What Do You Do When Your Stepdaughter Is Constantly Flashing You With Her Giant Tits?

I feel like I might have painted myself into a bit of a corner on this front. At first, I was somewhat receptive to my stepdaughter's amusing displays of affection, as inappropriate as they were. But after a while, I figured something must be done. So, here is what I suggest you do when your stepdaughter is constantly flashing you with her giant tits.

As you might know, I've recently married. Third time for me. Hopefully three is a charm. Anyway, everything seemed to be going well. I mean to say, we weren't without the usual snags along the way of matrimony. My wife, Beatrice, is lovely in every way. However, before we got married, she led a somewhat wild life. Especially a few decades ago. The result of this was a collection of children, who, well, might be considered juvenile delinquents in some cases. In other cases, downright menaces to society.

I wouldn't want to disclose too much about my family, and all their flaws, as this wouldn't do anybody any good. However, in the case of my stepdaughter, Millie, well, I think some good can come of disclosure. And that's why I've decided to include it in this guide.

The first sign of trouble for Millie and I would have to be the first day I met her. Beatrice, my wife to be, decided to invite me over to her house for dinner, where I was to meet her three kids. Millie, at the time, was only sixteen.

Dinner seemed to go all right. It wasn't without the typical demonstrations of territorialism a dinner like this would bring. All of that, I was expecting. However, after dinner, when Millie trapped me in her pink bedroom and asked, somewhat innocently, "So, you're a doctor?" I was taken aback, to say the least.

"Yes, I'm a doctor," I replied. I glanced around her bedroom, with its incessant pinkness everywhere, and I was more than a little nervous.

"I have something to show you," Millie said, her voice sounding concerned.

"Well, I'm not sure if-" I stuttered.

Then she started unbuttoning her blouse.

"I really must be going," I said and started for the door.

"Wait!" she shouted, sliding in front of the door. "I need to show you something. I'm serious."

"I'm not that kind of doctor."

"Oh, what kind of doctor are you?"

"I work with couples. Relationships. Intimacy issues."

"Sex?" she blurted out, a little too excitedly for my liking.

"Well, yes. Sex between consenting adult. Usually married couples."

"Oh, okay. I'm neither one of those. But I do have sex."

"Well, that's not my concern. That sounds like something you and your mother should discuss. Now, if you don't mind. I would like to join the others."

"Why? They're all boring."

"Still. I must be going."

"You're sweating."

"I think it's a nervous reaction to all this pink."

"I have even more pink to show you."

"Well, I have to go, Millie. It was nice to talk to you."

"It was nice. I can always show you later."

"Sure. That's fine," I said. Little did I know, unbeknownst to me, I had just agreed to let her flash me just about every day for the rest of my natural days.

At first, Millie's flashes were altogether harmless. They were quick turns and pivots, where no actual flashing or skin was shown. This was mainly before I married her mother. After I married her mother, well, Millie was inclined to up the ante.

When we bought the house in Skylark, and we all moved in together, in hopes of becoming one happy family, Millie was about seventeen, almost eighteen and her flashes had grown somewhat sophisticated, if not just plain brash.

Rarely did she keep her clothes completely on. Meaning her underwear, especially her bras, which I was getting know each one seemingly each day, were always on display. To make matters worse, it was impossible not to notice that Millie's breasts had doubled in size in the short time I knew her, but she saw no reason to get new bras that would have fit appropriately. She preferred to keep the bras that were obviously too small, and caused her oversized breasts to spill out. Sometimes, if you listened real close, I'm sure you could even hear her bras straining to keep everything inside. It got to the point that Beatrice went out and bought her new bras, but Millie didn't seem to like them for one reason or another.

When Millie turned eighteen, I was especially excited, because it meant that more than likely she would be leaving us to going away to college. However, when she decided to go to the local community college, my hopes were dashed. And her age, as if she saw it as some right or something, seemed to invoke some sort of freedom or a free spirit in her. She was eighteen now. A woman, she would sometimes say. And so, naturally, her flashing could entail not only underwear now, but nakedness as well.    

One thing she liked to do in particularly was when only she and I were home, which was a scary proposition to begin with, and was happening more and more since Beatrice went back to work, was Millie would walk around the house completely naked. I would be in my office and if I forgot to shut my office door, invariably, I would see Millie walk past the doorway, talking on the phone or just walking about, completely naked.

On one of these afternoons, when I was working on some case studies in my office, I heard Millie call out, not frantic, just trying to get my attention, "Mosely? Mosely?"

I cringed.

"Mosely, could you come here?"

I went to the doorway of my office. "Where are you?"

"In here." I heard her voice from her bedroom.

I rolled my eyes. I walked down, somewhat stealthily, as if her prospective nakedness was a ninja about to pounce on me. I was already nervous. Already sweating.

I got to her bedroom and there she was lying on her bed, wearing a tight, black piece of negligee, which she didn't even bother putting her breasts in. Instead, she was lying on her stomach, with her large breasts spread out on the bed. But no nipples were exposed. As if that mattered.

I recoiled back and around the doorway. "Yes?"

"I have something to show you."

"I'm a little busy," I said, still looking away, down the hallway.

"I know. It'll only take a minute."

"What is it?"

"I can't just tell you. It's something I have to show you," Millie said playfully.

"Your mother will be home any minute."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Millie asked, amused.

"Well. I need to start dinner soon."

"Oh. Yeah. Of course."

"I'll see you at dinner."

"Okay," Millie said, disappointed.

After this, I decided to be a little more proactive about this problem. As soon as I got back to my office, I called one of my assistants, Connie Cryer, and asked if she could come by the house tomorrow.

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