WARNING: This story includes non-consensual sex.
I'm Malika, a 20-year-old stunner with olive skin that glows under the Lisbon sun, hips that sway like they're begging for trouble, and a set of full, perky tits that strain against my tight tops. I've got this wild mane of curls and a smile that hides my dirtiest secrets. Engaged to Pedro, this 22-year-old Portuguese grease monkey who thinks he's God's gift to women. He's got that athletic build from kicking around a football, always strutting in those cheap tracksuits that cling to his ass and bulge when he's half-hard. Straight as a fucking arrow, or so he claims, with a homophobic streak that makes him spit venom at any guy who doesn't fit his macho mold. "Fags are disgusting," he'd sneer after seeing two dudes holding hands on the street, his face twisting like he'd smelled shit. We fuck rough—him slamming into my pussy from behind, calling me his "dirty little whore"—but lately, my mind's elsewhere. Not on Pedro, no. I get off on the thought of homosexual fucks, men pounding men, hairy bodies grinding, cocks sliding into tight asses. It's my forbidden kink, watching gay porn in secret while fingering my clit, imagining dominant alphas breaking each other. But tell Pedro? Hell no. He'd flip, call me a freak, maybe even dump me. So I keep it locked away, letting it simmer as we hang out with his family.
Pedro's folks live in a dingy apartment block in the suburbs, the kind where laundry hangs from balconies and old men chain-smoke on stoops. His mom, Maria, is always out slinging shifts at some factory, her weary face barely cracking a smile when she's home. But his dad, Carlos Da Silva—fuck, that 57-year-old beast is a walking wet dream for my twisted fantasies. Stocky like a bull, with a beer belly that jiggles when he laughs, covered in thick black hair from his chest down to his crotch. His arms are meaty from years of manual labor before unemployment hit, and that salt-and-pepper beard frames a mouth that's always smirking like he knows something dirty. He lounges around in threadbare wifebeaters and loose shorts, his hairy legs spread wide, balls probably swinging free underneath. I steal glances when Pedro's not looking, imagining him bent over, taking a cock up his ass, grunting like a pig. Not Pedro's cock—though the incest angle makes my pussy throb harder. Just the raw, homosexual power play, men dominating men. We visit every weekend, Pedro dragging me along for "family time," but I go willingly, hoping for a glimpse of Carlos scratching his crotch or bending over to pick up a beer.
One sweltering Saturday, we rolled up with crates of Sagres and Super Bock, the cheap booze that turns afternoons into blurry messes. Carlos was solo, Maria out working again, but his cronies—João, Manuel, and Luis, all in their fifties, hairy and pot-bellied like him—shuffled in soon after, reeking of cigarettes and stale sweat. Their sons, Tiago (18), André (19), and Rico (19), these cocky little punks with buzz cuts and fake gold chains, tagged along. They were Pedro's casual buddies from the block, always leering at my ass in my short skirts, whispering about how they'd "tap that pussy." Little did I know, the brats had rigged the game jar with their filthy dares, scribbled on scraps of paper—stuff like "suck the youngest cock" or "rim the hairy ass next to you"—figuring I'd draw them and turn into their personal slut. Ha, joke's on them.
We piled into the living room, the air thick with body odor and beer fumes, the old TV droning some football match in the background. I was already buzzed, my nipples hard under my tank top from the heat, when I suggested truth or dare. "Let's make it interesting," I teased, shaking the jar of dares the boys had "helpfully" prepared. Pedro shrugged, his hand possessively on my knee, but his homophobic ass had no clue how it'd spiral. The group—me, Pedro, Carlos, the three old farts, and the teens—formed a sloppy circle on the ratty carpet, bottles clinking as we started.
It kicked off tame, like I expected. Tiago drew first: "Truth—who's the last person you wanked over?" He blushed, admitting it was his math teacher, Mrs. Oliveira, with her "big tits." Laughter boomed, beers chugged. André dared João to strip to his boxers— the old man complied, his hairy belly flopping out, gray pubes peeking from the waistband. "Look at that gut!" Manuel howled. Then Rico turned to me: "Dare—flash your panties." Pedro tensed, growling "Watch it," but I hiked my skirt quick, showing my lacy thong clinging to my shaved pussy lips. The boys' eyes bulged, cocks stirring in their shorts, but Pedro shot them death glares.
The game heated up, dares getting intimate. Luis drew: "Kiss the person on your left." That was his own son, André. The room went quiet as the old man leaned in, pecking the kid's cheek, but the dare said "proper kiss," so he pressed lips to lips, a awkward smooch that lingered too long. Pedro muttered "Fucking gross," shifting uncomfortably, his homophobia bubbling. But I felt my clit throb—the taboo of father-son contact, even mild, fed my secret kink. Next, Manuel dared Tiago to lick his dad's foot. João kicked off his sock, revealing a hairy, calloused sole reeking of sweat. Tiago grimaced but lapped it, tongue sliding between toes, the old man chuckling as the room erupted in disgusted laughs. "Tastes like cheese!" Tiago spat, but his shorts tented slightly. Carlos watched, his face flushed from beer, scratching his balls absentmindedly.
More rounds: I drew truth, confessing my favorite position was doggy, making Pedro smirk proudly. Pedro dared Rico to grope André's ass— the teens laughed it off, but Rico squeezed hard, fingers digging into the fabric, whispering "Tight, bro." Pedro's jaw clenched; he hated that "gay shit," but the alcohol dulled his protests. Then João pulled a hot one: "Rim the ass of the oldest guy here." That was Carlos. The room exploded—"No way!"—but João dropped his pants, bending over to show his hairy crack. Carlos, egged on by chants, knelt behind, spreading the cheeks and tentatively licking the puckered hole. "Salty as fuck," Carlos grumbled, his tongue delving in, João moaning like a bitch. I squirmed, my panties soaked—not from the straight guys, but the raw male-on-male action, old hairy asses getting eaten. Pedro looked away, disgusted, but I caught his bulge twitching—repressed or not?
The dares ramped to taboo filth. André drew: "Jerk off the guy next to you for 30 seconds." That was his dad, Luis. Hands shaking, the teen reached into Luis's shorts, stroking the semi-hard cock while we timed it. Luis groaned, pre-cum leaking, the incestuous handjob making my pussy clench. Pedro whispered to me, "This is fucked up," but stayed, too drunk to bail. Tiago dared Manuel to suck on Rico's toes—the old man slurped the teen's feet, tongue bathing the soles, the foot fetish play turning the air electric with lust.
Finally, Carlos's turn sealed it. He fished out the chit: "Suck the last person's dick—the youngest in the circle." The "last person" was Rico, who'd drawn just before. The boys paled—they'd written it for me, imagining my lips around their teen cocks—but now Carlos, the hairy old dad, was on deck. "Fuck no," Carlos barked, but the group chanted "Rules! Rules!" Pedro laughed uneasily, "Dad, just skip it," but Carlos, pride wounded and buzzed, snarled, "I ain't no pussy." Rico, grinning like a devil, unzipped, his smooth 6-inch cock springing free, veiny and hard. Carlos dropped to his knees in the circle's center, his bearded face inches from the teen's dick. "This is bullshit," he muttered, but opened wide, taking the head past his lips.
I watched, transfixed, my secret kink exploding—homosexual suck, old on young, right in front of me. Carlos bobbed, slurping the shaft, his cheeks bulging as Rico thrust. "Fuck, Mr. Da Silva, deepthroat that shit!" Rico groaned, hands in Carlos's hair. The old man's tongue swirled, gagging on the length, saliva dripping into his beard. The room was silent save for wet sucks and heavy breaths—João stroking himself subtly, Manuel licking his lips. Pedro's face was horror-struck, his homophobic world crumbling as his dad sucked cock like a pro. Carlos kept going, hollowing his cheeks, taking it to the balls, until Rico bucked, shooting ropes of hot cum down the throat. Carlos swallowed some, coughing the rest onto his chest, the bitter seed staining his wifebeater. "You happy now, you pricks?" he rasped, wiping his mouth.
The party died after that, everyone awkward as hell. But the video—yeah, one of the boys filmed it on the sly—leaked fast. By Sunday, Pedro's football team was buzzing: "Dude, your dad's a fag! Sucked Rico's dick like a whore!" At practice, they mimed blowjobs, chanting "Carlos the cock-sucker!" Pedro snapped, tackling a guy, screaming "Shut your fucking mouth!" He came home raging, blaming Carlos: "You embarrassed me, you queer piece of shit! Why'd you keep sucking if you're straight?" Carlos defended weakly—"It was the dare!"—but Pedro hung up, fuming.
The taunts escalated daily. In the bar, Pedro's mates cornered him: "Your old man's ass probably needs a pounding now. Bet he's dreaming of teen cum." Pedro drank heavier, his homophobia turning violent—punching walls, ranting to me about "disgusting homos ruining families." I listened, my pussy dripping at the thought of the suck, but never spilled my kink. "Calm down, baby," I'd say, blowing him to distract, his cock down my throat as he growled slurs.
Friday night broke him. At the bar, the crew ambushed: "Pedro, your bitch dad probably loves feet too—want us to send him ours?" Laughter roared; Pedro slammed shots, stumbling home alone. He called me later, drunk and confessing everything, his voice slurred with rage and something darker—lust? "I fucked him, Malika. Raped my own dad to teach the fag a lesson." He detailed it all, guilty but bragging, how he'd burst in, finding Carlos on the couch in boxers
"You bitch," Pedro snarled, yanking Carlos's beard, forcing a tongue kiss—deep, invasive, their mouths mashing, Pedro's hands groping the hairy gut. "Why'd you suck that cock, Dad? You like it, you homo?" Carlos begged—"Stop, son!"—but Pedro ripped the boxers, exposing the furry ass. "Deserve this, whore," he hissed, diving face-first, tongue raping the hole, lapping the musky crack, fingers spreading cheeks wide. Carlos writhed, moaning despite himself, his hole winking as Pedro ate it out, slurping like a beast.
Pedro stood, cock out—hard from twisted anger—spitting on the hole. "Take my dick, fag dad." He rammed in, merciless, the incestuous fuck splitting Carlos open. "This for embarrassing me!" Pounds echoed, balls slapping, Carlos's gut jiggling, tears streaming as pleasure mixed with pain. Pedro pulled out, forcing feet worship—"Lick ‘em, bitch!" Carlos sucked toes, humiliated, then Pedro re-entered, spanking the ass red, cumming deep inside. "Owned, you cum-dump."
Pedro hung up, sobbing. I came hard that night, fingering to the homosexual rape tale, my kink fed. Carlos avoided us, but the shift stuck—Pedro dominant, hiding his own cracks. Me? I crave more man-on-man filth, silent as ever. I'm planning to have more truth or dare nights with the teens and their dad's.
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