A bridge too far!

A bridge too far!

{i}(I wouldn't call myself a frequent writer, but even then I sometimes feel that I have already written everything for what appeals to me within the erotic spectrum Until someone recently challenged me to write something to write from the male perspective. I hadn't done that before and with this story I took up that challenge. Hopefully it hasn't become a fail){/!}

***

"Here it is," my stepsister said after driving several miles down a dirt road. She didn't even look up from her phone.

"That fence we just passed?" I asked.

With her free hand leaning on the dashboard for support, Mona braced herself as I slammed on the brakes. "Calm down,

she said.

We can take the next entry, just past the bend."

Behind the next bend was a lane bordered with large rhododendron bushes that didn't seem very well maintained. Without looking at me, she nodded in response to my incredulous look.

"This is like a movie," I said, steering the car down the narrow lane. "Does your house really have two entrances? Is the whole domain yours?"

Mona shrugged. "You know where we're going, right? Your father helped renovate it. He turned out to be the dream specialist in renovating old woodwork."

She still didn't look up from her shiny new-generation phone, but all told, she had already spoken more words to me than during the rest of the trip. Maybe even more words in one go than in the whole time we knew each other. "Grandpa always calls it 'Gwendoline's cottage,

she added.

It drives me crazy again.

"So this was my father's big project in the Netherlands, west of Breda?" I asked.

There was no more than a shrug of the shoulders. My stepsister and I would never be close friends. She also made no effort to hide that she didn't like the fact that her mother had sent her to Breda station to guide me from there to their home in this vast nature reserve.

I slowed as the country road veered to the right. We drove through a rather narrow gate and suddenly I looked at a paved terrace of an enormous villa. The grounds around it looked fresh and well maintained. Somehow a bit gaudy in its design, with a high metal fence on all sides.

At the top of the stairs to the imposing back door, two men appeared to be on the lookout. One of them came down before my rusty Volkswagen Golf came to a stop.

Mona looked up and rolled down the side window as the man in dark clothes and dark glasses leaned toward her.

"Mona, you know you can't drive in from the back," the man said.

She smiled at the man and put her hand on his upper arm.

"I couldn't pass up the chance to see you just because my mom doesn't like it," said Mona. The seductive smile she sent him was really hard to miss.

The man grinned and cleared his throat as he looked at me. "Would you say such things in front of your friend? Miss Baroness..."

"Dear God!" laughed Mona. "My friend? Good gracious, no! This is the son of my mother's current husband."

"Oh," said the guard, looking at me more critically. "Even then he would have to drive in through the big gate, you know that."I did, but that dunce drove past," said Mona. She leaned out the window to kiss him and he pulled her tight against his broad chest as their lips met. My stepsister giggled as he broke off their kiss and gave her a longing look.

"I want to take a shower before I see my mom," she said out of the blue.

I thought it was a strange remark from the daughter of the house to a subordinate of her mother. Those two had something in common, I could feel that in my water.

"Why?" asked the man. "Maybe my sweet girl has done some dirty things?"

"Not yet,

she responded bluntly,

but I plan to do that before I see her."

She leaned in again to kiss the man.

"Dear Mona, you're getting me fired again," he said between kisses. "If I get caught again then..."

"We'll see about that later," Mona interrupted quickly. "I expect you in my room as soon as possible."

As he seemed to kiss her even more fervently, his hands slid down her body into my car, all the way up to her ass.

"Mmm, well," he agreed. "Go upstairs quickly, I'll be there as soon as possible."

"That's how I know you, Barry," she said, kissing him one last time and releasing him with obvious reluctance.

Whatever there was to say about my five-year-younger stepsister, she had taste. Barry looked pretty good and sporty, but I could imagine that the Baroness - as my stepmother liked to be called - had a slightly different opinion.

"Come on," Mona turned to me.

Park your rust bucket there.

She pointed to a gravel strip that served as a parking lot.

Once my travel bag was out of the car, I had to pull out all the stops to follow my stepsister. She ran up the wide stone steps to the back door as if her life depended on it. I had only caught up with her just before the door and with my hand on her upper arm I stopped her. I still had something to get off my mind.

"What the hell is going on here, Mona? I thought I'd spend a quiet weekend in your cottage on the outside for my dad's birthday, but then I'm presented with something so unimaginably grand,

I said.

What kind of place is this?"

"Our cottage on the outside?" sniffed my stepsister. "Don't tell me you don't even know who your father married?"

"I uh I've met your mom a few times. She seemed pretty nice. Dad did tell me she was pretty rich, but..."

With the door handle already in her hand, Mona turned to me after all. "Did my mother behave modestly at those meetings?

she asked sharply.

Did she strike you as a small business owner who has had some business windfalls?"

"Not yet, but I think…"

"Andre,

she sighed.

Do you really not know where all that money comes from?"

I shook my head, and she turned her eyes skyward for a moment. She pushed open the door and with a nod of her head indicated that I should follow her.

The back entrance looked like one big walk-in closet, which went completely dark when I closed the door behind me. Mona opened the door to a brightly lit hallway with a light gray, long-pile rug on the floor. Somehow it seemed almost sacrilege to walk on it with my dusty shoes, but what else could I do? Halfway down the hall, Mona turned left toward an imposing staircase, but when I followed her, she turned.

"You have to go that way,

she said, pointing to the hallway straight ahead. "My mom wants you to sleep in the guest room on the ground floor. It's the last door on the right."

Fine with me," I mumbled, but Mona was already walking on.

I watched her and it was quite beautiful to see her hips swaying up the huge marble staircase to the upper floor. For a moment the image of Barry's big hands on her buttocks flashed through my mind. Yeah, that Barry was lucky

Once my stepsister disappeared from sight, I took off my shoes anyway and sauntered in the other direction. Walking past the open foyer, I paused to look up. My stepsister was nowhere to be seen, but I could see that this house was really huge and extravagant. I counted no less than seven mahogany doors, all of which opened onto a gigantic landing. And then there were two walls that I couldn't even see from where I was standing.

The guest room also exuded luxury. It was actually two rooms, connected by an open double door. The first room was the actual bedroom, where the huge bed was the absolute eye-catcher. Behind the door next to the wardrobe was a relatively modest bathroom with a walk-in shower, but here too the luxury radiated.

The space beyond the double doors was at least as large and furnished as a cozy lounge, equipped with a large widescreen TV and a well-stocked bar cabinet. If this was the guest room, what were the other rooms in this house supposed to look like?

Once my travel bag was unpacked, I poured myself a drink at the bar. Sipping the unfamiliar sweet brew, I leaned against the door frame of the double door and took a closer look at the paintings that hung against the walls of the drawing room. Left and right were still lifes. Landscape paintings, beautiful but not really special. The painting on the wall opposite me was a nude portrait. I hadn't really looked at it before, but now that I did, I immediately recognized the woman depicted. It was a painting of my stepmother sitting in a chair. Smiling and in a slightly leaning back silhouette, showing off her busty nudity very nicely. A self-portrait, that's what I saw when I took a closer look at the canvas. The painter's name - bottom right - was her own name.

Damn strange, I thought, as another sip of the sweet stuff caressed my throat. I stepped back a few steps to take a closer look at the big canvas and couldn't help but admit that my stepmother was a very good artist. The resemblance was striking, even astonishing. At the same time, the playful energy emanating from the painting could be called titillating. No doubt she must have spent many hours on this portrait of herself naked in that chair. The same chair that was less than a meter from the painting. Staring at the beautiful nude painting, I realized how little I really knew about my stepfamily.

Was it curiosity or was I somehow triggered by looking at the painting? What made me decide to investigate the rest of the room was not really clear to me anyway, but the moment I opened the bottom drawer of a chest of drawers I found a collection of magazines. A whole pile of leafed dirty leaves, so to speak. Really all publishers within that specific market segment were represented. I pulled out a random magazine and flipped it open to a post-it note. What I saw was a full-page picture of my stepmother, sprawled on silk sheets.

It didn't take much research to determine that every page marked with a post-it showed a picture of my stepmother. If it wasn't a photo, it was an interview with her, in which she candidly talked about how much she enjoyed feeling herself desired, and how she felt it was a calling to help satisfy those desires.

The gradual tightening of my pants turned into a real erection, while I kept flipping through the magazines. With each new look at my stepmother's naked beauty, my throat seemed to slowly sear with each subsequent sip of booze.

I knew she had worked in the fashion industry. So somehow it made sense that she had been a model in her younger years, but some photos were very spicy.

I stopped scrolling at a picture where she was sitting with her butt pointing up at the camera. Her face with a longing pout was also turned towards the camera, while a black man's big cock, otherwise out of view, was about to enter her.

I closed my eyes and reached down to make some room in my pants. However, that only made it worse. A year and a half without a girlfriend was now a year and a half without real sex and that made me weak.

Instead of watching Gwendoline fuck other guys, I imagined how it would feel if it was my cock penetrating her. I stroked my bulge, imagining myself thrusting deep into her. Without thinking twice, I unbuckled my belt and opened my fly.

I picked up the next magazine and that picture was even better if possible. My stepmother was now on her back, looking straight at me, as if begging me to take her. I looked at her face and her full lips. My eyes feasted on her body and her generous breasts. Even faster I stroked my pants as I turned the page. This time a photo in which she kissed a man, while leaning over him. He was clothed and she was naked, but the look on their faces indicated that my stepmother was in control.

It was just too rousing. I couldn't hold myself back any longer and with a hand shaking with excitement I pulled my throbbing member from under the last layer of cloth.

"I didn't know you were already here."

I recognized the woman I had been staring at for the last ten minutes by the voice behind me and I almost had a heart attack.

"Didn't you use the main entrance, Andre?"

I didn't dare turn around, because even though I was shocked, my erection wouldn't go down. I could barely even get it back in my pants.

"No, I missed that gate," I said, trying not to let my voice tremble.

I opened my eyes and the Gwendoline in the magazine stared at me. I quickly closed them again, but I still couldn't get her image out of my mind. As I slid the dirty books back into the cupboard and closed the drawer, I couldn't think of anything I could say to get myself out of this situation without losing face.

"Did you find anything interesting?" asked Gwendoline.

She had moved closer without making a sound and was now right next to me. She must have known what was in that cupboard and she couldn't possibly have noticed my boner. Despite all the tension, her closeness made my cock throb with excitement. Especially the moment she stroked my arm when she opened the drawer again and randomly took out a booklet.

"Were you touching yourself, André?"

"Uh..."

"Were you touching yourself while looking at my pictures?" my stepmother insisted.

"Wrong Maybe," I admitted with a nervous laugh.

"What do you think your father would say if it was he who caught you here?" asked Gwendoline.

I had to think about that for a while, but I soon came to the conclusion that I should try not to respond too seriously to her question.

"Hello son, how was the ride?... Something like that he would say.

The plan worked. Gwendoline laughed and put her hand on my shoulder. "I will!" she said, grabbing my upper arm. "Hmm You are as strong as your father."

"Wa...where is he anyway?" I asked.

"He is playing poker with the gardeners and the driver. He insisted on doing that on Friday afternoon because I won't let him do that tomorrow on his birthday. Oh yes Your father still feels most at ease when he is under the ordinary people can be."

"Doesn't he fit in with you perhaps, Madame Baroness?" I asked, peering subconsciously at her prominent breasts on the canvas across the room.

"For my stepson it's Gwendoline, or rather Gwen, André," she smiled.

Don't worry about your father. He fits in here just fine.

"Does he know about the...?" I asked, pointing to her collection of magazines.

Gwendoline raised her eyebrows. "Who do you think put all those yellow sticky notes in those magazines?"

The Baroness did not wait for an answer. She rummaged in the drawer and took out another magazine, which she immediately pressed into my hands. Her picture was on the front page of Yes, of a bondage magazine!

Have a look,

she said, pointing to the magazine in my hands.

This was the first picture your father saw of me."

"This is a bridge too far for me, Gwen," I said after taking a quick look at that front page. "I don't like it when girls... When a woman is powerless."

"More like this then?" As she asked, she took the booklet from me. She placed it on the back of the couch and unfolded it on the center page, which bore clear signs of frequent use. The double-page photo showed Gwendoline, still clad in provocative leather, but in this photo her demeanor spoke of power and dominance. Her subtly beckoning finger immediately gave you the feeling that the approach had better be done on hands and knees.

"Yes," I said. Apparently the drink had calmed my nerves. "I like this photo."

"Then kneel down before me," Gwen ordered.What!?

I looked at her with a look of disbelief and saw her expression change to that of an angry stepmother.

"Did you disobey your mother, André?" she asked sternly.

I had never disobeyed my mother simply because I had no memories of my own mother. I already had some memories of my stepmother. This must have been about the tenth time in the past two years that I had met my father's new wife, but none of my memories came close to what she now expected of me. In fact, I wasn't entirely sure she meant it, so I kept my guard up.