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This is a new story. I ask for your indulgence.

If you are looking for a quick one, you may not like this. I tried to strike a balance between the good bits, and character development, but be warned, it takes a while to get rolling.

For those who aren’t into Interracial sex, or Forced Participation, I suggest you look elsewhere. I’m putting it in the Incest/Taboo category because I feel the general thread applies, but my opinion may be biased.

I hope you enjoy your time reading this work. Please send me your feedback when you’re done, and cast your votes.


I was sitting in bed, thinking back….way back….to the beginning of this whole sordid, twisted, convoluted saga. It was a day I’d never forget.

You see, that day turned my life around in so many ways I can’t even count them. Some of the changes were immediate. Others took many, many years to become evident.

I guess the best place to start is at the beginning…….


My name is Ethan. My Father is Nathan, and my Mother is Jasmine.

Actually, my Mother was Jasmine.

As I said, that day….the one that truly caused my life’s path to diverge from the expected one….it was a day I’d never forget. It was the day my Mother died.

I was eight at the time, and I remember hearing my Father’s anguished, tortured scream. Being a nosey kid, I got out of bed, and went to the top of the stairs, peeking down at my Father, who was being held up and consoled by a police officer, while his partner retrieved a chair for him to sit on. I couldn’t hear much of what was being said, but I knew it wasn’t good. The distraught look on my Father’s face said it all.

It took quite some time for me to learn what had truly happened that night, but eventually I did. A drug addled teenager, desperate for money to buy his next fix, used his gun to rob the restaurant where my Mother waited tables. No one resisted. They gave him what he wanted, but that didn’t stop him from waving the gun around, playing the tough guy. It went off accidentally, and my Mother was the unfortunate person who just happened to be in the path of the unaimed shot. She was killed instantly.

I’d like to say I remember the funeral. Then again, maybe I’m lucky that it’s a blurry memory at best. I’d rather have another image of my Mother to remember for the rest of my days on earth, besides that of a wooden box of grief. I chose to forget it, and remember her.

Shared pain sometimes brings people closer. I suppose that explains why my Father and I became inseparable. I was missing my Mother, and he only had me left as a part of her. We grew closer than we had ever been before.

My parents had been quite conscientious, with regard to financial planning. I had money that was invested on my behalf for future schooling, but most importantly, they had invested in personal life insurance. The statistics say that most families don’t take that step, or that if they do, they don’t get enough of it. It’s an expense that often gets pushed off the priority list, especially for minorities like us, but my parents didn’t want a tragedy for one of them to destroy the lives of all of us. The payout took the financial burden off my Father’s shoulders. The emotional one was harder to lift.

That fact was huge, because it allowed my Father to make the next move that would change my life.

I suppose I should mention one thing, before I continue. It’s something that I didn’t really think was an issue for most of my life, however short that may be so far. Race had never been an factor, as I had lots of friends who were white, but my immediate neighbourhood was mostly black. So was the area where my Mother worked. Whatever the reason behind it, my Father made the decision that we were going to use the money from the insurance policy to move, and bought us a new house, in a ‘better and safer’…. and whiter…. part of town. Looking back, I now understand his desire for a fresh start, where every room, sound and part of the neighbourhood didn’t remind him of her.

I had never felt unsafe living where we did, but I was just a kid, so what did I know? Maybe Dad was right. Maybe….but I still didn’t like moving, and leaving my friends behind. My Father did his best to make it a fun adventure, and I knew as long as he was with me, I was safe. Still, I did put up some resistance.

My new school was….well, a bit traumatic at first. I wasn’t the only black kid in my class, as there were several others, but the balance was definitely reversed. The other kids, of all colours, were friendly enough, but I wasn’t used to being in the minority. Maybe race was more of a factor than I thought.

Gradually, I found a new circle of friends, and began to fit in. Life, without Mom, settled down.

For about a year.

Until she entered the picture.


Now, I can completely understand my Father’s actions. It was unfair of me, as a child, bahis firmaları to expect him to remain alone forever. It was not a disrespectful act, tarnishing my Mother’s memory. I’m sure she would have wanted him to move on, and be happy, just as he would have had the situation been reversed.

However, as a nine year old at the time, understanding was lacking. First, I didn’t like the idea of some strange woman replacing my Mother. It was another change I simply wasn’t ready for. The second reason was more outwardly obvious.

Her name was Selena. I don’t know where she and my father met, but somehow they connected. I remember several times I was left with babysitters, that in retrospect were clearly dates between them, until finally I was introduced to her, and she to me. I noticed something about her immediately.

She was….white.

Well, Hispanic, really….but very light in skin tone. I’m a little ashamed to admit it now, but back then, I hated her, from the very beginning.

Despite my best efforts to dissuade them, Selena and my Father hit it off, and she became a frequent visitor at our house. To her credit, she tried to get along with me, but I wasn’t interested in meeting her halfway. To me, the solution was simple ; get the fuck out of my life.


I was nearly ten by this point, growing taller, like my Father. My friends would often come over to my house to shoot hoops, or use the pool, and it was one of them that first pointed something out to me.

Cameron was older than most of the gang by nearly two years, the eldest brother of my friend Jake, and he was playing basketball with us one afternoon when Selena arrived to spend some time with my Dad. She said hello to everyone….I snarled my return greeting….and she went inside.

“Who….” Cam asked, taking the ball from me, “….was that fox?”

Huh? What’s a fox? I hadn’t really started to notice girls yet, even those my own age, so older women were way off my radar. Older is a relative term, of course, but I was too young to know that, at 21, Selena was far from old…. and definitely a fox.

“Her?” I grumbled. “She’s my Dad’s girlfriend. Why?”

So, just like that, the basketball game ended, and my sexual education began. Cam held class, and I grudgingly listened.

“Didn’t you see the tits on her?” he grinned. “And that ass? Man, your Dad must be having fun with her!” I’m sure he had no idea what he was really talking about, but he was older, and he talked a good game, so we all listened. He told us how pretty she was, how ‘hot’ her long dark hair looked, and how much he’d like to get his hands on her huge boobs.

I didn’t see the point of touching her, but somehow his words stuck, and I started to notice what he was saying. It took about another two years for me to really appreciate it, but…..Cam was right.

She was pretty. And built.

And….about to marry my Father.


I imagine you can guess how well I took that news.

Not. Very. Happy. To say the least. It was bad enough that he was spending time with her, and forcing me to tolerate her around the house, but now…. Oh shit! If they got married, she’d be moving in, wouldn’t she? She would be trying to take my Mother’s place, literally.

That idea, I hated more than the idea of my Father and a white woman.

As far as the actual wedding goes….I wasn’t invited. It was probably best that way. They went away for a week, while I stayed with the neighbours. When they got back, I made up for lost time, kicking up a royal fuss, to no avail.

My Father took me aside, in an effort to ease the tension. Or maybe not.

“Ethan,” he said softly, “talk to me. I know you’re not happy, but this is happening, so you have two choices ; either talk to me and help me sort this out, or remain silent, and grounded, until you do.”

Dad rarely played the threat card, but when he did, it was not an idle comment. It was a promise. I chose to talk.

“What do you want me to say, Dad? I don’t like Selena.”

“Yes, that much I gather. I don’t suppose you’d share your reasons with me?” Dad asked. I didn’t say anything immediately, so he took control. “Son, I know you miss your Mother. There isn’t a day goes by that I don’t miss her too, and think about how happy were all were as a family. I wish there was a way we could get that back, but the truth is, we can’t….no matter how much we want to. Mom’s gone. She was stolen from us by bad luck. I’ll always love her, and I know you will too. Selena is not trying to take her place.”

Looking back, I appreciate him trying to deal with me as an adult. However, it was a huge stretch to expect a ten year old to see the distinction. If she was here, she was taking Mom’s place.

“I don’t understand,” I replied.

“Do you love me?” he asked.

“Yes, Dad,” I nodded.

“And you know I love you, right?”

“Yes Dad.”

“I know this is hard for you to understand, but I also love kaçak iddaa Selena,” he explained. “It’s not the same love I have for your Mother. It’s different love. New love. My loving Selena doesn’t mean I love your Mother less. That can never happen. I’m not asking you to do anything different than me. We, the two of us, we’ll never let go of Mom. She’s with us forever.” He paused and turned away. When he looked back at me, his eyes were moist.

“I can’t tell you what to feel, Ethan. I can only ask that you give Selena a chance. She cares about you, almost as much as I do. If you give her a chance, and get to know her, you might grow to love her too.”

Dad patted my shoulder, and left me alone, closing the door behind him.

Maybe he was right. I knew he would never hurt me, and that included anyone he let into our lives. Selena had never been mean to me, despite my behaviour. I had been the one that shut her out, and I began to see that shutting her out was hurting my Dad, something I never intended to do.

Okay. ‘Give her a chance’, he said. I can do that.


In a perfect world, that decision would have made everything sunshine and rainbows. In the real world….not quite so easy. Those feelings of animosity were dug in pretty deep, and I found that if I wasn’t consciously trying to control them, they would take over. I suppose, in my mind, the appearance of Selena would always be tied to the end of my Mom’s life. Pretty heavy baggage for a ten year old to carry.

Things did improve, though. Until I was about eleven, anyway.

That’s when the hormone fairy arrived, and I began to notice what Cameron had been talking about. Girls had curves, and curves were interesting.

Selena, on the other hand, had C-U-R-V-E-S. I’m sure my Mother had them as well, as I do remember how soft her hugs were, but Selena wasn’t my Mom. She was just…, and I started to appreciate that fact.

By now, Cameron had discovered his Father’s stash of Playboy magazines, and given us all an eyeful. I was immediately struck by how beautiful a naked woman really was…..especially one with a nice, big, round pair of boobs. I wonder if my Dad knew something I didn’t about Selena? I’m sure he did.

Anyway, as my eyes took notice of the fairer sex, I couldn’t help seeing that she was certainly one of the fairer ones. She was very pretty, with deep, soulful brown eyes, and soft lips. Her body? Oh my God!

You see, she was 22, and a new bride, so she made sure her man had plenty to keep him interested. Trouble was, Dad wasn’t the only one who was appreciating the view, and Selena was fuelling my early puberty with high octane sexuality. She was making me crazy, and I didn’t even know why yet. I just knew that everywhere I looked, I saw her big tits, or her sexy legs and rump. I had just begun to accept her in the house, and now these other feelings were bubbling up.

Confusing? Yeah, you could say that.

I have to ask you a question. Do you remember when you discovered masturbation? I don’t really remember it exactly, but it was around this age somewhere. Who knew that it could feel sooooo goooooood?

I do remember one particular instance, though. The first time I got caught whacking off.

By Selena.

Oh yeah. That’ll stunt your growth.

Her timing wasn’t just bad, in flinging open the bathroom door unannounced…. It was perfectly bad. I had just reached the point of no return, and was jerking madly to close the deal, when….well hello there!

Have you ever tried to stop cumming? I mean, sure, we’ve all, as guys, tried to hold off the inevitable, for just a few seconds more, usually at the request of our female companion who was getting close to her own climax. I don’t know if there is a female equivalent of that delay tactic. If there is, let me know. In this case, however, I’m not talking about delaying the orgasm. I’m talking about putting the genie back in the bottle after the cork has popped.

So….. I’m sure you’ll agree that what I was trying to do was impossible. There’s no disengaging that autopilot, no matter how much you want to. You can’t even stop stroking, or hide.

Believe me, I wanted to hide, but I was frozen in place, my hand moving with a purpose beyond my ability to stop it…..spewing long strings of gooey white gunk all over the counter top.

I remember the look of terror on her face. I’m sure mine was similar. I also remember the moment her eyes dropped from mine, to the black dick I was still flogging furiously. A hint of a smile crossed her lips.

“Sorry, Ethan,” she whispered, pulling the door closed.

I was breathing hard, and leaned against the counter, watching the separate globs of my semen morph into a small lake. I’d better clean this up, really well. Not to hide it, of course….that train had left the station the moment Selena whipped the door open. I just needed her to know I was a courteous masturbator, if there is such a thing.

I wiped, scrubbed, kaçak bahis sprayed, wiped again, until the counter was a virgin surface once more. Pulling my pants back up, I opened the door.

I didn’t know what to do. Running away from home briefly crossed my mind, but seemed a little rash. I could hide in my room until Dad got home, but that would be hours away. It wasn’t even lunch time yet. It would appear that my only choice was to face the music now.

I hadn’t really had ‘that’ interaction with Selena yet. You know the one I’m talking about. If you’re from a blended family, you really know what I mean ; that moment when the step-parent has to deal with a situation as though they weren’t a hyphenation. This subject wouldn’t have been my first choice. Maybe something easier, like admitting I was gay, which I obviously wasn’t, given the thoughts that had been causing the swelling she witnessed.

I went downstairs, and sat at the table quietly. Selena was just finishing up our lunch, and placed a sandwich on a plate in front of me gently. A drink followed, and she then took a seat across from me with her own snack.

She looked as nervous as I felt, trying to avoid eye contact. She blew out a long, slow breath, ruffling her bangs, and spread her fingers on the table.

“Ooooo-kay. I guess we need to talk,” she breathed, trying to convince herself. If I was really her child, she’d be at least seven or eight years older, with more parenting experience, not 22, and barely beyond getting caught herself. She was being thrown in the deep end, too.

“Ethan, honey….I know you’re probably feeling very embarrassed right now,” she began, “and I am, too. I apologize for bursting in on you, like that. Your privacy is important. I didn’t mean to violate it.” She leaned back, and took a deep breath before continuing. That breath made her boobs even more obvious, stretching her t-shirt taut over the ample curves, and my eyes betrayed me, snapping to those big globes instinctively. I’m not sure if she saw me, but she picked up her line of thought.

“What you were doing….it’s perfectly normal. Every boy does it. It’s part of growing up. Your Father did it. He still does, occasionally. Even I do it,” she smiled uneasily, “although in a somewhat different way. Don’t worry about it, okay?” She paused, then looked back at me.

“Let’s just keep this between us. I won’t tell your father, just next time,” she giggled, “make sure the door is locked, alright?” She stood, and went to get something out of the refrigerator.

“Selena?” I said softly, feeling much better about the whole thing. She turned. “Thank you.” I added.

It was our first moment, and she stepped over to hug me. I was sitting, and she was standing, so the hug put my face…..well, you can do the math. I will say this ; I enjoyed it. So soft, warm and inviting…..Selena’s chest pressed into my cheek and neck. It was an incredible sensation, and was destined to be prominent in my fantasies, the ‘next time’.

And yes, I would make sure to lock the door.


That’s how Selena came to be a part of my life, and I became a part of hers. I think it’s also how I became her personal toy, in a process that took years, right up to the present.

I said she was a new bride, remember? She liked to display herself for my Dad, even before she caught me wanking.

We have a pool in our new backyard, and Selena had a penchant for tanning her luscious body by that pool. I would peek at her from my bedroom window, watching her skin glisten with cocoa butter and sweat as the sun cooked her to perfection. She had several bikinis that left little to the imagination…..and I have a very fertile imagination. As the years passed, and I began to understand what those noises I heard occasionally at night were all about, I started to envy my Father’s access to that body. White or not, she was a hottie.

Now that she knew I was paying attention, though, the unconscious or inadvertent displays of skin became much more deliberate, and seemingly aimed directly at me. She may have been fucking my Father, but she was fucking with my head, as well.

So I grew up, with a near constant case of blue balls, thanks to Selena’s wardrobe of tight, revealing clothing. I locked that bathroom door often, let me tell you….at least once a day, every day, and often more than that. I never had to resort to porn, or magazines to power my fantasies.

I lived with the star.

I stole her underwear from the laundry….and she had an extensive selection of tiny thongs, lacey panties, and high-cut, hip hugging brazilians. She smelled wonderful.

Her bra drawer held a few answers for me as well. 34F. In the neighbourhood of another delicious, sexy Latina who I knew from TV….Sofia Vergara.

Selena would hang those puppies straight at me putting dinner on the table. I would take my offered peek, trying not to be too obvious in case Dad was looking at me instead of at her tits, too. After dinner, I would lock the bathroom door.

Selena would spend the afternoon in the backyard, baking in her bikini, carefully arranged in full view of my window. I would lock the bathroom door.

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