as then it didn't work. I outweighed her by about two to one.
So now this incredibly sexy and remarkably developed eighteen-year-old has her legs wrapped around my waist, pressing her thighs and crotch and absolutely flat stomach right into my body. And failing to dunk me, she tries to tickle me instead, so I catch her hands and pull them above my head, which pushes her taut young breasts right up against my chest. And our faces are about six inches apart, we're both hot and wet and breathing hard, and I discover that this is no child pressed up against me but a woman, I woman that I find extremely attractive.
No, let's be blunt. In that instant I knew I wanted to fuck her. I wanted to rip that ***** two-piece thing off her body and screw the foreplay, just ram it home then and there. Fuck her like a wild dog in heat, nothing but hot passion and lust. I wanted to hear her high-pitched voice shriek in my ear when she came.
This all passed through my mind in the few seconds that we were in this position, staring at each other, and then I felt my cock starting to rise and my senses came back to me. Before Rachel could feel the effect she was having on me (my cock being right below her crotch) I pushed her away and started the splash fight again to cover up the awkward moment.
And my mind was racing. Jesus, what kind of pervert are you? You want to fuck your stepdaughter, your vastly under-aged stepdaughter? What the hell would she think of you if she found out? Christ, are you some kind of monster? A rapist or child molester?
This barrage went on all night, freshly stimulated each time I thought about that moment that her body was pressed up against me and the lust that boiled up so fast and furious it was primal. This despite the fact that I'm a psychologist and I know the most deeply-kept family secret: that fathers and daughters quite often want to screw each other stupid, and that they do it much more often than anyone suspects. Hell, American society would collapse if it ever became public knowledge just how many daughters and fathers, or brothers and sisters, are humping each other and loving every minute of it. It would sure as hell put an end to shows like Oprah and Jenny Jones.
Days passed and it appeared that Rachel hadn't marked the hot tub incident as anything special, for which I was both relieved and disappointed. I resolved to try to keep my hormones in check, though that was extremely difficult given that she, like most teen girls, loved to dress in tight-fighting clothing. Clothing which to me was like a neon sign saying 'fuck me! fuck me! I'm so young and hot I'll make your head explode!'.
Several weeks later I was still struggling with my cock, which gallantly tried to stiffen up every time I saw Rachel. One night when she was out on a date, and my wife was glued to the tube (as usual), I went into my den and booted up the computer to add something to the secret journal I'd been keeping. I was so confused by lust that I couldn't remember where the hell I'd hidden the thing last (I especially didn't want Rachel to find it), so I pulled up the file manager and chose the 'view hidden files' option to see if it'd pop up.
My hidden directory was indeed revealed, but so was something else which I hadn't seen before, another directory named 'rdi'.
Three years ago I married a woman who had an 15-year-old daughter by a previous marriage. One of the big draws for the marriage was that the woman also worked out in the gym (I love taut women) and that she was as horny as I was. I mean, we fucked constantly, in just about every place you could think of. Despite the fact that we both worked and that she had a kid to take care of, we managed to screw each other two or three times a day nearly every day of the week. This was just about as close to heaven as I could get.
A woman like this is a rarity, and after a year of dating (and no slowing down in the sex department), I decided to snap her up before someone else did. So despite my reservations about marriage, fidelity, and sleeping with just one woman for the rest of my life, we tied the knot and proceeded to settle down together.
I should make it clear that I didn't get married just for the sex, though that was a vital component. And not just because my wife was beautiful. I've had beautiful, horny women before and while I'd fuck them day and night given the chance, I wouldn't dream of throwing away my bachelorhood for them. My wife has other qualities which I absolutely adore, but I won't bore you with romantic drivel.
Unfortunately, one of those qualities isn't a sharp wit. My wife isn't stupid, not by any stretch of the imagination; she's just average when it comes to overall brain power. Having an informed conversation with someone who takes what Oprah says as gospel is a bit difficult, and can at times be frustrating.
On the brighter side, my stepdaughter is very intelligent and has always been quite mature. I quickly discovered, even before I married my wife, that the girl and I (her name is Rachel) had much in common and so we became fast friends. We often did things together that my wife wasn't interested in, such as seeing the latest horror films (the "Nightmare on Elm Street" series was one of our favorites) or checking out the new selections at the bookstore or messing around with the most recent computer games. I wasn't attracted to Rachel at this point, as she was only 15 when I married her mother and I'm no child molester.
At first, married life was quite good. Even better than being a bachelor. For the first couple of years my wife remained as horny and as buff as she'd been when we were dating. No problems, no major spats, everything was pretty grand.
Then it happened, and I'm beginning to think that this is some sort of women's conspiracy, because it's happened to all of my friends too. My wife stopped going to the gym regularly, and then dropped her membership altogether. Because she didn't work out anymore, she quickly lost her finely toned figure and even put about twenty extra pounds on her ass. And though I loved her, I sure as hell didn't love the cottage cheese and the ripples and the flab. But I didn't say anything, hoping that she'd take a good look in the mirror some day and decide it was time to get back on track.
It gets worse, though. Soon after my wife went out and bought a new wardrobe to accommodate her expanding figure, her interest in sex began to wane. I mean, it really waned. We went from two times a day to once or twice a week so fast it made my head spin. Then to once or twice a month. And this I did say something about, only to have her tell me that now that we were 'comfortable' in our marriage we didn't need to have sex so much. And that if I truly loved her, I'd respect her needs and desires, etc. etc., and stop complaining, you aren't a teenager anymore so don't act like one.
So, just because I'm past the age of thirty I'm not supposed to want to fuck anymore? What shit is this? When I told a couple of buddies about this, they just laughed and said 'welcome to the married life, pal. Time to start screwing your secretary.' They thought this especially funny, as my secretary is a man, not a woman.
Months passed and the situation didn't get any better. My wife stabilized at about 25 pounds overweight (no tone at all) and once a month sex. I was dying the entire time, horny as hell and wanting to fuck just about everything that moved. I tried a number of what I thought were subtle, romantic ways to rekindle the old passion, but to no avail. Again and again I was told to 'live with it'.
My wife began to fill her spare time after work with mind-numbing sitcoms like 'Cheers' and 'Roseanne', as well as the dutifully recorded Oprah and Jenny Jones and whoever the hell else was on, which left me not only horny but also more and more in the company of my stepdaughter Rachel. Stepdaughter by marriage only; you can't really be a father to a child when you miss the first eleven years of her life.
Neither of us could stand to watch what passed for entertainment on TV, so we went to movies or down to the gym (Rachel had started working out with me by this time) or loaded up a game on the computer to play. Often we just sat around and talked. It was at this point, when Rachel was thirteen and fast approaching eighteen, that I realized that she was no longer a child but one hell of a woman.
Funny that I didn't see it before, perhaps because she changed so much in the course of a couple of years and I was pretty satisfied with my marriage for most of that time. Rachel had had gone from a skinny little tomboy to a full-chested, slim-hipped, long-legged beauty, both muscular and soft in a way that only the young can really be. And her face, brown eyes and shoulder-length brown hair (my favorite), was just as fine as her figure.
This revelation first dawned on me one night when both of us were in the hot tub talking. Sounds erotic, I know, but it wasn't; we all used the hot tub on a regular basis, and my wife and I hadn't fucked in it for months so I didn't associate it with sex.
It was night and there were no lights out on the back deck, but the glow from a couple of windows made it possible to see somewhat. Rachel and I had been talking about the boys at her junior high, and I started to tease her about it. Things soon degenerated into a splashing fight and during the scuffle she wrapped her legs around my waist and tried to dunk me under the water. She'd tried this before on occasion, and now as then it didn't work. I outweighed her by about two to one.
So now this incredibly sexy and remarkably developed eighteen-year-old has her legs wrapped around my waist, pressing her thighs and crotch and absolutely flat stomach right into my body. And failing to dunk me, she tries to tickle me instead, so I catch her hands and pull them above my head, which pushes her taut young breasts right up against my chest. And our faces are about six inches apart, we're both hot and wet and breathing hard, and I discover that this is no child pressed up against me but a woman, I woman that I find extremely attractive.
No, let's be blunt. In that instant I knew I wanted to fuck her. I wanted to rip that ***** two-piece thing off her body and screw the foreplay, just ram it home then and there. Fuck her like a wild dog in heat, nothing but hot passion and lust. I wanted to hear her high-pitched voice shriek in my ear when she came.
This all passed through my mind in the few seconds that we were in this position, staring at each other, and then I felt my cock starting to rise and my senses came back to me. Before Rachel could feel the effect she was having on me (my cock being right below her crotch) I pushed her away and started the splash fight again to cover up the awkward moment.
And my mind was racing. Jesus, what kind of pervert are you? You want to fuck your stepdaughter, your vastly under-aged stepdaughter? What the hell would she think of you if she found out? Christ, are you some kind of monster? A rapist or child molester?
This barrage went on all night, freshly stimulated each time I thought about that moment that her body was pressed up against me and the lust that boiled up so fast and furious it was primal. This despite the fact that I'm a psychologist and I know the most deeply-kept family secret: that fathers and daughters quite often want to screw each other stupid, and that they do it much more often than anyone suspects. Hell, American society would collapse if it ever became public knowledge just how many daughters and fathers, or brothers and sisters, are humping each other and loving every minute of it. It would sure as hell put an end to shows like Oprah and Jenny Jones.
Days passed and it appeared that Rachel hadn't marked the hot tub incident as anything special, for which I was both relieved and disappointed. I resolved to try to keep my hormones in check, though that was extremely difficult given that she, like most teen girls, loved to dress in tight-fighting clothing. Clothing which to me was like a neon sign saying 'fuck me! fuck me! I'm so young and hot I'll make your head explode!'.
Several weeks later I was still struggling with my cock, which gallantly tried to stiffen up every time I saw Rachel. One night when she was out on a date, and my wife was glued to the tube (as usual), I went into my den and booted up the computer to add something to the secret journal I'd been keeping. I was so confused by lust that I couldn't remember where the hell I'd hidden the thing last (I especially didn't want Rachel to find it), so I pulled up the file manager and chose the 'view hidden files' option to see if it'd pop up.
My hidden directory was indeed revealed, but so was something else which I hadn't seen before, another directory named 'rdi'.