My hammer and nails sat in a discarded heap. I cursed the baking sun above me, searing my tanned skin. A supportive post in the shade gave me a moment...of cool relaxation.There was no movement in the house since Olga left, but I knew she'd be home. The house would be cool, with the A/C running, no doubt with a fridge full of cool, thirst-quenching tonics. My throat burned dryly when I swallowed. That was all the motivation I needed to head inside for sanctuary.Stepping inside was a relief. The. I'm 18 and the son of an adoptive mother. She married my stepfather who also happens to have an adoptive daughter, who's only a year older than me.I had always been attracted to my BBW stepmother. Her curves, her 32 DDD tits, her huge round ass. She has always been that unattainable fruit that I've always been afraid to initiate anything with her. Even without being blood related, the idea felt so incredibly taboo.Even before she met my stepdad, I could hear when she had gentlemen callers in. She stood there for a minute totally still as they gaped ather, not able to say a word. She was beautiful. Her face was like a modeldoll. Her hair cascading over her shoulders. But her legs. Oh my, herlegs. They were long, slim and so sexy. Oh and… she had breasts. Realbreasts! Oh my God, how the boys had longed for breasts. She started totwirl slightly from left to right. Letting her skirt move around andswish against her legs. They could hear her. The noise of satin and laceruffles brushing. It was just as well that the condensation blocked her vision; her normally pristine landscaped yard had been allowed to fall into disrepair this summer. Her roses, her perfect prize roses, hadn't been pinched back once since they started blooming. The raspberry bushes lining the tall wooden fence had grown gnarled and impossible. The berries were allowed to grow beyond ripe until they fell, swollen and sticky, onto the ground below. Hundreds of times this summer she had started outside to prune.