Sleazy Stepdad Thirsty Son

It had been a fortnight. 14 days since my brother, forever without his keys, had rung the doorbell whilst myself and my stepdad were, literally, about to raw fuck on the sofa in the living room of my family home. As soon as he heard my brother calling through the door he violently pushed me off of him.

Like rabbits in headlights we dressed as fast as we could. He breathlessly pulled on my underwear, which I was fine with surrendering and I pulled on my trousers. He pulled on my Mums dressing gown from a laundry basket and balled the ripped up, sticky mess of his own boxers into one of the pockets. Jayden shouted again:

“Dad? You home? I forgot my keys. Dad? DAD!”

He anxiously jostled me through the living area to the kitchen door, I huddled my jacket against my chest and stopped to look at him.

“Alright Jayden, Hold your fucking horses!”He shouted through the house, then he turns back to me, blind panic in his eyes as Jayden shouts:

“It’s OK Dad, they were in my football bag”

The click of a lock. The creak of a door. Footsteps.He shoved me out of the door into the warmth of the garden, closing it behind me. If it had happened seconds later the world word know our dirty little secret. I could never let this happen again.

I felt disgusted with myself in the days that followed. Guilty. Confused. I threw myself into work, tried not to think about it and avoided seeing my Mum OR Dad at any cost. I tried to work on my failing marriage and practically lived in the gym but he kept creeping into the corners of my mind.

I’d find myself suddenly remembering how good his big hands felt on my body, the sweet taste of his cock, how good his dirty talk felt whispered in my ear. I had spent so long disliking and resenting him that I had never imagined how good he made me feel, what dark, raw ecstasy can be found in the taboo.

I was having this ridiculous reoccurring dream that we were, randomly, hand-washing a Lamborghini or Ferrari, some kind of high-end cherry-red sports car, we’re shirtless and I begin to lather the suds into the glistening silver- grey mess of his chest hair, toying with his dick through dripping wet shorts, being coy and playful with him in a way Id never been until 2 weeks ago. Eventually we drop our sponges and buckets, we’re naked and both absolutely covered in lather, hands everywhere. I’m wanking his slippery hard cock, squishing white foam and sticky pre-cum between my gripped fingers as they slide up and down his massive, uncut boner. I’m holding the back of his shiny bald head, he's pushing his hot hungry tongue into mine, his stubble scratchy against my smooth chin.

Eventually he pushes me gently in to the bonnet on my butt. I swear I hear it squeak as it slides up over the soapy red metal. So I’m lying there, my dick pulsating, wet and wanting him and he removes the chunky, gold chain he wears and fastens it around my neck? He pulls my legs up and open and slides his soaped up cock into me as I moan his name.

I’d wake up so hard, so wet that Michael, my husband, would mistake it as desire for him, which in turn had led him to believe our marriage was repairable after all; whilst I was imagining Dad’s giant cock in me every time I slept with my husband. Mentally monitoring myself so I don’t mutter “Daddy” when I cum; Scumbag felt like an understatement.

I’d fall into a spiral of feeling horrified about what I’d done, what I wanted to do. I’d always considered myself a kind, loyal and honest human being with a black and white mind-set, Dad was confusing everything and it was so hard separating the angry man that raised me from the man who had effortlessly satisfied desires I didn’t even know I had. I’d tell myself to stop thinking about him, that I was a terrible son, a terrible person.Yet other times I ached for him. It was the most schizophrenic set of emotions Id ever experienced. I’d never wanted somebody as passionately and I’d certainly never surrendered myself so completely to another man, He was inches away from fucking me and a big part of me hated myself for knowing that I wanted more. Needed more.

I was at the office, pretending to be busy when I got the text:

Ding

Cant stop thinking about u. Dadx

My heart stopped.

Ding

Ignore if u want. I understand. Delete txt and pls don’t tell mum/jayden

It sounds horrible but my heart danced at the fact he thought I wouldn’t want him. I’d convinced myself he viewed what we did it as an embarrassment, a mistake. I Shouldn’t have responded, I should have ignored it not just for me and my best interests; I should have thought of my mum, my brother, my fucking husband. I could barely type. Could feel my dick getting hard, sweat beads gathering on my forehead. My trembling fingers managed, after 10 minutes, to respond:

Cant stop thinking about how good it was Dad

30 seconds and:
Ding

So good . Need to see u. U home?

Will be in 30. Michael home all night tho

Ding

Shit

Ding

U come to me 4 about 7 pm. Jayden in Manchester 4 footy, Mum out 4 drinks til l8 wiv Lauren.

Ding

No pressure if you don’t want 2 son

Lauren was my mums oldest, most outgoing friend. No doubt Dad had suggested it to my Mum. Maybe as a thoughtful surprise from a loving husband. She was guaranteed to be trawling upmarket wine bars with her friends until the early hours if Lauren was involved. It suddenly panicked me that he might want to apologise or tell me it could never happen again. Christ I was disgusting. Lost and a little bewildered I type:

OK Dad

Ding

Park at back boy. Come in kitchen door. No interruptions this time😈The panic dispersed; he wanted it as much as me. Even Dad knew what that emoji meant.

Sounds good. Like it when u call me boy lol Delete these texts Dadx

Ding

U 2 mate. C u at 7 boy😈😈😈😈

I went home and stared straight through the TV for an hour, rigid with anticipation, nerves, horniness. I faked a work call and said I had to shoot back into the office for a few hours. It wasn’t unusual for this to happen genuinely, so it helped knowing no seeds of suspicion were being planted in Michael. I took a shower, found my whitest, tightest briefs and realised the question of whether I was going to do this or whether it was right was gone. I knew what I wanted now. I jumped in the car and looked at my eyes in the rear view mirror for what felt like eternity. Then I pulled myself together, took a deep breath and started the engine. I didn’t want to keep my Dad waiting........