In mid-September, Dad brought down a mid-sized van to pick up my stuff. There wasn't much since I left most of my surfing-related things home. I wear hoodies, flip-flops and shorts when not in a wetsuit, so I don't need too many clothes. I moved most of what remained to the room in the attic, where I did some weights and my schoolwork. My eldest half-sister repossessed my bedroom downstairs.

Dad said we had gym equipment in the apartment so that we could have used a car. It didn't take long to get it all carried upstairs at the city end. There was quite a bit of storage space in 'my' bedroom, so it all fitted quickly. Because of my stepfather, I had always been self-sufficient at home, so that I could make a healthy dinner of meat, fish, and vegetables. I could do a pasta dish or limit myself to beans on toast.

Sophie did most of the shopping daily, so there was always plenty of healthy food. We generally had a takeaway on Friday night. Everyday living: our weekly routine didn't vary very much. On Monday to Thursday, Sophie arrived at 6 pm as she walked home from work via one of the local stores. She and I would chat at the kitchen counter as I put away the shopping.

Then we discussed what we would have for dinner. Generally, she cooked two nights, and I did the other two. The other would have an hour in the gym, shower, and get changed. We would all combine between seven and eight when Dad got home. We ate dinner, talked a bit, and then I would go to my room to study or play my Xbox until bedtime. Dad and Sophie would watch TV from around 9 pm, a movie or some Netflix series until we went to bed around 10:30.

On Friday, Dad got home earlier, usually bringing a takeaway. They would watch a film afterwards, and I mostly went to college for a social evening. Saturday and Sunday were pretty similar. We woke later, having breakfast and lazing around most of the morning. Dad tended to do a couple of hours of work from 10 am when Sophie did a yoga or pilates workout in front of the big TV whilst I generally returned to my room.

We dressed up and went out for brunch on Sunday, returning at midday. Whichever afternoon our team played, Dad and I went to the match if they were at home or watched on the TV if they were away. Sophie would disappear into her bedroom and prepare to go out Saturday night. She and Dad always went somewhere special; he always had on a tuxedo, and Sophie wore a long coat. I never saw what she wore underneath.

Sometimes, they returned at 2 am; sometimes, they returned early the following morning. They never said where they went; it was accepted as their secret. On Sunday afternoon, Sophie cooked a big dinner whilst Dad did more work. Sunday night was always a historical or period drama on the TV, which we generally watched. I quickly realised that the social life I might have in college was limited.

There were probably five times as many guys as girls at college. For the few girls there, the college was close to the city bar area, where they could get drinks bought by city guys. I was never going to get a girlfriend at college, but the mates I had were great. We did XBox groups from our rooms or met in someone's room to play four at a time. I joined the rowing club, where my surfer shape worked well.

Rowing added texture and muscle, turning my stomach into something close to a six-pack. If only there were a girl to impress with my physique. After the initial stage of going to college at every opportunity, I gradually, over time until Christmas, went less and less. I made a good friend in Colin, who, like me, lived at home. His home was at the end of a train line, but most of the guys lived in the two blocks of tiny flats that were the student accommodation. 

As for actual study work, I was in the top third of the class with little effort. I attended lectures, did my coursework and kept my nose clean. It helped to have the guru at home that I could ask almost any computer-related question. If he didn't know the answer, he had a network of contacts who did. Not that I needed to use it, but having it there like a safety net made me feel comfortable.

Not having to do outside work to earn my keep for the limited amount of social money I needed was excellent. I found that, over time, I spent a couple of evenings at the big gym at college. This was only when Dad was at home. On the weekdays when he left for work, I kept my promise to be at home for Sophie. I played a lot of Xbox, some with my older mates from the coast. Having Dad's superfast, superwide broadband helped a lot.

The only problem I had on the horizon was living in the same place as Sophie. Not that she was a problem; in fact, the reverse. Just her natural state made a sex-starved, testosterone-filled youth like me spend a lot of effort trying to deal with it. Of course, for Sophie herself and for my father, there was no sexual tension. You could hear they fucked like rabbits every day. Their door wasn't very soundproof.

You could listen to Sophie's pretty intense-sounding orgasms from everywhere in the flat. Oddly enough, that didn't extend to the other flats, as coming back one evening, I heard nothing at all from the lobby stairs, but only once I got into the flat itself. Take the six o'clock chat over the kitchen table whilst we reviewed our day and decided what and who was cooking dinner. Sophie dressed pretty boring for work.

Skirt suit, with the skirt below her knees, nothing overtly sexual. She would have a semi-sheer blouse but one of those chain-mail white bras underneath. You can see my bra but absolutely nothing else. As she came in, I was handed the bags to put away. She would remove the jacket, hang it on the back of the stool, and then take off her bra under her blouse. Unclip the back, strap down the sleeves, and undo three buttons to pull out the bra from the front.

At that point, the semi-sheer blouse hid nothing; her perky perfect tits were right there with erect nipples just wanting to be pinched. She always made sure to tell me that she felt comfortable now. Sophie never wore a bra in the apartment, only to work or sometimes the shops. There was the same display ritual every time she came in. So having put her tits on display, she would wander around and fix a drink.

Water if I was cooking and she was exercising; wine if she was cooking. This always meant pushing past me, stroking my arm, perhaps a little peck on the cheek. Whatever, I always got a brush of soft breast on my arm. Then she went back to the chair and perched on it. This with one leg on the floor and one leg pushed up, knee above the breakfast bar. The skirt dropped away to reveal at least her stocking tops.

If Sophie wore boring bras to work, what was under the skirt was inversely proportional. Always stockings and suspender belt and slutty knickers. Sometimes, her leg position allowed the knickers to be seen, sometimes not. Don't think I was blameless here; I would shift my position in the kitchen to see the maximum on display. I wouldn't miss anything, even though it gave me a hard-on and blue balls. 

If I were cooking, then after a short while, Sophie would get changed to do an exercise class. The costumes she wore would never be seen in an actual gym. Camisole and French knickers were her usual attire, sometimes a crop top instead. No sports bra like no bra; Sophie didn't do anything energetic enough to get those titties bouncing. If she were cooking, she would start dinner and then, at some point, shower and change.

This happened after her workout if I was cooking. She would leave her bedroom a little later, ready for bed. I never knew what she would wear; sometimes, she had girly pyjamas with close-to-fitting bottom halves. With these, Sophie didn't tend to wear a dressing gown. She had a fair few nighties, from one that was frankly not worth wearing hid so little to the other end ones that went to her knees.

Generally, with the flimsier nighties, she wore her dressing gown tied up tightly. For the others, the dressing gown was often open. When Dad was in the flat, we all sat down for dinner at the table; he felt it quite important. There would be a chat during dinner and a short while afterwards. At some point, I would excuse myself to do some coursework, play on my Xbox, or go back to college for something social.

If I went to the gym, I left when Dad came in and ate on my return. Dad and Sophie would do their stuff and start watching TV before bed. They would watch a film or the news and an hour's serial or a short film. They would cuddle up on one sofa and watch what they had chosen. They liked to see a bit of flesh on the screen. Most of it was what I would describe as soft-porn; there was always someone fucking in every program.

Not that you saw anything beyond an ass or a pair of tits. They often critiqued the scene for practicality and played with each other if I wasn't in the room. They always stopped making out when they saw me, but I didn't always make my presence known. It was odd because Dad seemed quite happy showing off his wife to me. Given his usual quiet behaviour, especially when watching sports, I would have thought he would be pretty modest.

However, he almost seemed to go the other way with his wife. If I went to sit on the additional sofa facing the TV, he would insist I sat with them, always on the other side of Sophie, not himself. Surely he could see that his wife had her legs splayed out, almost showing off her pussy, but he seemed not to. Other times, he pulled Sophie into his arms to make room for me to sit with them, exposing his wife's ass in the process.

Not that I would ever complain, watching a hot actress getting undressed on the screen as my stepmom, my father's wife, was already partially exposed, not a foot away from me. When Dad wasn't there, I spent almost the whole time in the flat as I had promised Dad I would do so, and the evenings had a slightly different feel and cadence. We used the gym together; I was doing weights at the back whilst Sophie tried to follow the exercises on the TV screen.

These tended to be Pilates or Yoga, meaning she could wear the most miniature clothes and twist her body into the most compromising positions. I always wore very loose-fitting shorts because I had a hard-on the whole time. After an hour or so at the gym, I would put together the food whilst Sophie had a shower and changed for bed. We tended to eat at the breakfast bar and got ready for Dad's call at 8 pm or so.

He would be on speaker, and we would have a three-way conversation before Sophie took the phone into her room for a more private call. The only thing was that the call was not so secret because her door was always slightly ajar, so I could hear everything—the few minutes of personal "what did you do" before moving on to phone sex. I tended to listen in from the sofa because it was so horny.

Within five minutes, Sophie had fingers in her pussy and was bringing herself off. I don't know, but she told Dad what she would do before telling him she was doing it. Her orgasms could be heard through the flat. Most times, I tiptoed into my room, left the door open and wanked myself, listening to her moans and squeals as she described some big cock filling her pussy or ass in graphic detail. I did that a lot, wanking.

Straight after the 6 pm chat finished was the first time of the evening. Again, if we shared a gym session, then I would sneak a view of them playing on the sofa, watching TV for a third and a fourth when I finally went to bed. I used up a lot of tissues, and I cannot understand why Sophie did not smell the stink of sex that came from me most evenings. It was worse because I had a crush on her the first time we met.

Not having sex myself or even a snog with a girl to take my mind off the blatantly sexual antics of my stepmom was driving me mad. I hit the weights to drive off the sexual energy inside me from making me explode. All that did was to make Sophie notice that I was getting a hot body. She pointed it out to my father, usually involving running her fingers over my stomach or arms or bumping me with her ass.

Which, of course, added to the tension. This was all seemingly ordinary stuff, done with a laugh and a smile and nothing to suggest that it was odd or had an ulterior motive. I loved living with Sophie, but I loved my dad more; I would never do anything that would cause him embarrassment or make him think something was wrong. It didn't stop me from getting the bluest balls in the city.