Sleazy Stepdad Thirsty Son

6 Months Ago.

I wake to Dad's low, deep voice rumbling in in my ear, his hot breath on my cheek. I can hear the waves outside.

“Mmmm morning, Benji”He’s nestled next to me, our hairy legs entwined.

“Morning, Dad”I say, quietly surprised by the lack of enthusiasm in my own voice. My body ached, sore from last nights hot, dirty brutality.

“What’s wrong?”He sits up

“Dad....I don’t want to go home”

Where the fuck did that come from? I feel like I’m unravelling a little. All the lies and smut, the general betrayal of what we were doing. My sleep had been punctuated with these shameful thoughts; of how much I loved both of them inside me, how fucking hard my Daddy and Uncle got me, how wet I was for them. Then I think of how revolting that sounds. Or how Mum would feel watching the video of our family threeway. Her brother-in-law, Husband and Son fucking each other, inside of each other. I just wanted to be on my own with Dad. He was the only other person who could understand.

“I know, Son, I know” His eyes fall, sadly to mine, communicating that he felt what I was feeling too. Then I feel his warm hand slide onto my leg, creeping to my dick. Clearly he wasn’t too distraught.

“Dad, I hurt a bit from last night”

It wasn’t just the soreness, the feeling of shameful disgust that had haunted me since yesterday evening was giving me doubts about everything we were doing. Dad was an exception to every rule, but Uncle Dan? Who’s next? Maybe I should just go ahead and compile a list of immediate family I want to bone me. I keep reminding myself that it was my idea to succumb to my Uncle's sexual blackmail.

I push his hand off of my leg.

We hadn’t fucked last night, instead we’d sprawled on the bed naked and watched a lame action film on Netflix, munched a load of room service. The exertion of being double-penetrated by them was matched only by the slow-burn of my guilt. I thought of the way I had callously denied my Mums calls to my Dad, her husband: Who was I becoming?

“Ben, do you still want this? Me? If you’re...”

“Dad. I’m falling in love with you, I’m falling in love with my STEPDAD. The things we’ve done?....I got off on you doing me over the table at home. My fucking Mother was meters away and I loved it. We fuck in her bed, Dad. I’m so ashamed. What are we turning into?” I was breathy, anxious.

“Whoa, Ben, OK, OK.” He rests his hands on my chest, big and reassuring:

“This was never just sex for me, I’ve got the same feelings I...”

Please Dad. Please say it I think, my breath quickening, wishing the words into his mouth

“I’m in love with you too. I have been for a very fucking long time” He says it deep, loaded with an integrity that promised his word.

I lean in for a kiss, letting his tongue massage my own with a tenderness that was new for him: "I love you, Ben”

My apprehension, guilt, regret.....all of it started to subside as he kissed me deeper. In that moment I had this realisation that this wasn’t something I could just dip a toe into. I had to choose between being a good person and pursuing this. I choose him. I choose us.

The months that followed became the best of my life. The negativity of Uncle Dan faded away, like Dad had promised it would. We embarked on an affair, an addiction to each others bodies. Not more than a day would go by without us taking advantage of any hours we could steal for ourselves. He would make love to me in the bed I shared with my husband, whilst Michael worked. I would ride him, in secret, for hours in the bed he shared with my Mother when the house was empty. Some days Dad would pick me up in his van after a job. Hands dirty, clothes sweaty. We would fuck like rabbits on a musty blanket in the back of the transit, surrounded by tools and building supplies. We become experts in each other, in lying to our loved ones.

Four Months Ago.

On days like today with Mum working from home and Michael’s parents staying at mine we had to be creative.

We’re in the secluded depths of this country park, miles away from home. Dad and I are lying on the soft earth of a corn field, the stems reaching into the sky above us. Our clothes are strewn around our naked bodies.

He’s on top, grinding his hips into me with slow, thoughtful intention. He’s looking for the place I like. The place that makes me moan into him, arch my body into his hairy chest, call his name in the dark.

He finds it.

“Awww I fucking love you Dad. Mmm Fuck me”

I’m grabbing at his hairy ass, letting his cock, tutored by months of our lovemaking, edge deeper to climax. The dry earth underneath me, digs into my back.

“I love you too baby. Ohhhmmm Ben”

His gentle exploration, his playfulness gradually turns into hard thumps of lust. I know what he likes when he’s like this:

“Dad, do me doggy” It’s weird how casually I say shit like this now.

He's on his knees, pulls his errection out slow. Its pale and sticky. His juices, his sweaty bed of pubes are glistening in the hot sun. He lets me flip around and jam my knees onto the soft dirt. He grabs my hips from behind and resumes unhurried. After a few minutes he’s locating his militaristic rhythm again, sliding in and out with a urgent, hard precision. As he nears climax, he starts to jerk me off from behind, my cock hardened and ready for his touch. I start to power my hole into his strikes with a severity that strained my stomach muscles, bouncing my butt back to meet his thrusts, then leaving him as he withdraws.

To finish he extracts his entire cock for five or six seconds.....then plunges it back deep into me again, repeating over and over and over. He fits me like a key, every measured progression clicking something sensual and vital inside of me. I couldn’t bear the slow, insistent plummet of it anymore. He knew it sent me to the edge.

“Ahhhhh Daddy fuuuuccckkk mmmeeee!”I roar it into the sky.

He withdrew a final time, leaking his load into my hole in huge spurts, holding its head rigidly in place until he starts playing with it, smoothing it’s gooeyness into me, licking it from his fingers. He turns me around, licking my nipples, biting my neck. His mouth falls to my cock. He’s barely licked it when it spasms into his face, onto his stuck-out tongue. His indebted mouth licks and kisses what’s left of my load from its quivering head as I shudder in satisfaction. I pull him up for a kiss, my hands resting on his sweaty hips, he’s playing with my foreskin gently with super sticky fingers.

“I fucking love you, mister”

“I love you too , Dad”

We zipped zips, popped buttons and threw our shorts and shoes on. We left our shirts off; it was absolutely boiling. We left our makeshift bedroom, exiting the pale barely-yellow of the corn into lush, verdant greenery, never-ending forests. We found a high point and settled on a patch of flourishing grass looking out over hills and fields way into the distance. And then, out of nowhere:

"I’m leaving her, Ben. I’m leaving her for you if you want me. I can’t share you anymore"I hear the vulnerability under his deep, manly voice. He looks exposed for a second.

It was everything I wanted him to say.

“I’ll leave, Michael too, Dad. I’ve been thinking about this a lot too. Im ready”

“You’ll leave him for me?” He was genuinely relieved?

“I need you, Dad. I want you all the time. I don’t want to share you either”I squeeze his hand in mine as we kiss. Dad tells me that he was able to get a room at a hotel tomorrow night to talk throuhh the logistics of it, how we would pay for it, where we would live:

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Ben. I want to try and be....as normal as we can given...our situation. We could an awesome life together ,boy. Maybe if we move away, if it was just us...we could go to Cornwall, leave this shit in our wake”

My heart skipped a beat, we’re moving in together?How does setting up home with a Stepdad work? What about our lives? Our family? My little Brother? Our friends? Do I have to start calling him by his name? He still feels like my Daddespite our deeper, darker connection.

Amongst my questioning, my tireless in-built need to organise, I was just so happy. Unadulterated happiness for the first time in such a long time. He looked so hot, all sweaty and shirtless in his shades in the afternoon sun. The thin layer of perspiration on his shaggy chest causes a droplet of sweat to dangle from a pink, fuzz rimmed nipple. The nearly-chubby folds of his furry belly misted in the same hot sweat. The sun was burning my bare back, so bright it was white.

“We got time to go back to that corn Daddy?” I say it like I’m from the Deep South.

He squints at me. “C’mon then” He laughs, pulling me to my feet, a bulge forming in my pants.

I spend the next day just looking forward to seeing him. There was a country hotel he had found, discrete and quiet. We only had a one night stay but I couldn’t wait. Both of us had created our excuses, reasons why we were absent from our before-lives. It wasn’t just the sex: We would be talking about a shared future not as a Dad and Son, but as lovers. A proper couple . A future where I don’t have to lie or scheme just to spend 20 minutes with him. Where I wake up next to him every day; not my Mum. I waited for Michael to leave for the office and began to pack my leather holdall. I noticed the crumpled note that Uncle Dan had given Dad all those months ago. It had completely escaped my mind until now. I couldn’t help but open it.

Now.

I’m sitting alone at home. I’m looking out across the city skyline, sipping a red wine from a cheap glass. Alone. My new home is small, basic in comparison to the house I shared with Michael but it suited my budget, was handy for work. Michael had returned home to Wales, two months ago and I had been here a month. We were civil, polite and remained friends, of sorts. As far as he was concerned our spark had died, we had just reached this...natural conclusion. I miss him. And our old home. A lot more than I thought I would. I knew, with total clarity, that he deserved better than the way I was treating him. That he was better away from me. Our divorce would finalise in the coming weeks. I knew he was seeing someone new, someone nice, someone that treated him well. I wished him nothing but the happiness he so richly deserved. I had lost the right to be bitter or resentful. The rain begins to splatter fragmented streetlight onto the windows and for a second, this minuscule lapse of logic, I think that I see him under a lamppost, looking up at me. My Dad.

I snap the thought out of my brain and jump down from the windowsill I had been perched on. The flat was OK, big windows, high ceilings. The study I had planned became my brothers room; After the divorce my Mum moved to Dubai and Jayden, bounced between there and the UK, not committing to either. He was a bit of an imposition but he broke up some of the loneliness and self-scrutiny I had imposed on myself in the last few months. Karma was a bitch, I guess.

I couldn’t talk to my Mum. I didn’t want to hear her voice, look at her face. She was rich with settlement money, Jayden said she was doing OK and that knowledge was enough. I had no plans to talk to her anytime soon. If ever. My brother never pushed it. He knew what she'd done to me, to my Dad, to him.

Dad left for good, went overseas, no one knows where he is. No contact. I liked it that way. The less I thought of him the better I felt. I had no intention of talking to him again either.

5 Months Ago.

We’re in a toilet cubicle. He’s pressing me into its side, from behind me. I’m protesting. Telling him we can’t, that its wrong. The same way I always do. At the same time I’m freely letting his fingers unclasp my belt buckle, Pushing my butt into his errection with raw-ass neediness.

A big family celebration is taking place in the restaurant outside. It’s for my Brothers birthday. 25 - 30 people. Family, close friends, Mum, Michael. Everybody. I was squeezed between him and Mum at our table.He had been running a big hand along my thighs under the tablecloth for ages, roughly fondling my rock-hard cock as he engaged in polite small talk with Great Aunt Somebody. He was in this pale blue shirt and navy trousers with a matching single breasted jacket. The tailoring on the trousers clasped every inch of his thicc butt. He looked so sharp, so fucking sexy in a suit that I couldn't help but give his ass a long dirty fondle as we checked our coats in earlier, it was usually him that instigated naughtiness. As I chat with my Mum and Grandad he signals me to the toilet with his eyes alone. I knew what he wanted. He knew that I wanted it too.

“Ughh Daaaaad”

My trousers are on the floor, he’s inside me with a wad of his own saliva lubricating his dicks rapid, internal descent into me. He pauses and wraps a clammy palm over my mouth as somebody else enters the gents. He waits, stiff inside, gripping my length until we hear the hand-dryer go on and the door slam shut.

“Yeah Baby”He’s so fast, so insistent. The entire cubicle is rattling.

“Daddy please ughhhh mmmmmm”I exhale loudly. Too loudly for somebody in my situation. After a couple of seconds of us shuddering into one another, I hear our semen drip to the floor.

“Mum’s already drunk, Jayden’s out all night with his friends” he growls in a hushed tone directly into my ear. “Wait until Michael’s asleep and pay me a little visit later tonight?”He’s slowly pulling out of me. “Drop me a text when you leave yours”

“I’ll see Dad, I’m not sure” I’m pulling my trousers up.

“You’ll be there”he grins.

He was right.

4 Months Ago.

I open Uncle Dan’s envelope, a folded page of A4 paper rested inside. I remove it and open it:

Ben's your biological son.

Ask your wife.

I’m sorry, mate.

Dan

Wait, what? I don’t know what this means. Is this Dan fucking with us. WTF? My heart is pounding. I was genuinely scared by what this meant. It was impossible. My biological Dad died a long time ago. Again, WTF? I pick up my phone and take a picture of the crudely written text, sending it to my Dads number.

5 Months Ago.

We’re on his chair. His spot in the lounge. Where he watches his football, grumbles at the news, drinks his beer. Its 03:24 AM. Our naked bodies are lit only by the twinkling lights of a Christmas tree. My Mum is wasted on cheap pinot grigo, fast asleep upstairs. He’s been grinding into me for fifteen minutes now. I’m on top, sitting on him, looking into his eyes, moaning as quietly as my excitement could manage as he glides in and out of me. This was where it had started. It seemed like forever ago. We’re kissing passionately as I rise and fall onto his big, hairy nuts, writhing as he feeds its full length into me, his fingers playing with my erect nipples and both of my palms rested on the thick hair of his chest. Some drunk relative had squished a Santa hat onto his bald head at the restraunt earlier. He was still wearing it, I had tried to snatch it off several times already.

“You gonna show me what’s in your sack, Santa?” I had to say it.

We’re both edging towards the sublime, climax, the awe of our mutual satisfaction.He’s leaning me back as I bounce. His tongue assertively consuming my nipples.

“AAhha-aahhHH Ohhh Daddy” A part of me didn’t care if it was a little too loud. That same part of me wasn’t sure we’d even be able to stop if she burst into the room right now.

"Have you mmmm been a mmmm good boy this year?" He growls deeply into my chest.

I’m pretty sure he already knew the answer.

“Cum in me, Dad” I growl it back deeply, pounding into him violently, losing all control.

4 Months Ago.

I’m still looking at the note. It had been two hours of creeping confusion. Where the fuck was my Dad? I felt physically sick as I contemplated whether there was any truth to the statement: A love affair with my Stepdad was the most deceitful, dirty thing I had ever done. Incest was another matter. A whole other level. I never would have surrendered to Dad if he was my actual fucking Dad. But it was ridiculous right?He’s Jaden’s Dad. Not mine He had always made the distinction growing up, not me, not Mum. We both enjoyed dirty talk using Daddy and Son, it was a turn-on because he was my Dad in name, it took a sick and twisted meaning, a disturbing tone if somehow we were......

Ding!

The text from Dad was brief and supplied nothing to calm my agitation:

Be 5. Coming to urs to pick u up now

I see the van pull up onto our drive and I leave the house. I open the passenger door and look up at him to gage what the fuck is going on. His knuckles are bloody again, he’s gripping the wheel hard. His eyes are looking dead ahead.

“Get in Ben”

He parks the transit in a deserted country lane near my house as it starts to drizzle. he’s breathing heavily. We had used the same location for our sex in his van a couple of times. I gently place my hand on his knee, his silence was unnerving me.

He’s completely avoiding eye contact as he gently lifts my hand from his leg returning it to my lap in a single cool, emotionless movement.

Oh no! Oh fuck!

“Dad what the fuck did that note mean?” I already knew what he was going to say. I can hear my heart beat in my ears. He sighs, deeply his eyes are flickering. He's trying to find the words, say the unspeakable:

“It’s true, Ben. I’m your biological Dad.”

I squeezed the handle, leapt out the car and threw up violently in the rain which was now heavy and unrelenting.At some point he’s behind me, touching my hair as I bend over to puke.

“Don’t fucking touch me, Dad”It was barked, hostile.

I catch his eyes for the first time. They’re confused, red and thick with tears. I realise I’d never seen him cry.

“Son”he says desperately “I had no fucking idea, Your Mum lied to...

“And don’t fucking call me that” I realise I’m crying too.

“Ben, get back in the van...please”

It’s feels colder in there as I get back in. I can see his breath as he starts to talk. Were both shaking, shattered.He tells me, coldly, what My Mother had said when confronted about my paternity: She had lied at first, couldn’t work out how he knew and denied everything. When pushed she admitted, reluctantly, guiltily that it was true:

Mum had simply lied when I was born. I was, apparently, conceived after she had a one-night stand with Dad. She was still in a relationship with Henry, the man I thought, until now, was my father. She misled an oblivious Henry into believing I was his. He was, conveniently, incredibly wealthy and my Mum had grown accustomed to the kind of life his affluence had afforded her. Mum eventually left him, years later, for my Dad whom she had fallen in love with after a brief affair, rekindled their earlier connection. By placing Henry’s name on my birth certificate she tricked him into paying hefty child maintenance payments until he died when I was six. After that she decided it was best left in the past. It meant Jayden was my full-brother and that Dad was....

How could she do this to me?

Dad couldn’t go home. He had smashed up the house, the cars and punched my Mum. I couldn’t condone it but it was the first instance of violence against a woman I had ever heard him commit, and in truth, she probably deserved worse. I think some naive part of him thought he could come with me. That there was a way we could leave this together.

“You’re my blood, son” his voice was broken, tears streaming his face.

I Bury my head in my hands for a minute and turn to him. Jesus. I couldn’t even look at him, I had to avert my eyes.

“Dad, I cant see you again”He didn’t respond. Still sniffing back tears.

I unlocked the door, opening it.

"Ben let me take you home, Ben!” I ignored him and stepped into the freezing rain.

“Ben, mate....I”

“I don’t want to see you again. Ever. Leave me alone, Dad. I fucking mean it!”

I’d spent so many years thinking my biological Dad was dead. This was beyond insane and I was trying to process this as, both, a son, his biological son now, and his lover. It was too much to bear. I slam the door in his face and begin to walk into the cool darkness, hoping my direction aligned with home. I feel like throwing up again. I hear his door open behind me.

“Ben!!!!” He howls it into the night like a wounded animal.

How could I have let this happen? I carried on walking, pulling at the ring he gave me until I hear it jingle on the floor. I knew it would be the last time I ever saw him.

6 Months Ago.

We’re in bed in that big, art deco Hotel in Cornwall. I’m breathless, stuttering his name. He’s on my cock, sucking with a corrupt delight, his stubble slicked with my essence. Our eyes are locked as he slows, taking it in his hand: “I love you son” He running his tongue up my shaft now, no hands, the eye contact beyond intense.

“I love you too, Daddy”I whisper.

Now

I blow out the candles on the bedroom windowsill and I am sure, again, that I catch a glimpse of him outside on the street, the silhouette of his broad shoulders. I shrug to myself when I see that its just a trick of the light, a figment of a fucked- up mind. Id been inadvertently thinking about him a lot these past few days . My brain is playing tricks on me: Nights were hard sometimes. Dreams, sleeplessness, guilt. Trying not to imagine him was exhausting in honesty. Draining. No matter how little I tried to think of him, he would creep into my day.

My concealed desire would override me subconsciously sometimes. Always in the dark. I’d remember my hands in the fur of his chest, or the sweet taste of his cum in my mouth, how good he felt inside of me. Id awake from a wet dream thinking he was still on top of me, in me and hate myself. It wasn’t just the sexual stuff it was all of him. I’d have to mentally remind myself that he was my Father now. Not my Daddy.

Some nights I’d audibly plead with my own desire:

“Dad!! Please get out of my FUCKING head!" It would be angrily muttered into a pillow or snapped into my ceiling at 04:08 AM. I’d try to wank to the thought of anybody but him. But whenever I cum, at the exact moment of ejaculation of warm pleasure; it was always his face, his hairy body that I would see. Trying to fall out of love with him felt do-able some days, an achievable goal but, truthfully, most were just a denial of how much I ached for a man I could never, ever be with again: My own biological Dad.

I turn off the bedside lamp and try to sleep.