My Fathers Woman Ch 01

John Donovan was at the zoo, for the second time in two days. He wasn't familiar with enough other options for a Sunday afternoon outing in this town, and he hadn't expected to be out on a date. Especially not with his son's neighbor, a nineteen-year-old girl.

Of course, he was finding himself doing a lot of things this summer that he had never expected to do. Like fucking his son's wife.It was his daughter-in-law, in fact, who had cajoled him into going on this "date," just this morning, as they had lounged naked in the tangled sheets of her bed. The bed she normally shared with her husband, his son. While his son puttered around in the kitchen or elsewhere, compliantly giving them their privacy.

"I think you should do it, John!" Michelle had said, immediately upon hearing about her young neighbor's audacious proposal. She had been lying on her side, head propped up on one crooked arm, delicious breasts falling together.

"I've been telling you for months that you need to start dating again."

"I know you have," he had said. "I just... well, *this* isn't what I had in mind."

Michelle smirked. As if to say, right. And what you had in mind was... a summer spent fucking your son's wife? He grinned back at her, and blushed a bit. Come to think of it, it occurred to him, showing up at his son's house, eating at his son's table and dipping his wick into his son's lovely ripe curvaceous wife beat "dating" some new woman all to hell. Not that he would ever say that out loud.

"I mean, I figured my first date would be more along the lines of Dani's mother..." John admitted, being serious.

"Yeah, Diane was making *that* option pretty obvious," Michelle agreed. Last night at the neighborhood cookout, where John had accompanied his son and daughter-in-law, innocently mingling among their oblivious friends while his son no doubt squirmed with anguish (he was beginning to understand, if not empathize, with that now), an attractive fifty-ish divorcee had flirted with him. She honestly probably would have been a good match, if he wasn't currently... occupied... in an ongoing carnal relationship with his son's wife.

But John and Michelle hadn't been the only people who had noticed Diane's subtle but undeniable advances. So had Diane's sassy, goth-punk nineteen year old daughter. In a rather brazen display of teenage defiance or competition, the young woman had cornered him in the kitchen, flirted with him with much less subtlety, and hadn't released him until he had let her write his phone number down on her palm. Then she had texted him and asked him if he wanted to get together on Sunday afternoon.

"You know, she's only interested in me out of some... weird teenage rebellion thing."

"So? Don't look a gift horse in the mouth."

John knew his current arrangement with his son's wife wasn't permanent. He even understood that at some level he was just a prop in the kinky game that she was playing with her husband. But he was in no hurry to end it, which embarking on a serious relationship with their adult neighbor would likely do.

On the other hand, Michelle seemed to have not the least bit of jealousy or reservation about pushing him into the arms, into the bed, of a bratty teenager. Who, he realized, would only be using him, too. Well, hell. If it feels this good getting used...

Michelle was still lying on her side, her breasts pinched together between her forearms. John hadn't been able to resist reaching over, spanning them both with one hand. He had not yet experienced sliding his cock between her tits, and he felt himself stirring at the thought. But she brushed his hand away, intent on pursuing this new conversation.

"Save it for Dani."

***

So here he was, here they were, a stout sixty-year-old man and his nineteen-year-old date, strolling down a wide sloping sidewalk toward the big cat enclosures, surrounded by young families and children who were paying them no attention whatsoever. As weird as John had felt about walking up to the ticket booth with a young woman a third his age, he quickly realized that the sight of the two of them was completely unremarkable. Because this really could be an innocent outing between a grandfather and grand-daughter.

And fortunately, Dani wasn't embarrassing him or attracting stares with any untoward displays of affection, beyond occasionally snaking her arm inside of his, bending it at the elbow, snaking it up around his bicep and resting her palm on his shoulder as she matched his stride for a few steps. Innocent enough for the charade it felt like they were playing.

And then she would dart ahead, like an excited schoolgirl, her wavy magenta bob haircut bouncing, her too-short floral yellow skirt flouncing around her thick but shapely thighs, her black Converse high-tops clomping on the pavement. It was almost as if she was consciously playing up the image, appearing even younger than she was. If you overlooked the nose ring and the tattoo below her ear, or her bountiful jiggling breasts. At least she was wearing a bra beneath her loose tank top.

They had walked past the too-dense crowds around the lions and then the tigers. She had placed her hand on his back as they had stood for a while at the snow leopard enclosure, trying in vain to find the animals that were resting in the rocks. They paused at the cheetah exhibit, watching the spotted cats that were grooming in the sun instead of displaying their speed on the hillside of their lengthy home.

As they exited that section of the park, Dani spotted a concession stand. "Ooh, ice cream!" she exclaimed. "Can we?"

"Of course," John replied. She bounded ahead, then walked backwards smiling at him impatiently as they approached the short line. She ordered a simple vanilla cone, he got a Diet Coke for himself, and they found a two-top table in partial shade.

"Thank you again, Mister DAH-no-van," she said, in a mocking sing-song voice.

John grinned, knowing when he was being toyed with, if not exactly how to respond. "You can call me John, Dani."

"I know," she replied, her hazel eyes sparkling at him from under her too-heavy eyeliner. "I'm just teasing you."

"Uh huh," he agreed, feeling a need to discreetly adjust himself inside his walking shorts. The past hour had been so benign that he had started to forget how illicit this encounter was. He realized he liked being teased.

He watched her start to lick her cone, swirling her tongue around the mound of soft-serve ice cream to catch the rivulets that were already beginning to melt. His eyes widened. It was the first time he had noticed the tongue stud.

She closed her lips and swallowed, then stuck out just the tip of her tongue and lapped up the tiny little curl at the top of the cone. As if licking up a pearl of pre-cum from the tip of a cock. His cock. John could hear himself exhale. She looked up into his eyes, seemingly innocent and clueless, then broke into a shit-eating grin.

"Whatcha lookin' at, Mister... John?" she asked, maintaining eye contact, while tipping the cone ever so slightly toward herself, extending her tongue to reveal the piercing again, and flattening it to lick up the underside of the ice cream from the cone to the tip. John just cleared his throat. Her eyes still locked on his, Dani broke into a grin around her still-extended tongue, dimples forming in her pudgy cheeks. She tilted the cone to a forty-five degree angle and swept her tongue underneath it, back and forth, back and forth. Wordlessly saying to him: Yes, I know where the most sensitive part of a man's cock is. And you want to feel this tongue stud on yours, don't you?

"Yes," he said, his voice a low growl.

"Yes what?" she asked, making her eyes go wide in faux innocence.

Oh, shit, he realized; she hadn't actually made the offer to suck his cock out loud. And if he indicated too directly that that was what he was thinking, she might respond with disgust, or humiliating rejection, or worse. But, yes. He wanted that tongue flicking across his frenulum. He wanted those lips closing around his knob, pushing his foreskin up his shaft. He wanted to know what it that little metal stud felt like.

He wondered how many of her mother's prospective boyfriends had wondered the same thing He wondered how many had found out.

He realized that enough time had passed that she wasn't waiting for an answer. She knew she had him tongue-tied, and she was counting coup. She went back to licking her ice cream. Then she let him off the hook.

"It's really getting kind of hot here," she said. "Can we just go for a ride in your convertible?"

"Absolutely," John replied. "You know where there are any good curvy roads around here?"

"I do!" Dani beamed. "Out toward the reservoir."

He noticed that as they headed out of the zoo and toward the parking lot, she was leaning in to him more aggressively than earlier. He noticed a couple of people -- people his age -- looking somewhat askance. Let 'em look, he decided. He felt his cock thickening and expanding inside his loose cargo shorts.

***

It's normal for a woman to just not feel like sex sometimes. Especially the first couple of days after a weekend of entertaining, performing, and a considerable amount of sex. With two men.

My wife is a normal woman. I mean, other than the fact that she has an incredible imagination when it comes to sexual role-playing. And that she's been fucking my father for the last two months.

I had admitted to her, earlier this afternoon after my dad had left, that I had concerns about how we were ever going to top this.

It was more than that. I realized, that I was afraid that if we even took a break from this game, that it would lose its amazing, intense power; and I would never get it back again. And I was addicted.

This conversation had taken place after she had led me back to our bedroom, to the still-fragrant sheets where she had spent the previous two nights with him, and allowed me to reclaim her. Sort of.

Reconnecting had always been a big part of our hotwifing play, and she always enjoyed it as much as I needed it. But today she had introduced another layer of intrigue to our over-the-top fantasy-turned-reality. She had had me wear a condom this time. And told me that it was my father's idea. The implication was overwhelming. I already knew that she had been letting my dad take her bareback. Now she was telling me that that privilege was his alone.

For now? For how long? Our games were always temporary and I was sure this was still true. But I had found the eroticism of her rolling the thick opaque rubber down my desperate erection to be intoxicating. My orgasm had been quick and overpowering and, in a way, futile, aware as I was that my semen was being contained and wasted, instead of splashing into every dark warm crevice inside her precious pussy and fertile womb. As my father's had all weekend.

I felt like I could have fucked her all afternoon, but she was done. She did lie beside me, comfortingly, for a good long time, giving me the necessary reassurance that it was all still just a game. A very real game, but play nonetheless. Then she got up and showered, again, and dressed as she would for any other Sunday afternoon around the house. Eventually, I did, too. After a while I opened a beer and turned on a baseball game that I barely watched.

Hours later, after the game, after a trip to the store, I was back on the couch, scrolling through the box scores of the afternoon's games, when I heard my wife's cell phone ring.

"Oh, hi John," I heard her say from the kitchen, obviously to my dad. "You're home already?"

I looked at my wife, standing now in the kitchen doorway, and she smiled back and arched her eyebrows twice. My dad always called to let us know that he had got home safely. It didn't slip by me that he had called her instead of me this time.

"Still, you made good time," Michelle continued. "So... how was your date?"

I listened with intrigue for a minute while my wife only nodded and inserted the occasional "Uh huh." Finally, she offered a "Well, not bad for a first date."

What did that mean, I wondered?

"Ryan's fine," she was saying, the subject obviously having changed.

"Uh, huh. Yeah, I let him take that off." I felt my cock getting stiff, at the reminder of

how I had been caged during and prior to my father's visit. And that my father knew.

"Yeah, that too," she said, looking at me purposefully. "But, he wore a condom."

I felt the twitch throughout my whole body. So, the whole bit about the condom being my dad's idea hadn't just been her own addition to the roleplay. I felt a little sick to my stomach, but my cock didn't lose any of its rigidity.

"Okay," she was saying, "I'll be sure to tell him."

Another moment passed. I could tell that the quick check-in call was wrapping up. I halfway expected to hear my wife say, "Love you." But she didn't; she just said, "Okay, have a good week." Then, "You too."

"Tell me what?" I asked, after she had put down her phone and approached me on the sofa.

"He said, 'Good boy,'" she said with a smile.

I felt another full-body twitch, and my stomach churned some more. Like, knowing that my dad had been banging my wife all weekend under my own roof was bad enough; it still filled me with something like shame, but it also aroused me. But now he was joining my wife in twisting the emasculation knife.

My wife had observed my involuntary shudder, and sat down beside me, turned toward me, and stroked my face with the back of her fingers. "How does that make you feel?" she teased.

I merely moaned. My brain was actually working at triple speed trying to find words for how I felt, but staying speechless worked, too.

She had noticed my erection, and placed her hand around it. "Hmmm," she noted. "Too bad I'm all fucked out."

That didn't surprise me; although the denial made my penis twitch in her hand.

"Maybe tomorrow," she continued. I sighed, but out of gratitude. At least she wasn't putting me back in my cage; although the thought occurred to me and made me twitch again.

"You know, your dad didn't say I couldn't go down on you," she teased. Ooh. That sounded promising.

"But then again..."

Fuck.

She was leaning in to me now, her breath hot and moist in my ear.

"You know, your Dad got blow jobs from *two* women this weekend." Huh. So that's how my dad's "date" with the nineteen-year-old neighbor had gone. Damn.

"Dad two, Ryan zero," she purred. "That seems like an appropriate final score for the weekend."

Oof. I felt the gut punch, the air rushing out of my lungs again; but also the almost painful surge of arousal inside my pants. My wife continued to watch me, a curious smile on her face, playing with the hair behind my right ear. She had that familiar "I wonder what's going on in that wonderful head of yours" look in her eyes.

What *was* going on in my head?

There were so many layers beyond just the tease-and-denial, which was my basic kink in itself. I was having more flashbacks to my adolescent insecurities -- my self-imposed, self-presumed sense of inferiority; the idea that girls were going to be more attracted to other guys. Bigger, stronger, older guys. And, achingly, that included the girl that I was most interested in at any given time. It wasn't just that the other guy got the girl. The other guy got the girls, plural, while I didn't get one at all. And the other guy got MY girl. And she seemed to enjoy being with him, not in spite of the fact that he had other girls, but almost BECAUSE of that fact. Dad two, Ryan zero.

I was also feeling, strangely, a different kind of jealousy than I was used to feeling. I had never been jealous of my wife's playmates' freedom with other women. Suddenly, the notion that my dad had had my teenage neighbor's fuschia-tinted head bobbing up and down on his lap this afternoon was arousing and disturbing to me. I had always, certainly, noticed Dani's precocious and impudent sexuality, but I had never allowed myself to lust after her. Now, suddenly, my father had no doubt enjoyed, and ejaculated into, her warm young mouth the day after meeting her. The bastard! The stud...

And then, I was also feeling something like jealousy on Michelle's behalf. Since becoming a hotwife, she had had some one-off encounters, and some guys who she saw a number of times over a matter of weeks or months, usually sequentially; but there was never any expectation of exclusivity. For some reason, it felt like my dad had just cheated on my wife. That was weird.

All that went through my head in a matter of seconds, in response to my wife's unspoken question about what I was thinking. So I decided to turn the tables.

"What are you thinking about?" I asked her.

"I'm just enjoying playing with my kinky husband," she replied. She was able to sound reassuring because I knew it was true.

"So, um..." I hesitated bringing it up. "Aren't you feeling a little jealous?"

She cocked her head. "Jealous? Of Dani?" I nodded.

"Why would I be jealous? It was my idea!" She paused. "Well, I supposed, it was *Dani's* idea. The little strumpet..."

We both laughed, and then Michelle continued. "But I did really kind of push him into going. Remember, we've both been telling him he needed to get back in the saddle since long before..."

Her pause was perfect, setting her up to finish her thought with a flourish: "...before he saddled me up."

I couldn't help laughing, despite the convulsion that caused in my pants.

"Remember, too," she said, getting serious. "I didn't just jump into bed with your dad. I teased you about it for a month. And you ate it up. I wouldn't have gone through with it if you had been more weirded out than turned on."

I had had this thought before. "So, you're doing this for me?"

"Not just for you. I mean, I adore... twisting you into a pretzel. But, sure, I'm doing it for him. And I'm doing it for me.

"He's a good lover. He's kind of old school, but he's attentive to my needs. Like you are." I smiled, feeling a mix of pride and jealousy. "He makes sure I cum first. Of course... he usually does it with his cock instead of his tongue."

And there it was, another convulsion. Another twist of the pretzel dough.

"I don't know," I finally said, admitting it out loud. "I just felt today like... he was cheating on you."

She looked at me thoughtfully. "Well... that's kind of sweet, I guess." She loosened a button on my shirt and put her hand on my bare chest. "You want your dad to be faithful to me?"

Did I? I wasn't sure. I was still processing.

"Is that what you want?" she whispered. "You want me to be your father's woman?"

I felt my heartbeat stutter. The words weren't new, but something about her delivery was.

"Maybe I should see if he wants to make this... exclusive."

Then she kissed me on the forehead, right above my round-as-softball eyes, and got up and headed to the kitchen.

***

We slept together that night like a million other thirty-something married couples on a Sunday night after a weekend that may or may not have included lots of sex... chastely, in casual night clothes, without cock cages. Michelle welcomed being held, spooned, and given a night off from even verbally tormenting me. For me, just being back in our bed together was enough.

Monday we were both back to work. I'm always amazed at my brain's ability to compartmentalize. Without the dread and anticipation of an impending adventure on my wife's part, I was completely able to focus on a series of meetings and reviews of other people's work. No one knew, no one would have guessed, that the man running the meetings was a sexual deviant, a pathetic cuckold who had spent his weekend in the guest room, his manhood locked away in a chastity device, while another man -- his own father, in fact -- had supplanted him in his own bed and filled his pretty wife's precious body with his cock and his seed.