I never thought this would happen. I’ve been talking to this woman online for weeks — no, I didn’t know it was her. How could I? StepMom’s been so lonely since StepDad left, always sighing at her phone, smiling at messages from some mystery guy she thought would finally treat her right. She had no idea that guy was me. And I had no idea it was her.

I came to the hotel tonight thinking I was meeting a stranger — a hot, desperate woman looking for something real. The door opens, she walks in, and my heart stops. That dress. Those heels. That look on her face — shock, shame, then something darker, hotter. She turns to run, but I stop her. We both sit down. We talk. And then... we admit it.

I love her. Not like a step-son. Not anymore. I love her like I’ve never loved anyone. And she feels it too.

I drop to my knees first. Not for forgiveness — for worship. I take off her shoes, press my lips to her toes, her arches, her ankles.

She strips for me – showing off her curves in ways I’ve never seen before. I bend her over the bed. Slide her panties down. Spread her wide. Her *ss is perfect. I l*ck her h*le slow, deep, until she’s grinding back on my face, begging me to ruin her. She tells me no one’s ever been here. That it’s mine. Only mine.

She turns, strips, falls to her knees. Takes my c*ck in her mouth like she’s starving for it. Gags hard, tears in her eyes, but she doesn’t stop. She wants it all. Wants me to c*m inside her, mark her, claim her as mine.

So I do.

I f*ck her *ss slow at first, then harder. I pull her hair, slap her hips, pound into her until she’s a howling, trembling mess. And when I c*m — deep, hot, full — she feels every second of it. We both do. She leans back, spreads her cheeks, and I watch my c*m leak out like it’s sacred.

But she’s not done. I’m still hard. And she’s not a StepMom right now — she’s a sl*t, my sl*t, and she wants every drop.

She swallows me down again, gags on my c*ck, sucks like she’s trying to rip my soul out through my d*ck. I explode. She takes it all, then spits it on her tits, rubs it in like a trophy.

We don’t know what happens tomorrow. We’ll have to hide. Lie. Pretend. But right now? None of that matters.

She looks at me and whispers that she doesn’t want this to end.

And I know — this isn’t a mistake. It’s ours. And we’re never letting go.

*** Implied *nal ***

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