fully sick

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: General Erotica  |  House: Booksiesilk Classic Group

Clever Tamara fakes a cunning sickie but does her stepdad Steve have a superior repertoire of tactics to get his male way; in her bedroom?

I needed one of those Ferris Bueller days; there was a monster fashion sale at my favourite upmarket boutique, and I wasn’t going to miss it.

Mum was dead easy to negotiate. I said I had a slight temperature, sore throat and nausea. She was caught up in her morning rush to work. She had her florist shop to run.

She left with the entirely honestly sympathetic: “Stay in bed then, sweetie. If it gets worse, ring me at work, and I’ll come home after lunch and take you to the doctor.”

Mum was done, and mum was gone.

Andy, my younger stepbrother; the prick knew something was up. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. I didn’t want the slime ball’s fingers on me, let alone his balls, anywhere near me. Stepbrothers; yuck. But he had soccer selection trials today and was out the door for the school bus; for once before time.

Steven, my step dad was leaving in half an hour for the airport and an interstate conference. He was a wholesale distributor of medical supplies. The place would be clear, and all I would have to do was drive myself to the mall. Life is a cinch, and manipulation is the game; when you are a crafty, smart-alec, chic chick; like me.

I was listening from my room for Steve to go. The front door to click downstairs. He was leaving it tight, given the airport highway traffic.

Piss of now; crossed my agitated mind.

I was still in my new skimpy sexy nightie practice runs for my new boyfriend, Corey. A go girl loves buying direct off the internet. Mum had no idea how frickin revealing this piece was. It was pink and see-through around my sweet happy titties; the fabric was a nipple turn-on, so soft and sheer, and it moved gently over my sensitive teats. No kidding. While the matching thong held the suggestion of more than it covered as any sensuous thong should.

Boy, Steve was cutting it fine. I needed to dress, get my makeup and hair done, and get to the sale. No girl wants to be at the back of the queue. I was never there.

Surprise, there was a polite knock at my bedroom door.

I thought Steve was playing dad and checking on me before he left.

Okay, I can play, too; let’s get this over with: quickly.

“Tamara, Tammy, can I come in?”

Now, the Tammy bit grated a bit. Steve wasn’t my real dad, whom I only saw during college holidays. Now he lived interstate. Tammy was his name for me.

“Okay,” I said, pulling the doona cover up to my chin; no breast or chest heaving for Steve, ever.

With both hands, I held the edge of my fluffy quilt in place as he came in.

I first noticed that Steve had something small and slender in his hand. It was cherry red and a bit stubby and bulb-shaped. I realised it was a frickin thermometer. Okay, I processed that. In his other hand, he had a small jar of K-Y Jelly. I wasn’t processing that beyond; he could stick his fingers up his own arse, the sod. What was he thinking?

“I cancelled attending the conference to look after you,” he said smoothly.

The dirty bastard was all I thought.

“Look, let’s take your temperature and see if you need the doctor,” he added that with a dose of fluent fake sincerity.

I opened my mouth like a good girl. 

“Ah, ah,” he said, shaking his head for additional effect, “We need the most accurate reading.”

“Pardon me,” I said, shocked, “Just what do you have in mind.”

“Tammy,” he said authoritatively, “The most accurate temperature measurement is rectal.”

“No way,” I pulled the doona tighter and clenched it very firmly.

“My, so you are faking it. Sally won’t be happy when she finds out.”

Arsehole, I thought, playing the stressed-out mummy card. 

“Look, leave it with me. I’ll do it myself, and you come back in five minutes, okay? If it’s going in my butt. It’s going in privately. Okay.”

He didn’t hesitate the prick like he had rehearsed every objection I might come up with before entering my room: “I don’t think so. I suspect you will rub it or shake it or stick it under your arm to get the temperature up or even turn on your room heater in desperation.” 

Then Steve added, the despicable: “You can trust me.”

The sly smarmy bastard was determined to see my tight arse crack and insert a thermometer and probably more into me.

Now don’t get me wrong. I’m no young prude, but I don’t finger my arse, and it’s currently not available to my boyfriend’s fingers or cock either. I am happy with my coochie being filled and mutual oral sex. So who did this sleaze think he was, and more to the point, what the frick did he think I was doing with any boyfriend?

“Mum won’t like it,” I said with certainty.

I don’t know where that came from, but I realised it was the number one defence in the stepdaughter’s armoury, up against the basic, if not technically incestuous, advance. 

“Already covered; Sally said I could take your temperature before she left.”

“Oh, come on,” I got straight back, “You expect me to believe you said to mum I’ll check Tamara’s fever; I’ll shove a thermometer up her arse?”

He hesitated; got you by the balls, you unscrupulous arsehole, I thought. Now leave; so I can go shopping.

He pulled his mobile from his pocket: “Okay, let’s ring mum, and you can tell her you won’t have your temperature taken, and I’ll drive you, you little faking Miss, straight to school and sign you in personally.”

I wanted to shop.

“Okay, “I said; I could still get good bargains at the boutique even if I arrived late.

” But only if I do it under the doona. You can stay in the room, but over by the door.”

“Smart try,” he said, “However, you might try anywhere; your vaginal temperature is slightly higher than your mouth; it’s your anus, sweety, and I need to do it.”

The prick’s dirty plan had made me sweaty and bothered with the doona tight around my body. My core temperature might surprise us both.

“Well, I’m not taking anything off, and I’ll roll myself over before you start, okay.”

“Fine by me, Tam. I’m just a good dad; if you are sick, we’ll get you to the doctor early rather than later.” 

He knew I was lying, yet he played out the lie.

I watched as he diligently lubed the end of the thermometer. It had a flexible tip, and it was thin. Still, it was my arsehole, and he was my stepdad.

“Tammy, I’ll explain what I’m doing before I start. No surprises, okay. I’m not perving on your butt. I’ll respect your buttock’s privacy; the lube is in case you tighten up and have a restrictive reaction to the process. The thermometer will be inserted about two inches and needs to say in place for one minute, okay.”

I shook my head vigorously and then added, finding my voice:

“No, this is sick. You are sick. Besides, you don’t have any latex gloves.” 

I smiled: I had him knackered at the crucial moment.

He was trapped, for sure. He wanted his hands on my arse and more. The problem was that once hands got on my arse or a finger in my pussy; I was jelly in any guy’s hands, and pleasure was my only thought.

Fuck the power of human sexual response. Fuck the soft skin on my butt; so little touch triggers a frickin avalanche of an internal desire to screw and be screwed.

“Oh, you mean these,” and he pulled a pair of disposable gloves from his pocket and carefully put them on. 

Then added: “Okay, roll onto your stomach and butt up and open your legs, just a bit.”

I thought I was still in control here; he has gloves; it’s only the tip of a purpose-designed rectal thermometer going into my pucker hole and if he crosses the frickin line. I’ll ...Well, I would...

All this was firming in my mind as I rolled over, downed the doona cover and spread my butt thighs just a bit. Steve would be greeted with no standard cotton nightie. How would he react? I was sexed up; my practice runs for Corey.

“Very nice, “was all he said. 

I knew he could see through the sheer lingerie fabric and the tapering thread of my pink G-string, and too much of my fetching bum was on display. But, hell, I knew all this without needing a mirror.

My mind was running. Nice what? Negligee, G –string or butt cheeks; probably the lot.

I didn’t know what it would feel like, but I knew I had to stay icily composed and play frigid.

Whom was I kidding; this was an impossible ask for an eighteen-year-old sexually active female.

Steve eased my G-string slightly to the side. The tug sent a short wave of pleasure across my coochie lips as the fabric tightened and squashed them. Yum, still, I didn’t react for him or myself. A supreme act of will.

The thermometer was touching my arsehole. 

One minute, he said. 

I could feel his fingers in the latex applying the minutest amount of pressure and sliding touch to my rump. Of course, the prick so carefully added to it by seemingly infinitesimal gradations, but he knew, and I knew, and the cunning bastard knew I knew, as my arse wriggled slightly. It craved the touch, however slight, and once it started, my peachy bum had to have more. It’s just frickin human nature. 

A sigh of pleasure escaped my lips before I closed them tight.

Fuck my body’s response to a sweet sensation as the thermometer eased into my wrinkled balloon knot. Well, I had checked out its puckered design in a mirror and the rest of my sensational sensitive gear below in a recent shave and all the shaves before that one.

Bother, I hadn’t shaved for a while and knew I had stubble; still, he couldn’t see that, could he?

“Tam, I need one minute; now, don’t wriggle your arse about.”

Who was he kidding; everything below my waist was geared for action with a thermometer in my butt. The scheming prick was moving it about slightly, but my backdoor had such sensitive nerves. I discovered that any slight movement had me wanting more. I was wriggling, and also, I realised I was mattress humping, rubbing my pussy into the sheet below me, a happy, dry grinding.

The thermometer was out: Steve’s finger was just in. 

I went, “Oh.” 

And my fingers were searching for my clitty underneath me in the same instance.

My stepdad had his finger in my arse. I liked it. I wanted it there. 

Please, I thought, don’t take it out.

“Are you okay; can I keep my finger in,” he said.

“You can do what you like, “and I meant it. 

It was delightful.

I realised the bastard had the glove off and had lubed his finger, the intelligent, experienced prick. He was pretty shallow, but it was sensational and sensitive around my rim.

“Tamara, I want you to kneel; is that okay.”

Hell, anything was okay in my pursuit of new pleasure.

I was kneeling with my butt in his face, and he was licking my arsehole with his tongue tip. It was amazing. I was moaning.

“You will enjoy it more if you finger your clit,” he said.

I had my fingers doing their circular love job on my joy button.

Everything was in overdrive; my clit, my arsehole, my whole sense of my body and life. I was feverish with pulsating ripples of pleasure through my pussy and around my sensitive crack.

Steve got a fingernail scraping along and teasing the narrow responsive flesh that divides my two happy holes. His finger built a sweet rubbing pressure and occasional scratch. It was delightful.

I was close to bringing myself to an orgasm when Steve’s tongue swept directly over my fully aroused clit; sweep after delicious sweep, and I came with a series of loud moans and collapsed down onto my bed.

He held me in a soft embrace unlike any young guy I had been with and whispered in my ear:

“You are so lucky, “he said, “to be young and open to new experiences; your wondrous twin holes of life should always be ready for sharing; never hide them; they are your body’s passport to a truly fulfilling life. The beauty of sex; the complete exploration of self; embrace it, Tamara.”

“Yeah, “I said. “That was fully sick.”

“Whoa; if you didn’t like it, I won’t, ever again, I promise.”

“Oh, you aged dill,” I said: “It was FULLY SICK; it slang for awesome, absolutely great.”

“Oh, in that case, any time you are sick, let me know.”

“Mmm,” I said, “I think I’ll need another day home tomorrow, but right now, you can drive me to a sale.”

I stripped off my lingerie and got dressed; right there in front of Steve. 

No cares. No secrets. Everything was shaping in life as fully sick.


Submitted: January 05, 2023

© Copyright 2023 Janus. All rights reserved.

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Add Your Comments:



I'm surprised Steve didn't go for more since he was already there and had dared so much. Tamara betrayed herself that's the funny part.

Fri, January 6th, 2023 5:42am

Amy F. Turner

Ahh, Steve almost sounded like a dad toward the end of his, ahem, wellness inspection then, lol. Never did find out what that temperature was.

Mon, January 9th, 2023 9:15pm

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