Stepdaddy shows me what he thinks of my new dress!

Four bright fluorescent lights, with one a slightly warmer tone than the other three, made the pink and blue gloss twinkle around Zana’s light brown eyes. Carefully, she applied the last of the contour around her cheeks while her eyes fluttered away speckles of mascara. Her mother always seemed so happy when she wore bright pastel makeup; rich and creamy blues, radiant oranges, and so on. Zana always felt happy to put on a colourful show many years later, even at occasions that it might not necessarily be appropriate.

Her face wasn’t the only thing looking bright and sparkly. She had a dress sitting in her drawer for years, one she’d ordered online that for once actually looked as mesmerizing as the preview photos advertised. It was primarily some kind of bodysuit that ran somewhat skimpy near the pelvis and around the neck and shoulders, but frilly layers of a yellow gauze-like material that marched repetitively down the waist, getting larger before it pliéed into a short skirt of the same material. She was sure it was one of the most incredible dresses she, or anyone would ever see; it looked like a soft crashing of yellow waves, and around the perimeter of the skirt were small scintillating gems that would reflect bright pink and orange.

She set down her makeup kit, and took one step back away from the mirror. It wasn’t much an accomplishment to be the most gorgeous-looking thing in this particular bathroom, but she was quite certain she’d be the most gorgeous-looking thing in any room she stepped into.

“...Hehe.”

A contented giggle aroused from her lips. Her eyes shifted to the dress, to her extravagant maquillage, which she was also quite certain would turn any pair of seeking eyes her way.

“Zana???” Boasted a deep voice from the hallway.

“Ah!”

The sound of her name drummed through the wooden door, followed by a short burst of intrusive knocking. She jumped so high in response she managed to flash herself in the mirror with the skirt leaping up.

“Jesus! Dad?”

The gruff and sleep deprived voice returned:

“Yeah, you going somewhere or something?”

She took a quick look at herself. It didn’t quite occur to her how revealing the outfit really was when put together. It was a ballerina costume of some kind; almost every inch of her legs were exposed.

“I literally told you yesterday, I’m going to Jane’s.”

This was somewhat of a fib. In reality, she was going to Jane’s brother Sid’s, who she’d been texting on and off for the past 2 weeks. Did it make it something more of a fib that Jane wasn’t going to be there?

“Oh, yeah, right.” The voice trailed off.

Her step-dad’s heavy footsteps lumbered away one by one. Zana felt a little frazzled, but him failing to ever explain himself was very much something she was used to.

She took one final gander at herself in the mirror. It was... pretty over the top, admittedly, but it’s also a little to late to be changing her mind. With a subtle skip to her step, she exited the bathroom and shut the door behind.

The curious thing about her step-father’s footsteps is no one would ever expect them to be so loud. Beneath her feet was a rustic, vaguely nauseating green carpet that spread across the floor from the main hallway all the way into the living room. How could such footsteps be so loud? Among other things, he just had a natural tendency to stomp.

Down the hallway she went, the faded yellowish walls disappearing into her periphery. She turned to the right, and without much surprise she saw Roy, the step-dad with the heavy feet, sitting on the leather couch with a diet coke in his hand.

“Hi daddy.”

The heavy man in the living room lifted his shoulders and twisted his upper torso to face his step-daughter.

“Oh Zana I—”

His sentence cut off in an instant.

For a moment there was silence, and the two of them stared at one another. She couldn’t help but try to stifle down a goofy smile, but there wasn’t any capacity left within her to suppress it. In that moment, hard as it is to explain, she swore she could feel the temperature of his gaze linger on her. It started at her toes, which were sheathed in a thin white pantyhose. An odd choice step-dad, but carry on. The room temperature air grazed her calves, and she felt comfortable in her creamy caramel skin dissolving through the translucent nylon.

“I was... wondering...”

Up his eyes went. Funny how 3 seconds can feel like 3 minutes? Up the delicate curvature of her legs, stopping on her skirt. He quickly darted his eyes back up to hers.

“Zana?”

“Do you like it, daddy?”

His eyes left hers, and meandered around her shoulders.

“Dad!”

“Ah! What?!”

It was her turn to give him a little ‘jump.’

“It’s good?”

He didn’t respond right away.

“Where did you say you were going?”

“There’s a party at Jane’s.”

“Jane down the road, or Jane 25-minute-drive-down-the-highway Jane?”

If he were a better listener he’d have assumed it wasn’t the old lady down the road, but the Jane I knew since middle school. Or he was suspicious of something.

“The uh... other one.”

“Which one is the other one?”

Despite the interrogatory parental tone, she found his eyes creeping around once more. They seemed to be... settling on her chest somewhat.

“I dunno what you’re looking at dad. Is it bad?”

“Bad?”

His forehead started to accumulate tiny beads of sweat.

“Oh my God it is bad!”

“Zana you’re 20 years old!”

“So?!”

“This looks like... a... costume or something.”

Zana flashed a toothy grin and kicked up her leg flapper-style.

“Well, technically it is a costume. Is it like, weird though?”

Her stepfather had an almost perplexed look on his face, as though he didn’t quite know what to make of it. In-between lapses of dialogue he’d continue to bare down on her outfit... and perhaps a little more than her outfit at points. Though it was revealing, even downright inappropriate, her stepfather’s innocent and curious gaze never made her feel uncomfortable. The same may not be said for himself, however.

“What even is it?”

“Uh, I dunno. It’s yellow.” Zana chirped.

“I can see that.”

The television made a sound, some kind of clanging or dinging. This was code for sports fans that a goal had been scored. Zana had heard it enough times from her father watching that both their heads twisted to look, though her father taking considerably more effort to do so.

“Who’s winning?” Zana asked.

Roy had settled back into his original pose, he was straining to stay in that previous one as long as he did. He was on the larger side, well, or fat some might say. His torso was thick and broad, and underneath his plain grey t-shirt Zana could see a few large cascades of folds dwelling beneath. Zana remember him last being weighed at a number approaching 300, though couldn’t remember the exact digit. His cosmic blue eyes carried the faint shimmering of hockeysticks and jerseys from the television, and frankly those two bulbous gems were likely what made her mother’s heart, made of sweet flowing nectar and milky chocolate, melt into his arms when they first met.

“Edmonton. Listen, it’s raining out.”

“Oh, oka—”

“And I can’t drive you.”

“...Oh.”

Her ‘oh’ left a very long chem-trail of silence following its utterance.

“Why not?”

“Car’s broke. Got Dave-y to look at it, he went home after it started raining.”

His eyes were still glued to the TV. Zana stood against the wall, her fingers haphazardly knitted between one another, still processing the impact of this most recent development.

“I... I told you yesterday...”

She began to slump down against the wall.

“Can’t you get Jane to pick you up?” He retorted.

“...No, I can’t.”

“...Why not?” He roused suspiciously. His head had moved from the hockey game to her again.

She was 20. She was too old for this behaviour, she knew this. On the other hand, she’d never looked this pretty in her entire life, she also knew this.

“Because...”

She walked towards her stepfather, her head bowed down. She lingered on his plain white socks with red stripes near the toes.

“I have a—”

“...date?” Roy interrupted.

Zana looked towards her stepdad’s stubbly face.

“Yeah.”

He looked at her intently, first her eyes then back around her outfit.

“In... in this?”

Suspicion, or perhaps dare she even say judgment lingered in his tone.

“What’s wrong with it?” She asked, pleadingly.

His facial muscles tightened, but a kind expression still managed to penetrate through.

“Nothing Zana, nothing. But I can’t drive you, and... it’s already dark out there.”

Her heart began to mangle, like a submarine first entering crushing depth. ‘You’re 20,’ she repeated in her head over and over again, to no avail. Thoughts began to swirl and hang like bats in a cave.

“I’m sorry...”

As the tear fell to the carpet, the deep green began to saturate. Her vision faded, blurred, her heart tossed and turned in its cardiac socket. The name ‘Sid’ appeared in her head. What kind of a stupid name even is that? The name of the sloth from Ice Age? No, she liked him. She definitely liked him. She wouldn’t be on the verge of tears in front of her stepfather dressed up like a theater prop if she didn’t like him. He was... tall, and handsome, and...

...in a moment her eyes darted up to his.

“What are you looking at?” She spoke.

He was defenceless, and his eyes ramped all the way up from her chest to her eyes.

“What?” He spoke.

“I said what are you looking at?”

“The game, Zana... or you I mean.”

“Is there something wrong with my dress?”

He looked away, and looked at her dress. He looked at where her hands were still creased together. He peeked at her thighs.

Zana stood upright in a flash, crossing her arms.

“Dad!”

“What?!” His voice became aggravated. It startled her somewhat.

“So I just put on this ridiculous thing for nothing?!”

“It’s not ridiculous.” His vocal chords reverberated like the plucking of a bassy harp.

“No?”

Zana turned around. The dress flapped up briefly, then settled. She gripped her hip with her hand and cocked her hips to the side.

“How about this side?”

She couldn’t quite discern his expression. All she could hear was a breathy sigh from behind her.

“Damnit, dad. Close your eyes.”

“What?”

“I said close your eyes!”

She turned and watched him plant his hands over his face, covering his eyes. Then he sank into the leather cushion back of the couch. She looked at her stepfather. Those jeans looked a little uncomfortable, she never understood why he wore them while trying to relax. Despite sweat visibly soaking through his shirt, the only smell that came to her nostrils were the same pleasant aroma of detergent and well-acclimated clothing she’d been accustomed to for over a decade now.

“...Hm.”

While he lay back, she bent over slightly. She stared at him in his neutralized state, and listened to the deep huffs he drew from his lungs, each one dragging a heft of air.

“What am I doing?” He muttered.

“Just keep your eyes closed, dad.”

“Okay...”

She bent to her knees. Each rivulet of air he sucked in, her hand drew closer to his right pant leg. Once her index finger touched his knee, it twitched briefly, but to her surprise not a word came out of the man’s mouth. She walked, and crept her fingers, up and up again. His large thighs were quite spacious for such a dainty pair of fingers.

“...Is this some kind of trick?”

“No, daddy.”

Her hand rested on his thigh. Another twitch thrummed then settled. His breathing suddenly... slowed. As though some current of cool spring air had enveloped him.

His body was truly gargantuan, and had a soft stiffness that threatened to burst from the shell of his denim bottoms. Her hand, having seemed to develop some exploratory instinct of its own, thresholded up his thigh onto where his hips would be, meeting a fold of flesh that hung above his waist.

“ENOUGH!”

The voice was so loud and fierce, the whole room seemed to shake. The desklamp nearly fell from its stand, and Zana’s heart began to pound violently.

...and yet.

She looked up towards the man she called dad. His face, still buried deep in his hands, now reduced to a quiet mass of resignation. With her other free arm, she took hold of his meaty left handle and pulled herself on top of him, her crotch straddling the space between his legs. She felt herself moisten and throb, and ache and toil. It reached out towards him without any appendage at all. Her legs dragged across his, each of his thighs acting like a track to guide her curious, delicate, and wildly thirsty womanhood toward his loins.

Now atop him, she stared down at his 2-week old buzzcut. His meaty hands that desperately kept his face from being seen. She’d never been this close to him before, ever. A hug or two were common between them, but they always felt like some rehearsed, quarter-hearted ritual. But from here, his grandeur was fully hers to see. She lingered on his hands, hands so thick and mighty they’d wrap around her whole waist. A bomb dropped in her stomach and laid waste to any scruple she’d been clinging onto for God knows how long. She was however, in fact, nervous.

“You... you can...” Zara stuttered.

She felt unbalanced, and nearly slipped off but quickly gripped his legs to keep still.

“You can um...” She began to speak, before...

“Zana.”

“Yes?”

“What are--”

“Do you think my outfit is weird?” She cut him off again.

She took hold of his wrists, one bore a heavy metallic watch that could probably fit around her neck. Behind, his eyes remained slammed shut.

“Nothing, huh?”

She brought his hands to her tender hips. She teased his fingers around in the soft fabric that adorned the bodysuit, before guiding each bunch of fingers just underneath the skirt piece.

“Do you wanna... touch?”

His hands met her hips. She felt his nervous fingertips titillate at the sensation of her skin hiding beneath the pantyhose. She felt them grow more restless, and quiver and dig at her skin.

“Go on, daddy.”

His hands settled around her hips. Each one was so massive. His grip was giant. His thumbs, ever a slave to their master, percolated down the crease between her thigh and her stomach and approached the tiny bridge of spandex covering her pussy.

They lingered, for a moment. He was still hesitant to make any sort of decision that didn’t seem like a mere accident.

“Come on, daddy...”

“...Come on, what?”

There was still fight in him, yet. He just needed a little push. She hadn’t even realized it up until now, but she’d been swaying gently on his legs, her stomach and well-endowed haunches careening like a mystical snake. The mere thought felt a little slutty to her, but hey at least his eyes were still closed.

Her hands teased down his wrists, touching them ever so subtly, and went down to her legs. She took two bunches of spandex, and offered each bunch to her step-daddy underneath his lusty grip.

“Take, daddy.”

He obliged. He clenched his hand and the fabric suffocated around her leg. Her heart leapt.

“Now...”

She paused, for an eternity.

“Pull.”

The words left her mouth, and the man, or what could have been up until that point described as a man, razed the pantyhose down her thighs in a monstrous sweep. The rip was so guttural she felt some kind of orgasm immediately. Each hand took asynchronous turns ripping and tearing at every last scrap of packaging. When her skin was laid bare, his hands collapsed upon her shiny bronze limbs and choked them with violent devotion.

“Fuck, daddy.”

Not an iota of sarcasm could be detected in her voice. His hands sprawled up onto her stomach and gripped her midriff in the way she’d always wanted him to. He locked his stepdaughter’s 20-year-old, gorgeously tender body into his shuddering inguen.

“Yes! Yes...”

“Zana take that off.”

“You’ll have to let me go a little bit, daddy.”

He released her. His eyes were open now. Together, they pulled at the straps atop her shoulders and pulled the entire garment to her knees, and underneath the woman’s mouthwatering body leapt out from it, and her supple breasts bounced out from underneath. He took the garment off, in a delicately enough way, and slid it off her legs before throwing it across the room. She hoisted herself towards and on top of him, leaning into his ear.

“I guess you didn’t like it that much after all, huh?”

Time began to blur. At some point, his pants had come off as well. There was a medium-sized penis, nestled underneath his soft and bellied stomach. She’d been stroking his soft shoulders and allowed him to navigate his step-daughter’s dripping wet pussy near his cock. He thrust her into it. Again.

“Daddy...”

And again.

“Dad, oh my God. Fuck.”

And again.

“Please, please, please,” she’d beg. “Fuck me please, please, please?”

Above anything, what managed to pull her kicking and screaming through every lapse of sexual release imaginable, was the unforgiving, brutal masculine strength. Though his skin was soft, the ease from which every thrust and groping of her tender petite shape was done with such impeccable ease. Her mind had left her body entirely, and was transformed to a shivering puerile fuckdoll.

As he finished, every thick volley of cum stuck and clung to her idyllic interior. His tongue drew massive circles around her doughy tits only stopping to relay “I love you” in husky drawls. She collapsed on top of him, filled as full as could be. Their breaths became quieter. The soft scattering sound of rainy droplets mixed with the cheers of hockey fans on low volume were all that brought their laboured breaths company.

It was abundantly clear to the both of them that this far from the last of what Zana and her step-father would end up doing together over the coming months. She savoured the sweaty sprawl of her shiny caramel body each time he’d pour himself into her, and gorge on her fertility. To her surprise, after nearly a month of this daily ritual, he’d never once ripped or damaged the dress. She stopped asking what he thought about the dress, only how he might try to take it off of her this next time.