Widow Stepmom’s Last Wager

Arjun, a 21-year-old lad, was raised as a single child as his mother died in childbirth. He didn’t really bond with his dad much, as he was always busy building his real estate business. 5years ago, his dad, Sanjay, remarried a 30-year-old woman, Sarika.

She was stunning —long black hair that was wavy past her shoulders, smooth and fair skin. Lips were plush, the bottom one always a bit pouty, usually slicked with this dark-pinkish-red that made even her quick smirks feel private. Tall, slim, but with hips and tits that filled out whatever she wore.

Although he was attracted to Sarika, she never gave much attention to him. She was a gold digger and was in this marriage only for the money.

After Arjun turned 18, he entered the family business, as he was never really into studies. Over the course of the next 3 years, Arjun and his dad built a good relationship. Sanjay, in fact, feels guilty for neglecting his son over the years. He tries to make up for the lost time.

Arjun grows capable of taking over the business. Then he receives the shocking news of his dad’s death in a car accident. After the last rites, a lawyer comes to his house with his dad’s will. It says Arjun is the sole inheritor of his entire business and wealth.

This news hit Sarika like a slap on the face, and Arjun couldn’t help but get some ideas about getting his revenge on Sarika. Arjun’s voice cracked like a whip. “Pack your bags, Sarika. You’re out. Tonight.”

She just stared at him for a second, then let out a sigh. “Okay, fine,” she said, very casual and calm. “I’ll grab my stuff from upstairs first.”

Arjun didn’t expect her to react so calmly, “Wait, what do you mean?”

She was already walking towards the stairs with a sense of confidence. That black dress was hugging her curves just perfectly, a little threadbare at the hem from too many fancy parties. As she brushed past him, he caught that smell of her which always drove him crazy.

“You heard what the lawyer said,” she mumbled, stopping so close he could feel her breath on his neck. Her eyes glancing down real quick—over his chest, his belt, down to his sneakers—then back up to his face. “It’s all yours now. The house, the money. Now you get to decide if I stay or not.”

Her hand came up, fingers grazing past his jaw. He didn’t move, but his heart was pounding so hard he could feel it beating.

“I’m not going to get on my knees and beg or anything,” she said, her voice dropping low. “Just give me one night. No lawyers, no fuss. Tomorrow, if you still want me out of the house, I’ll leave.”

She turned and headed for the stairs, her hips swaying a bit more than usual, like she knew he was watching. Halfway up, she looked over her shoulder. “Are you just going to stare or help me pack?”

His feet started moving before he knew it. The bedroom door clicked shut behind them. Sarika reached for the zipper on her dress, unzipping it really slowly. The dress slipped off her shoulders and hung up on her hips for a second.

She then wiggled a little to get it past and kicked it into the corner. Underneath, a black lace bra and panties. It contrasted beautifully on her fair, milky white skin and those stockings running up her beautiful legs. Arjun’s throat went dry, though he fantasised about this moment more times than he could ever count.

She stepped closer, and he just went in for a kiss without thinking, all clumsy and rushing, his teeth clacking against hers. She made this little “mmph” noise, smirking. She leaned into his lips, kissing him back expertly with passion.

Her fingers unbuttoning his shirt roughly—one button popped off. Then she gave up and removed it over his head instead. They bumped into the dresser. A bottle rolled over and smashed onto the floor. It smelled like her fancy perfume, but neither of them checked what broke.

His hands shook as he undid his belt. She slipped her hand right into his boxers, wrapping around his cock warm and firm, like she knew exactly what she was doing. He groaned into her mouth with his hips jerking forward, pinning her.

“You still want me out of your house?” she whispered, her thumb rubbing slowly over the tip of his cock, oozing precum and making him twitch.

“Shut up… shut up,” he muttered, grabbing her waist and lifting her onto the dresser table. More bottles clattered off, one shattering on the floor. She loved how passionate he was, which was the last thing his dad was. He shoved her legs apart, fingers hooking into her lingerie and ripping it with raw hunger.

She was wet already, and when he pushed in, her eyes rolled over. She let out this breathy gasp, loving how he felt inside her. The dresser creaked and banged against the wall with every thrust. He was all over the place at first, too angry-horny, but then she arched up and rolled her hips just right.

Suddenly, they clicked into this perfect rhythm. Her nails scraped down his back, leaving hot lines. “Like… like that, harder, come on,” she panted, her words tumbling out messy, heels digging into his butt, pulling him deeper.

He slammed in, all that built-up crap from years of her ignoring him pouring out—resentment, anger, whatever. She matched him, talking dirty, “yeah, fuck, right there, don’t you dare stop. Show me you’re better than your dad.”

He shattered first, burying deep and coming with a grunt. He looked embarrassed that he couldn’t make her climax.

She sensed that and comforted him, saying, “That was actually impressive considering it was your first time, but next time, I want you to watch me shatter with pleasure while my pussy milks your cock while you’re still buried inside”

They just hung there, breathing hard, his head dropped to her collarbone, sweat sticking them together. The room smelled like sex and spilt perfume.

Downstairs, some clock gonged twice—two in the morning already. He always hated that clock—Dad bought it in Dubai, said it was ‘timeless.’ What a load of crap.

Sarika let out a wobbly laugh. “Your hands are shaking, kid.”

She got down from the dresser, knees buckling, and grabbed his hand, taking him toward the bed. The sheets were still messed up, but Dad’s side was flat and empty. Arjun froze for a second. She caught his look and squeezed his fingers quickly.

Then she pushed him down onto the mattress and straddled him before he could overthink.

This time, slower. She sank on him inch by inch, hair all tangled and sticking to her sweaty body. “You know,” she murmured, riding him in a circular motion, “I used to see you peeking when I would lean over the pool table in my skirt. Thinking if you would ever make a move if you get a chance?”

He let out a laugh, couldn’t help it—and rolled her over, pinning her under him. Took his time now, kissing the bite marks he’d left on her neck, her breasts, tracing her neck with his tongue. She squirmed, giggling when he nipped too hard, then moaning when he slid back in deep.

He wanted to make love to her this time. Unlike the hurried session they had just had. Her legs locked around his waist, whispering, “Yeah, I love that, don’t stop,” until she cum.

Her orgasm hit her like a hurricane, her vaginal muscles squeezing around his cock. He couldn’t hold back anymore, sensually kissing her while he released his cum deep inside her.

Then, they dozed, tangled up, but not for long. Around three, she poked him awake with a foot. “I’m going to take a shower. Sticky.”

The water came out steaming hot. She backed up against the tile, shivering at the cold first, then melting when he dropped down to his knees and licked into her slowly, tasting her, her hands playing around with his wet hair.

He ate her furiously with a hunger to drive her to climax, yelling when she came, legs shaking so bad he had to hold her up. They didn’t even dry off properly, stumbled out dripping and collapsed on the lounge chair by the window.

By four, they were on the floor with her on all fours, him behind her, gripping her hips. He reached over, rubbing her clit while thrusting hard. She pushed back, trying to match him. She chuckled when he spanked her lightly—once, twice, the smack echoing.

“Again,” she said, maintaining eye contact, so he did, hard, just enough to pink her skin and make her clench. She sobbed into the carpet when she came. He pulled her hair around his wrist, following her over with a low groan.

She loved how he filled her with cum, a little surprised too, considering it was the third time that night.

Dawn started sneaking in, the room was a disaster—clothes everywhere, sheets crumbled, air thick with their smell. She pressed her chin on his chest, voice hoarse from all the moaning. “So, you still kicking me out of the house?”

Arjun stared at the ceiling, “Go ahead and try packing,” he said, smirking a little. “Bet you won’t make it to the door, after all the thrusting you received.”

She snorted, pressed a sloppy kiss right over his heart. “Yeah, don’t think so.”

Now they finally crashed for real.

When he finally woke up, Arjun lay on his back, one arm flung over his head, the other trapped under Sarika’s neck. She was curled against his side, cheek on his chest, one leg hooked over his.

He figured he should feel triumph or maybe the cold satisfaction of finally winning. Instead, he felt something very different from what he felt the night before.

Sarika stirred, hair tickling his skin. She didn’t lift her head, just traced a lazy circle over his heart with one finger. “What are you thinking about?” she mumbled.

“I hated you,” he said, staring at the ceiling fan spinning slowly. “Like, properly hated. Thought tonight would fix that.”

Her finger stopped moving. “Did it?”

He turned his head, met her eyes, “No. Made it worse. Cause now I want you to stay, and I don’t know what that says about me.”

Sarika pushed up on her elbow. “Says you’re human, dumbass.” She poked his chest. “Also says I might’ve been wrong about you being just a spoiled kid.”

He huffed a laugh that surprised them both. “You going to keep insulting me, or…”

“Or what?” Her smirk was back, but smaller, real. She leaned in, kissed the corner of his mouth—gentle, nothing like the frantic bites from hours ago. “I’m not going anywhere, Arjun. Not unless you carry me out yourself.”

His hand found her waist, thumb brushing that scar again. “Might keep you locked in here instead. Call it house arrest.”

She rolled her eyes, “Romantic.” But her smile stayed. “We can figure this out tomorrow, for now, let’s just pretend we’re two idiots who accidentally fell for each other.”

“Accidentally, huh?”

“Shut up,” she whispered, but her fingers were interlocked.

The air was thick, and something new was taking root between them. Neither said the word love yet. They didn’t need to. It was there in the way she fit against him, in the way he didn’t let go of her.

Stay tuned for the next part, and do give me your feedback in the comments so I can work on it.