I was never supposed to touch her—my stepmother, the woman who ruled our home with quiet dominance. But one evening, after dinner, she found me alone in my room, fumbling awkwardly behind closed blinds. She didn’t scold me. Instead, she sat beside me on the bed, her fingers brushing mine as she guided my hand. You’re young, she murmured, but there was no judgment in her voice—only hunger. Her lips parted around my cock before I could protest, warm and wet, swallowing every inch. The taste of her mouth was good, her grip firm yet teasing, drawing moans I’d never dared utter aloud. When she pulled back, breathless, she smirked. Again. Every gasp, every shudder only made her smile wider. Then, without warning, she pinned me beneath her, straddling my hips as she took control—her rhythm deliberate, her eyes locked onto mine. I came harder than I ever had, body arching as she swallowed every drop.