I couldn't believe how the night was unfolding. At 21, I'd already built a reputation as the guy who could charm any woman into his bed with just a smile and a few smooth lines. Women flocked to me at parties, clubs, anywhere I showed up. My dad, Antonio, was no different—he'd been a total playboy since he divorced Mom when I was a kid. At 45, he still had that rugged Italian charm, broad shoulders from years of hitting the gym, and a way with words that made panties drop. We'd always bonded over our conquests, swapping stories like it was a sport. Tonight, we decided to catch the big football match at O'Malley's, the dive sports bar down the street from our place. The air was thick with the smell of beer and fried food as we pushed through the door, the roar of the crowd already hyping us up.
We grabbed a high-top table near the back, ordered a couple of pitchers of lager, and settled in as the game kicked off. The screen blared with action—players slamming into each other, the ball flying across the field. But my eyes kept drifting. That's when I spotted her. The waitress weaving through the packed room, her tight black skirt hugging her hips like it was painted on, the white blouse straining against her full tits with every step. She had long dark hair cascading down her back, and those legs—fuck, they went on forever, ending in heels that clicked against the sticky floor. She glanced our way, her green eyes locking on us for a second longer than necessary, a sly smile tugging at her red lips before she turned to serve another table.
'Dad, check out the one in the skirt,' I muttered under my breath, nodding toward her as she bent over to pick up an empty glass, her ass pushing out perfectly round and firm. 'She's got that look like she's begging for it.'
Antonio leaned in, his voice low and gravelly, eyes narrowing as he watched her. 'Shit, son, you're right. Look at those tits bouncing. I'd love to grab a handful while I bend her over the bar right here.' He chuckled, taking a swig of his beer, but I could see the way his gaze lingered, hungry.
She came closer eventually, hips swaying as she approached our table with a notepad in hand. Up close, she was even hotter—freckles dusting her nose, lips plump and glossy. 'What can I get you boys?' she asked, her voice smooth with a hint of tease, eyes flicking between us.
'Two more pitchers, sweetheart,' Antonio said, flashing his signature grin. 'And maybe your number if you're feeling generous.'
She laughed, a light, flirty sound that sent a jolt straight to my groin. 'Maybe after the game. Play your cards right.' She winked at me before sauntering off, her skirt riding up just enough to show the curve of her thighs.
As soon as she was out of earshot, I leaned toward Dad. 'Fuck, did you see that ass? I'd pin her against the wall, hike that skirt up, and slide my cock right into her wet pussy. Make her moan my name while the whole bar watches.'
He nodded, eyes still on her as she bent to clear glasses from the next table. 'Hell yeah. I'd start by ripping that blouse open, suck on those nipples until they're hard as rocks. Then flip her around, spread her cheeks, and tongue her asshole before pounding her from behind. Bet she'd scream loud enough to drown out the game.'
We kept it up through the first half, our comments getting dirtier with every pass she made near us. 'Imagine her on her knees, sucking us both off,' I whispered during a timeout, my dick twitching in my jeans at the thought. 'Alternating between our cocks, slurping and gagging.'
'Yeah, and I'd cum all over her face, watch it drip down those tits,' Dad replied, his face flushed from the beer and the heat building between us. The game was intense, but she was the real score—every time she brushed past, her perfume lingered, sweet and musky, making my pulse race. By halftime, I was half-hard just from the fantasies we were spinning, and from the way Dad shifted in his seat, I knew he was too.
The second half dragged, the home team pulling ahead, but our focus stayed on her. She brought our refills with extra napkins, her fingers grazing mine as she handed me the glass. 'Enjoying the game?' she purred, leaning in so her cleavage was right there, inches from my face.
'More than the game now,' I shot back, grinning. She bit her lip and walked away, leaving us both staring.
'Goddamn, Gino, she's got me worked up,' Dad admitted quietly as the final whistle blew. The bar erupted in cheers, but we were already paying the tab, minds elsewhere.
We stumbled out into the cool night air, the buzz from the alcohol and the unspoken tension making the walk home feel electric. Our place was just a few blocks away—a modest two-story house we'd shared since Mom left. The streetlights cast long shadows as we pushed through the front door, kicking off our shoes in the entryway. The living room was dim, lit only by the lamp we always left on, the leather couch inviting us to crash.
I grabbed a couple of cold beers from the fridge, handing one to Dad as we flopped down side by side. The game highlights flickered on the TV, but neither of us paid attention. 'That waitress, man... what's her name? Didn't catch it,' I said, cracking open the can.
'Who cares? Call her whatever. But fuck, those lips—perfect for wrapping around a thick cock.' Antonio took a long pull from his beer, his free hand adjusting the front of his pants. I could see the outline of his erection straining against the fabric, and it stirred something in me I hadn't expected.
I laughed, but my voice came out huskier than usual. 'Yeah, I'd make her deepthroat me, hold her head down until she chokes a little. Then pull out and slap her face with my dick before shoving it back in.' My own cock throbbed at the image, fully hard now, pressing uncomfortably against my zipper. The room felt warmer, the space between us shrinking as we talked.
He turned to me, eyes dark with lust. 'I'd tie her wrists, spread her legs wide on this very couch. Lick her pussy until she's dripping, then fuck her slow at first, make her beg for more. Pound her until she squirts all over me.' His breathing had picked up, chest rising and falling faster.
The fantasies blurred in my mind—her body twisting under mine, under his. But as we spoke, I kept glancing at Dad, at the way his shirt clung to his muscled chest, the stubble on his jaw. We'd always been close, but this... this was new. My heart pounded, a mix of confusion and raw need. 'What if... we showed her how it's done? Tag team her, one in her mouth, one in her ass.'
Antonio's gaze met mine, intense, searching. 'Shit, Gino... yeah. I'd love to see you fuck her pussy while I take her from behind. Feel her clench around us both.' He shifted closer, our thighs brushing. The air crackled, the beer forgotten on the table.
I swallowed hard, my straight-as-an-arrow mind reeling, but my body betrayed me. 'Dad... you're hard as fuck right now, aren't you?' The words slipped out before I could stop them, my hand unconsciously drifting to my lap.
He didn't pull away. Instead, he nodded, voice rough. 'Can't help it. Talking about that slut's got me aching. You too, son?' His eyes dropped to the bulge in my jeans, and something shifted. The tension that had been building all night snapped like a taut wire.
Before I knew it, I was leaning in, our faces inches apart. 'Fuck it,' I muttered, and then our mouths crashed together. His lips were firm, tasting of beer and salt, his stubble scraping my skin. It was wrong, so fucking wrong, this was incest and we were both straight, chasing pussy our whole lives—but the heat from the bar, the shared dirty talk, it all boiled over. His tongue pushed into my mouth, rough and demanding, and I groaned, kissing back hard.
His hand landed on my thigh, squeezing, sliding up until he palmed my cock through my jeans. 'Jesus, Gino, you're huge,' he growled against my lips, unzipping me with practiced ease. My dick sprang free, thick and veined, pre-cum already beading at the tip. I gasped as he wrapped his fingers around it, stroking slow and firm, his grip calloused from years of manual work.
'Dad... fuck,' I panted, my own hands fumbling with his belt. I yanked it open, shoving his pants down to free his cock—longer than mine, thicker at the base, curving slightly upward. It pulsed in my hand as I jerked him off, the skin hot and velvety. We were both breathing heavy, the couch creaking under us as we jacked each other, mouths colliding again in a messy, desperate kiss.
'That waitress... she'd love this,' he murmured, nipping at my neck. 'Watching two studs like us go at it.' His thumb circled my slit, smearing the pre-cum, making me buck into his fist.
'Yeah... but right now, I want this,' I admitted, the words tumbling out as I dropped to my knees between his legs. His cock bobbed in front of my face, the musky scent hitting me hard. I'd never done this, never even thought about it, but the need overrode everything. I leaned in, tongue flicking out to taste the salty bead at the head. He groaned, hand tangling in my hair, guiding me.
'Suck it, son. Just like we'd make her do.' I opened wide, taking him in, lips stretching around his girth. He was thick, filling my mouth as I bobbed down, tongue swirling along the underside. The taste was new—salty, masculine—but it fueled the fire. I hollowed my cheeks, sucking harder, one hand pumping the base while the other cupped his balls, heavy and full.
'Fuck, yes... deeper,' he urged, hips thrusting shallowly. Saliva dripped down my chin as I gagged a little, pushing further until my nose brushed his pubes. He was rock hard, veins pulsing against my tongue. The sounds—wet slurps, his low moans—echoed in the room, mixing with the distant hum of the TV.
I pulled off with a pop, strings of spit connecting us, and stood, shoving my jeans down fully. 'Your turn, Dad.' He didn't hesitate, sliding to the floor in front of me, his mouth engulfing my cock in one swift motion. Holy shit, the heat—the way his throat constricted around me, sucking like a pro. He'd probably done this in his wilder days, but knowing it was him now... it sent shivers down my spine.
I fucked his face gently at first, hands on his shoulders, watching my shaft disappear between his lips. 'God, your mouth feels so good... tighter than any pussy.' He hummed around me, the vibration making my knees weak. Pre-cum leaked steadily, and he swallowed it down, eyes locked on mine, dark with lust.
We couldn't stop there. I pulled him up, both of us naked now, cocks grinding together as we kissed again, slick and urgent. 'Bend over the couch,' I rasped, the words surprising even me. He did, ass presented—firm, muscled from squats, a light dusting of hair. I grabbed lube from my room—always prepared for pussy, but tonight it served a different purpose.
I slicked my fingers, circling his hole before pushing one in. He tensed, then relaxed with a grunt. 'Easy, son... yeah, like that.' I worked him open, adding a second finger, scissoring and curling until he pushed back, moaning. His cock dangled hard between his legs, dripping onto the carpet.
'Need you inside me,' he said, voice strained. I coated my dick, positioned at his entrance, and pressed in slow. Fuck, he was tight—hot walls gripping me like a vice. Inch by inch, I sank deeper, both of us groaning. When I bottomed out, balls against his ass, I paused, savoring the forbidden fullness.
'Take it... fuck me hard,' he demanded, and I did. I gripped his hips, pulling back and slamming in, the slap of skin filling the room. He braced against the couch, pushing back to meet every thrust, his ass clenching around my cock. Sweat slicked our bodies, the air thick with grunts and the scent of sex.
'You're so fucking tight, Dad... better than her,' I panted, reaching around to stroke his dick in time with my hips. He was leaking profusely, the lube making everything glide smooth.
'Harder... gonna cum,' he growled, and I obliged, pounding relentlessly. His hole fluttered, then he exploded, ropes of cum shooting onto the couch, his body shuddering. The sight—the feel—pushed me over. I buried deep, unloading inside him, hot spurts filling his ass as I cried out.
We collapsed together, panting, his cum sticky between us. The waitress faded to a distant memory; this was our secret now, raw and intense. Straight or not, we'd crossed the line—and fuck, it felt right.
But as the high faded, we cleaned up in silence, the weight of it settling in. 'That was... intense,' I finally said, pulling on boxers.
He clapped my shoulder, a grin breaking through. 'Yeah, son. Blame the beer. Or that hot piece at the bar.' We laughed it off, but deep down, I knew we'd talk about her again soon—and maybe revisit this too.
