My Step Sister And I: Pregnant For Me

Shocked

I went back in the bedroom and search the closet for the rest of the outfit franca had directed me to wear. A box on the shelf above her blouses is labeled "wig/shoes." I took it down and set it on the bed to open it.

The wig fits snugly on my head. I suddenly have straight, black hair that falls just below my ears. The bottom edge is crisp and sharp like a broom. The bangs are just as dramatic, going straight across my forehead just above my eyebrows.

The shoes she has chosen for me are totally slutty. Shiny, black, six-inch heels. I slip my feet into them and take a few tentative steps across the room. I feel the shoes forcing me to perk up my chest and ass. The line from that Shania Twain song flashes through my brain, "Man, I feel like a woman."

I took a cute, black purse and throw my wallet inside.

It's time to leave.

My Dad Lexus SUV is parked in the garage. I climb in and crank it up, thankful that the windows are tinted. At least I won't have to humiliate myself in front of my neighbors.

Longwood is usually about 45 minutes away. I'm careful to obey the speed limit. The last thing I need is a brush with a cop. Once on the interstate, I find myself searching my iPod for Britney Spears, Madonna and Lady Gaga. The drive flies by. When I hit the exit, I'm tapping my foot to "Poker Face."

Not until I pull into a parking spot does the full weight of what I'm about to do hit me. A chill is in the air as I open the SUV door and swing my heels onto the pavement. I'm shaking as I click-clack on the concrete toward the entrance.

I'm noticed for the first time by the bellhop, who can't help but grin as he tips his hat. I return the gesture with a nervous smile of my own. The automatic doors slide open. The lobby's heat envelops me as I walk inside.

I'm hoping to get to the front desk with as little attention as possible. But the floor is ceramic tile, and my heels must be made of some uniquely hard plastic because the clicking reverberates around the cavernous lobby. I feel like the whole world is watching as I approach the clerk behind the front desk.

He's got his head down, and he's typing on a computer keyboard. He senses my presence and greets me without immediately looking up.

"Hello, ma'am, welcome to the Westin," he says.

The clerk looks up. His eyes pop.

"Er, I mean, sir," he says. "Terribly sorry-- which do you prefer."

I think about this for a second.

"You can call me Stephanie," I say in my best female voice.

"Very good, Stephanie," the clerk says. "How may I help you?"

"I'd like a suite, please," I say.

"Yes, of course," he says.

I hand him my credit card.

As the clerk taps on his keyboard, I notice that he's handsome, even in the lame red uniform the hotel makes him wear. He couldn't be more than 30, and he's got surfer-boy looks. His name tag

says "Phil."

He hands me back my credit card.

"Thank you very much, Stephanie," he says.

He banged a couple more keys on the computer and then ran a plastic card through a machine next to his computer.

"Here's your room key. You'll be in suite 2204. And I'll be up to see you soon."

"Up to see me? For what?"

Phil smiles.

"Your stepmother invited me to the party."

I'm stunned.

"Party? What party?"

Phil's smile widens.

"We're gonna have fun," he says. "The elevator is around the corner to the left."

That's when I knew her plans, this woman really wants to make me her sex slave. Now with a guy. That can never happen.

I walked till he's out of my sights. I took my phone and dial police hot line.

They picked up immediately.

Me: This is Randy.

Police: How can I help you sir.

Me: I need help at Westin hotel In Longwood, exit no. 21. Room 2204. be there in 30 Minutes from now. Arrest everybody in the room. They are without arm.

I hanged up 👌.

I step onto the elevator with a guy in a crisp suit and a briefcase. His eyes linger on me just long enough to register that something isn't right and then divert to the floor. They stay there until he steps off the elevator on the ninth floor. I ride up to 22 and find my room.

The suite opens into a living room with white tile floors and black leather furniture. A big picture window looks out over the interstate, the suburbs and the city skyline off in the distance.

I daintily lower myself onto one of the black leather chairs, careful not to tear my dress. I open my phone and call Franca. She answers on the second ring.

"I'm here," I say. "Room 2204."

"Good," she says. "Order up some porn on the TV, and I'll be there in 10 minutes."

I close my phone and pick up the remote control. The hotel offers an extensive list of pay-per-view sex flixks. One called "Cum Suckers No. 18" looks promising. I order it for $21.95. The movie has no plot, just an endless series of guys cumming on chicks' faces.

9 minutes flies by. A knock comes at the door. I open it. Franca struts by me without saying a word. She's looking sexy as ever in her tight, gray business suit and black high heels. She reminds me of Sara Palin, except with bigger tits and red hair.

When I close the door behind me, She looks me over from head to toe.

"I see you're ready for our party," she says.

"I don't get it," I say. "What party?"

She sits on the leather couch.

"Come over here," she says, while patting the cushion next to her.

I went over and sat down. She takes me by the hand and looks into my eyes.

"You know your father is cheating on me, don't you?" she asks.

I shake my head.

"It's true." She sighs. "Unfortunately, there isn't much I can do."

"Why not divorce him?" I ask.

"I thought about that. I could divorce him and take half of everything he owns. But you know what? It's not enough. Your father has so much money I wouldn't even Know. He could keep right on with his women and cars and trips to Europe without even pausing to catch his breath."

"OK, then. What do you want?"

She comes in close, boring into me with her brown eyes.

"His son's soul."

I jump back.

"What the fuck are you talking about, My soul?"

A truly evil grin spreads across her face.