Spying on my naked teen stepdaughter

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“Where have you been?” Kate asked me.

She then rolled over in our bed, looking right at me and scaring me half to death in the process.

Jesus, Kate sometimes had such an uncanny timing, it was surreal. Paired now with the way her eyes were gleaming in the dim moonlight, it could make one wonder if the supernatural truly existed or not. Luckily, I had it on good authority that my wife was just a flawed human woman.

“I was thirsty,” I lied and made my way to her. “I went to grab a glass of cold orange juice.”

“I see.”

My mouth was completely dry and my heart rate was through the roof. I needed to lay down and touch something solid. I needed to let it anchor me, because I was turning paranoid; I could swear there was something more, something dark and knowing in Kate’s eyes.

For a moment, I wondered if she actually knew, if she had caught onto what I had been doing, but bidding her time, waiting for the perfect moment to act out her revenge. I wondered what she would do to me. I wondered if she would do it out of jealousy over Missy or hatred for me.

Or maybe both?

Yeah, probably both.

But I had nothing to fear.

There was no way that my wife knew anything, I told myself for the millionth time. I had been beyond careful. It was probably the fact that I just wasn’t cut out for this double life I was living now and it was eating away at me, subconsciously.

“Back now, though!” I faked a cheer I hadn’t felt in years, not around Kate, at least, and smoothed the blanket over my body.

She made a face at me, then looked away and let her head drop back down onto the pillow, covering it with dark, tangled curls of hair, before fully turning her back to me.

It took all of my willpower not to exhale in relief.

The hell was she doing up anyway? She was usually passed out, drunk as a skunk, at this hour. I subtly sniffed her side of the bed. It reeked of the usual cheap wine that she would down by the bottle every night, so she had been drinking her usual amount for dinner too.

Yes, this was just a coincidence. A very unsettling one, but it was just that. There was nothing more to it.

I made myself more comfortable and turned over in bed, so we’d be back-to-back. I could never stand her sleeping with her back to me, not when we used to love to cuddle in bed and fall asleep dreaming of each other.

“You’ve been gone a good while,” she added, accusingly, before stretching and yawning like a house cat. “Did you have to pick the oranges and squeeze them, too?”

I swallowed a mean retort. I wasn’t going to give into another of her bad moods. It was late at night and Missy had already gone to bed. She didn’t need to fall asleep to the soundtrack of her parents arguing over nothing again. I loved my step-daughter too much, loved her like she was my own, I did not want to cause her any more inconveniences.

But dear God, how I wanted to say something.

How I wanted to grab her mother's shoulders and physically shake some sense into Kate.

It was difficult not to resent my wife and let her have a piece of my mind.

Despite always reminding myself to be understanding and to abide by our wedding vows, Kate, well, she hadn’t really been my wife, or present in our married life, in years. The pills and the wine and her recently discovered penchant for melodramatic bullshit meant that my wife’s entire world revolved around herself and herself only.

Kate had lost the plot some time in the last seven years, somewhere between empty bottles and emptier promises that she was going to do better, and she wasn’t even aware of it. Or if she was, she wasn’t going to take responsibility for any of her crap. She’d even stopped promising to get help. She was going to drink and slowly kill herself like that.

Between myself, my wife and my stepdaughter, I was the only one still harboring hopes of Kate’s eventual recovery. As dim as that hope was, it still existed.

Missy, on the other hand, had begun to beg me to divorce her mom. Poor girl had had enough.

I knew that most men in my position would have ran outta this shitty situation first change they had. But I just couldn’t do it. Not yet. The vows, the love we had once shared, our family… what kind of man would I be if I didn’t try my utmost for their sake? Some things were hard, if not impossible, to replace. Kate had been the love of my life, once.

“I was in the mood for a few biscuits, and then I brushed my teeth,” I lied again.

Now she was someone I was habitually lying to, someone I hated coming home to, someone who made my life harder instead of better.

I felt her turn around, so I did too.

I gazed lovingly at Kate’s sour face and tried not to encourage anything.

“No more arguments, please,” I thought, “spare me one night, love, just one.”

My sweet wife had to still be trapped somewhere in there. She had to be. There had to be some love left.

I reached over to cup her cheek, but she slapped my hand away with a warning growl. It was as if my touch, my presence, disgusted her.

“Nate, don’t!”

Her rejection always hit me hard.

“Sorry, love. Go back to sleep now,” I said, and hurried to face my side of the prison cell our bedroom had become. I didn’t want her to see how much her attitude was hurting me, still.

I should’ve known better. The last time she had let me touch her had been two years ago, around my birthday, when she had been in a rare happy drunk state. She had given me a sloppy blowjob, without me having to ask for it, then had managed to stay awake while I rammed my dick into her pussy, filling her cunt with my thick cock meat and all the feelings I still had for her.

A man’s loyalty and love were hard to kill.

A woman’s… who could even say?

Because my Kate used to love me and used to demand I fucked her, hard and often, to physically show her how much I desired her, to claim and reclaim her. She had tattooed my name on her right thigh, between her legs, in a

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Written by Hazel Grace
Cargado October 26, 2021
Notes My wife had ruined our marriage when she chose to love her wine bottles and misery more than her family.
She soon began to hate me, mistreat me, deny me sex and even basic human comforts.
The one good thing left now in my home life was Missy, my 18 year old adoptive daughter.
But Missy's sweetness and eagerness to please me posed an even greater danger to my everyday life.
Tonight I was greeted by a rare sight: her luscious teen body covered in soapy bubbles. I had to stay and watch.
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