Have a talk with Steve when your mother leaves the room.
From Create Your Own Story
"I think I'm going to go to the gym. I have to make sure I can keep up with all those girls you're ogling," your mom says, glaring at your step-dad, who just grins lasciviously back.
"Work you ass. It's amazing as it is, but I like them real tight," he winks, and your mother's face turns red. At first you think she's furious, then she sort of squeaks and flees the room, and you realize it was embarrassment.
What was that about? Shrugging it off you finish the last of your breakfast and put down your utensils carefully.
"I think we should talk."
"Oh yeah?" Steve's eyebrow quirks upward. "What about? You want me to tell you about the birds and the bees? A demonstration's always better."
"Wh-what? No! Th-that's sick!" you protest. "It... It's..."
Now that you've started you're finding it harding to put in to words. Who knew it would be so hard to say 'stop ogling me and every woman who isn't mom' or 'watch what you say about me'.
"Oh. I know what you want to talk about," he says seriously, and your eyes widen. Could he really have clued in? Finally?
"You want another gift."
"Gift..." you repeat, the words you were about to say gone from your head, replaced by anticipation.
Every now and then Steve would give you a gift. True, they were usually embarrassing or intimate, but they were also often expensive.
Shaking your head you try to muster up the resolve to resist letting him buy your forgiveness.
"Like these?" you say, waggling your body back and forth. It makes your large breasts jiggle, but not a lot. "It was supposed to be 400cc, but your friend went with 1000cc instead! Plus he left little scars!"
Steve stared admiringly at your chest for a long moment, making you realize you were flaunting your chest in his face. "Well they are spectacular. He just misread the number. Anyway, how was he to know that you didn't tan? That would have taken care of the scars."
"I'm a red-head!" you nearly holler.
"He thought it was a dye job. Besides, it's down near the underboob."
"Which shows when I'm wearing a bikini."
"Hey, you're the one who's always wearing a bikini. I noticed that after you got your sweet-sixteen gifts your shirts changed."
"They had to change," you grouse, "I couldn't fit into my old shirts anymore."
"Yeah, but all your tops became low cut, or cropped, or tight, or anything that would make a guy look at your new rack."
Again you blush, cursing your fair skin for its betrayal. You couldn't deny liking the attention. You loved having big tits, but you weren't about to admit it to him. Even now you're not sure how he talked you into it. Steve had started with small gifts, then one day he came in from work and said that the new place he was working at offered employee discounts. You hadn't realized at the time that he'd started working at a plastic surgery clinic. You were shocked when you found out what the discount was for, but you were sick of the guys looking past you to the girls with the big hooters.
Determined to get the conversation off of your breasts you turned around. "And what about this?" you demand, jutting your delicious ass out.
"Beautiful. Supple, tight bubble butt. Grade A," he leered, making you turn red again.
"I meant the tattoo!"
"Hey, you wanted a tattoo," he shrugged.
"I wanted a heart!"
"You got a heart."
"Above my ass! A tramp Stamp! And inside the heart it says..."
"And yet you wear bikinis and shorts and skirts that are low enough for it to be at least partially visible. Look," he stood up, leer gone. "You want a gift, great. You don't, fine. I'll be outside by the car. If you want the gift, come out to the car. But if you come out you're going all the way. No backing out. The usual deal."
"I'm not coming out," you vow, though even to your own ears it lacks conviction.
Steve just shrugs, and instead of arguing, which would let you unleash the built up feelings inside of you, he stomps out the door and slams the door.
Silently you fume, glaring in the direction he'd gone. What did he think, that he could buy your affection? That you were some whore to be bought? Besides, what could he possibly be planning to buy you?
Your thoughts automatically go to a cherry red convertible sports car. Nah, too expensive. But if it was used...
Shaking your head you try to focus on resisting the lure. You know that these gifts always turned out to have some catch to them, some side effect you didn't anticipate. He'd get you clothes, but the clothes would be a little too small in all the right places, or the shirts would have some embarrassing logo or words on them.
But what if it was finishing your electrolysis treatments? That had gone well so far. Awhile ago you'd read online about a girl who'd used electrolysis to get rid of all her body hair so she wouldn't have to keep shaving or waxing. Steve made 'gifts' of occasional sessions. You weren't sure what he got out of it, but you no longer had to shave your pits or legs, and now you were down to just enough for one session. You'd been leaving your eyebrows for last so you could decide what look you wanted. Then there was a small bit of hair on the back of your hands, and the small rectangle you decided to keep above your pussy. After all, you needed proof that the drapes matched the curtains. That and you'd also read about people using stencils on their pubic hair.
Maybe he was going to remove the tattoo, or alter it, or give you another. You'd admired some that you'd seen on celebrities.
Then again, maybe he'd buy you a piercing. You'd always wanted a belly ring. Right now you only had your ears pierced.
Biting your lip in indecision you glanced at the clock. Nearly five minutes had gone by as you agonized. What were you going to do?
Sophie/Hold Strong! Stay inside until you hear his car leave
