Fucking My Stepson

So here's the thing about Newmarket in July. Everyone goes. Absolutely everyone who's anyone in Cambridge, and Richard's been banging on about it for weeks because his mother loves the horses and apparently we're all one big happy family now.

Except we're not though are we.

Week since Friday film night. Week since James made me come on his fingers while Richard held my hand six inches away commenting on Vin Diesel's physics-defying car stunts. Week of James smirking at me over breakfast with that knowing look. The bastard.

Payback's coming. Today.

Got dressed this morning like I was suiting up for theatre, except instead of scrubs it's the full Ascot treatment. Cream dress, fitted, showing everything without technically showing anything. Nude hold-ups, proper ones with the silicone band that actually stays up. Hat - not a fascinator because those are for people who can't commit - actual hat with a wide brim. Pearls. Richard's mother's pearls that she lent me, which makes this whole thing even more fucked up.

Richard loved it. 'You look stunning, darling. Mum will be so pleased you made an effort.'

Yeah. An effort. That's what we're calling it.

James came downstairs and stopped dead. His eyes did this thing where they started at my shoes and travelled up, lingering on my legs, my chest, my face, then back to my legs.

'Alright, Mum?' Casual. Like his cock wasn't visibly responding in his chinos.

'Fine, James. Looking smart yourself.'

Richard's mother arrived at ten. Margaret, seventy-two, formidable and terrifying. Thinks I'm not quite good enough for her Richard but tolerates me because I'm a doctor and that's acceptable.

If she knew. Christ. If she knew what I'd been doing with her grandson.

'Sarah, dear. You look lovely. Those are my pearls, aren't they?'

'They are. Thank you for lending them.'

'Well. At least you know how to dress properly. Shall we go?'

The car journey starts fine. Richard driving, Margaret in the passenger seat, James and I in the back with plenty of space. Everyone being terribly civilised.

A14. Usual Saturday traffic. Gets worse as we approach Newmarket and by the time we hit the town it's completely stationary. Everyone's going to the July Course.

'Oh for goodness sake,' Margaret muttered. 'We'll miss the first race at this rate.'

'Sorry, Mum. Nothing I can do about it.'

Richard turned on Radio 4, some programme about the history of British racing. Margaret settled in and started providing her own commentary, knowing everything about every horse ever apparently.

James shifted beside me and looked at me with that look again.

Not yet.

Twenty minutes of barely moving. Radio droning, Margaret talking, Richard agreeing with everything she said like he always does.

Then my hand moved and rested on my own thigh, high up where the dress ended and the stocking began. That little band of silicone against my skin.

James noticed. Course he did.

Adjusted my position and crossed my legs. The dress rode up slightly, just slightly, but enough.

His breathing changed. Subtle, but I noticed.

Doctor brain trying to catalogue sympathetic nervous responses, increased respiratory--

Not now, Sarah.

Waited. Patient. Let him squirm.

Margaret still talking. 'And of course in '82, the filly absolutely dominated. Your grandfather had money on that race, Richard. Won a tidy sum.'

'Did he? I didn't know that, Mum.'

Perfect. Keep talking. Keep not looking.

My hand moved again, slowly and deliberately, resting on the seat between James and me. Palm down, fingers splayed.

He was wearing light grey chinos, summer weight with thin fabric. Could see everything through them already. Getting harder. Poor boy.

Not so poor in a minute.

The traffic hadn't moved in five minutes, completely stationary with cars packed in. People getting frustrated, horns occasionally. Going nowhere.

My fingers moved and found his thigh, resting there with light pressure. Nothing obvious, nothing Margaret would see if she turned round.

She didn't turn round.

His muscle tensed under my palm and his whole body went rigid.

I kept my face forward, listening to Radio 4 with a neutral expression. Doctor at a conference. Nothing happening.

Slid my hand higher, slow and taking my time. Up his thigh, feeling the muscle, the tension, the heat through the fabric.

Found what I was looking for. Hard and straining against those thin chinos. Could feel every inch of him through the fabric.

Wrapped my hand round him. Gentle squeeze.

He made a sound. Tiny. Caught it in his throat.

'You alright, James?' Richard glanced in the rear-view mirror.

Complete freeze. My hand still on his cock, not moving, just there.

'Fine, Dad. Just... leg cramp. Bit cramped back here.'

'Won't be long now. Traffic's starting to move.'

It wasn't though. Still stationary.

Margaret turned slightly. 'You young people. No stamina. Your grandfather could sit in a car for hours without complaining.'

'Er, sorry, Grandmother.'

She turned back.

I started moving my hand, slowly up and down in long strokes through the fabric. Feeling him get harder, feeling him try not to react.

Radio still playing. Margaret still talking. Richard still agreeing.

My thumb found the head through his chinos, circled it and pressed. He was leaking already and I could feel the wet spot forming.

This was mental. Absolutely mental. Wanking my stepson in the back of a car while his father drove and his grandmother sat three feet away discussing the 1982 racing season.

But I wasn't stopping.

Increased the pressure with firmer strokes. Had to be careful though, couldn't make the movement too obvious. Small gestures, controlled.

His hand gripped the door handle, such a pussycat.

'Are you sure you're alright, darling?' I asked with perfect concerned stepmother tone.

'Fine.' Barely managed it.

Margaret glanced back. 'You do look rather flushed, James. Are you feeling unwell? Sarah, you're the doctor. Does he look unwell to you?'

Oh Christ.

I looked at him. Face red, breathing shallow, cock hard under my palm. 'Possibly a bit warm. It is rather stuffy back here. Perhaps if you could open a window, Richard?'

'Of course.' He pressed the button and the front windows came down slightly. Cool air.

'Better?' Margaret asked.

'Much better. Thank you.' James managed with a strangled voice.

She turned back.

I kept going. Couldn't access him properly through the fabric though. Needed... there. Found his zip and slowly, carefully eased it down.

He grabbed my wrist. Warning. We can't.

I ignored him, slipped my hand inside through his boxers. Skin on skin, hot and hard and wet at the tip.

Oh fuck that's good.

Wrapped my fingers round him properly now and started stroking. Slow rhythm with my thumb across the head on each upstroke, gathering the wetness and using it.

His head fell back against the seat with his eyes closed, trying to breathe normally and failing.

'The filly in the third race looks promising,' Margaret said. 'What do you think, Richard?'

'Hmm? Oh yes, Mum. Very promising.'

I increased the pace, not much but just slightly, and tightened my grip. He was close already - could tell by how his hips moved in tiny movements, trying to fuck my hand without being obvious.

The car moved forward. Ten feet. Stopped again.

'Oh for heaven's sake,' Margaret muttered.

My hand kept moving in steady rhythm. Up, down, twisting slightly at the top the way he likes it. Learned that in a Cambridge hotel room while filming content for strangers to wank over, and I'm using that knowledge now in the back of his father's car.

What the actual fuck, Sarah.

But also: he deserves this. Payback for Friday night.

His breathing getting ragged. Close. Very close.

'James, are you quite certain you're well?' Margaret again with concerned grandmother voice.

I stopped moving. Hand still wrapped round him but completely still.

He made a sound. Desperate, trying to form words. 'I'm... yes. Fine. Just... the heat.'

'Perhaps we should have brought water,' Richard said. 'Sarah, did we pack water?'

'In the boot, I think.' Calm and collected with my hand still on my stepson's cock.

'We'll get you some when we arrive,' Margaret said. 'Nearly there now.'

She turned back.

I started again, faster this time and firmer. Relentless. He was right there - could feel it building, the way his cock pulsed and his whole body tensed.

Leaned in with a tiny movement and whispered against his ear, quiet enough that only he could hear. 'Come for me. Now. Be a good boy and come all over your stepmother's hand while your grandmother talks about horses.'

That did it.

He came hard, biting his lip so hard I thought he'd draw blood, trying not to make a sound and failing with a small grunt that he covered with a cough.

His come hot over my hand, over his boxers, over those expensive chinos. Ruined them completely.

Kept stroking him through it, milking every drop and watching his face. The way his eyes squeezed shut, the way his jaw clenched.

Beautiful.

When he finished I pulled my hand out slowly and wiped it on the inside of his jacket hanging on the seat hook. Classy, Sarah. Really classy.

Helped him zip back up. He looked destroyed, completely wrecked with come soaking through his chinos. Dark patch obvious.

'We're here!' Richard announced. 'Finally. That was dreadful.'

Margaret turned round and looked at James. Her eyes narrowed. 'James, you've spilled something on your trousers.'

Pause. Everyone looking.

'I...' He started.

'Water bottle must have leaked,' I said smoothly. 'In his bag. I noticed it earlier. Sorry, darling, I should have mentioned it.'

Richard glanced back. 'Oh dear. Have you got a spare pair?'

'In the boot,' James managed with a rough voice.

'Well. Go and change before we go in. Can't have you looking dishevelled. Margaret, shall we?'

They got out and headed toward the entrance. Crowds everywhere with hats and suits and the smell of summer and horses.

James and I sat in the back alone with his come cooling on his clothes.

'You...' He started. Couldn't finish.

'Payback.' I smiled and checked my makeup in the compact mirror, reapplied lipstick. 'For Friday night. We're even now.'

'That was...'

'Mental? I know. But you loved it.'

He laughed, slightly unhinged. 'Christ, Sarah. You're going to kill me.'

'Probably.' Snapped the compact shut. 'Now go and change. Tom and Lilly are meeting us at the champagne tent in twenty minutes and you need to look presentable.'

Got out of the car, smoothed my dress and adjusted Margaret's pearls. Checked the seams on my stockings.

He got out, still unsteady, and grabbed his bag from the boot. Looked at me over the roof of the car. 'This thing between us...'

'Is completely fucked up and wrong and we should stop?'

'Yeah.'

'But we're not going to.'

'No.'

'Good.' Started walking toward the entrance. 'Come on. Your grandmother will wonder where we've got to.'

Behind me I heard him laugh again. 'You're mental, you know that?'

Yeah probably. But I'd had my revenge.

And the day was just getting started.