My Father's Second Wife

This story follows immediately after the events in My Father's Second Wife. If you haven't read it, I would strongly encourage you to begin there. This is not a short read; those seeking instant gratification might be better served elsewhere.

Special thanks go to Palindrone for his valuable editing contributions.

Enjoy.

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I hadn't seen my father for two days, which was fine. I was still coming to grips, both physically and mentally, with the events of the week.

I spent time catching up on email. I decided to reconnect with friends from college, all of whom wanted to know when I was coming back.

I treated my body to some much needed pampering. I spent Saturday at the Boulders Spa. A deep tissue massage and a hot wrap were just what the doctor ordered.

I spent Saturday evening in, watching a rom-com and eating popcorn. I had no urge to party, which was an unfamiliar sensation for me.

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I awoke Sunday morning to an unusual sight: my father in my room. He was leaning over me. He kissed me on my cheek.

"Good morning, honeydew," he said. "Would you like to go horseback riding today?"

I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. I was sleeping in an oversized grey T-shirt and lavender tap pants.

"Yea, sure," I said, groggily. I couldn't think of any reason not to go riding. I also couldn't think of any reason why I would want to either, save for the fact that this was the first time my dad has asked me to do anything with him in years.

"That sounds like fun," I offered, mustering a little more enthusiasm. I smiled. He smiled back.

"Good. Be dressed and downstairs by nine," he announced on his way out.

"No problem," I said to the empty room.

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The drive to the horse ranch took about 50 minutes. There was some idle chitchat, about the weather and such, but generally a quiet trip.

Dad turned the SUV off the highway and onto a well maintained, but unpaved, road. As we got closer to the mountains, the trees got taller and denser. About a mile in, the trees were crowding the road, as if closing ranks to keep out an intruder. If they got any closer, I was sure we wouldn't be able to continue.

Abruptly, the SUV broke through the trees and emerged into a clearing. On the far side was a sprawling ranch house, a barn, stables, and several smaller structures. Between us and the house were four large grassy fields, easily two or three acres apiece, fenced off by white, tubular steel, boundaries. Clusters of horses, casually grazing, occupied two of them. The other two lay empty.

The road straightened out and bisected the four fields, leading straight towards the house.

As we pulled to a stop in the large circular driveway, a young woman emerged from the house. She walked towards us while we climbed out of the SUV. My dad was dressed in jeans, hiking boots, a solid grey cotton shirt, and his favorite leather bomber's jacket, which he's had for as long as I've been alive. It's been a long time since I've seen my dad in jeans. He made them look pretty good.

The woman was slightly taller than me, with straight strawberry blonde hair, pulled back into a single ponytail. She had a wholesome, Midwestern farm girl, look to her—a look strongly reinforced by her jeans and cowboy boots. She was bosomy, but it was hard to tell because her breasts were lashed down under several layers of knit camisoles, covered with a plaid work shirt.

The women recognized my father immediately and smiled—an easy, genuine, smile. She walked up to him and they embraced. It was the hug of friends that hadn't seen each other for a long time. This made me wonder when my dad had gone horseback riding.

She saw me when she disentangled herself. She sized me up quickly. I was decked out in classic equestrian style: camel riding jacket, white silk shirt, tan riding breeches, and black knee-high riding boots. I had forced my kinky blonde hair into a French braid, and it was not happy about it; tiny, rebellious, curls were erupting all over my head.

"I'm Bethany, but everyone calls me Beth," she said, reaching out her hand.

"I'm Charlotte, Char for short," I offered as I shook her hand. She had strong hands, a little rough.

"Do you have much experience riding?" She asked. What she didn't say out loud was "or did you just buy that outfit yesterday?" but I could hear the implication.

I was about to say something snippy, when my dad answered for me. "Char's been riding since she was eleven. She has quite the talent with horses." He said it like a proud father, which just sounded weird to me.

"Excellent," Beth said. She smiled again, completely defusing any tension. "That's less work for me."

She waved her hand for us to follow her, turned, and started towards the stables. "Let's see what we can find for you two."

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My dad and I wandered around the stables while Beth picked out the horses. She reappeared leading two bridled Tennessee Walkers. They were big horses, probably 16 or 17 hands. The mare on her left was sorrel colored, the name on her bridle read "Sweet Lilly." The stallion on her right was a good hand taller, and as black as night.

As Beth handed the reins to us, she made the introductions. "This is Lilly and Rocky. They're as calm as a mountain lake. Walk them out to the hitching post while I get their saddles and the other two."

I gave Lilly's nose a few strokes and then pulled lightly on her reins. She obediently followed. We walked out to the hitching post, where I looped Lilly's reins over the hitch, my father doing the same with Rocky a few feet away.

I know that math isn't my strong suit, but we already had two horses, and I only counted three people, so why was Beth going back for "the other two?"

The question didn't remain unanswered for long. Two more horses soon emerged from the stable, a beautiful white Appaloosa with black spots, and a chestnut Arabian that had already been saddled. The Appaloosa was the smallest of the four, maybe 14 hands, and had the most gorgeous black and white mane. While the Appaloosa was calm, the Arabian was feisty; he walked with an anxious gate, as if he was about to take off running any second.

I wasn't paying much attention to the horses. I was looking at the tall glass of water leading them towards us.

The boy was lean and lanky, close to my age. He walked with an ambling gate that was casual and self-confident. He had a long face topped with a black cowboy hat. He wore matching cowboy boots, jeans, and a solid maroon, western cut, shirt. Beth's clothes were snug, but his were tight, like plastic wrap. The body underneath was tight too. His biceps filled his sleeves, his shoulders and chest clearly defined. I couldn't really see, but I just knew he was rocking six-pack abs.

He lazily looked up at me, with just the slightest hint of a wry smile on his lips. I usually had the upper hand with boys, but I could instantly tell that this one was used to having girls melt in his hands—well, more likely they'd just pull off their panties and jump in his lap. It was abundantly clear that he had what I wanted, and he knew it.

He walked past me and tied up the other two horses. Oh yes, his backside was every bit as good as the front. I could spend a day bouncing dimes off of that ass.

I practically jumped out of my skin when Beth whispered in my ear, "His name is Jake." She had managed to sneak up behind me while I was preoccupied. She was carrying Lilly's saddle, and had a big fat "got 'cha" grin on. I felt my face flush.

Speaking to everyone again, Beth said, "Char, this is Storm," nodding towards the Appaloosa. "The other two are Skeeter and Jake. Jake, this is Charlotte and her father Donald."

Jake acknowledged my father first, walking around to shake his hand. He then walked back around Lilly. Pinching the brim of his hat, he tilted his head slightly towards me, and simply said, "Ma'am."

Beth had thrown a blanket over Lilly and was hoisting the saddle when she spoke to Jake, "Can you and Char get the other two saddles?" Jake nodded a silent agreement and starting ambling back toward the stables. I was expected to follow.

Jake's long legs made short work of the distance. I was torn between running to catch up with him, and hanging back so I could stare at his butt. I hung back. Don't judge me.

As it turns out, it was the right decision. Jake was friendly, but he was not a talker.

"Storm looks like a well tempered horse. Anything I should know about her?" I asked.

"Not really," was Jake's two-word answer.

"Have you worked here long?" I tried again.

He said, "about a year," as he effortlessly lifted Rocky's saddle off its peg—I think he could have done it with one hand, if he felt like showing off.

"English or American?" he asked.

It took me a second to realize that he was asking me a question. Of course, my outfit would make him think I'd ride an English saddle.

"American," I answered.

He nodded his approval as he handed me Storm's saddle. I staggered a little under the weight. I'd forgotten how heavy western saddles can be.

Jake said, "Ready?" and, without waiting for a reply, started back to the horses. With the saddle, there was no way I could catch up with him.

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Fifteen minutes later, the horses were saddled and we were on the trail. It was a perfect day for riding, complete with clear blue skies and crisp mountain air.

We rode up, towards the mountains. The trail was wide and easy to follow. Storm wasn't at all like her name. She was an affable, well trained, horse with a gentle, rolling, gate. Skeeter, on the other hand, kept Jake very busy. He was skittish, easily startled, and constantly changed gate. He broke into a run twice and Jake had to rein in him, hard.

Beth said, "Skeeter's young and bit unpredictable. We're trying to get him as much trail time as we can, hoping he'll settle down a bit."

The walkers were, by contrast, as smooth as a pair of Rolls Royces. They were sure footed, never faltered, and never changed gate. Beth and my dad might as well have been sitting on the deck chairs of an ocean liner.

An hour later, we rounded a bend into a broad field, some two hundred feet above the base of the mountain. It was grassy, with a few wild flowers here and there. We stopped and dismounted. Jake and Beth tied up the horses.

The content of Skeeter's saddle bags turned out to be a picnic lunch. Beth spread out a blanket and set up, while Jake carried the food over. We ate roasted vegetables, pâté, and Brie, on French bread. A bottle of Cab, and another of Zinfandel, rounded everything off. My dad had the red, Beth the white, and I had some of both. Jake drank bottled water.

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I was lazily looking up at the sky when I heard Beth tell Jake to strike camp. They efficiently repacked the saddlebag, leaving only the blanket.

Beth said, "Jake, take Skeeter up the trail and see if you can burn a little of that wild horse out of him."

Father, who was standing nearby, said to me "Char, would you like to ride back with Jake?"

I'd been thinking about Jake. I'd been picturing myself leaning back on a bail of hay, watching those strong thighs drive his dick into me, his rock-hard abs undulating with the effort. In my vision, I'd ditched my clothes and was naked, except for my boots, of course, and maybe the jacket. I was planning on a long fuck, and I wouldn't want to get cold.

The only sounds would our breathing, the slap, slap, slap, of his thighs against mine, and the occasional shuffle or whinny of a horse in the next stall. Beads of sweat would be rolling down his smooth chest, his strong arms braced against the stable walls.

Maybe I'd have a riding crop, and give him a little slap on his rump whenever he started to slow down. "Pick up the pace," I'd say to him. "This filly needs to be ridden hard and put away wet."

Even with all of that going through my head, when I opened my mouth the words "No thanks, I'm good" came out.

What the fuck?

Did I just pass up a guaranteed roll in the hay (literally) for a day kicking around the great outdoors? It was, by the way, a guaranteed screw. Jake was a looker who could afford to play it cool, but I knew the moment I brought out my girls, he'd be on me like white on rice.

Yet, I said no to that. Had sex with my father changed me? Had it broken my brain?

A week ago, Jake would have been my obsession of the moment; I'd ditch my dad, school, even the cops to get some alone time with him. But today he was just "another boy." No, that couldn't be the reason. "Boy" or not, I still wouldn't pass up a chance to get drilled by a rig like that.

No, I saw the real reason right in front of me: dad was inviting me into his world. I'd probably spent more quality time with him today than in the past sixteen years. Even while watching Jake settle his ass into the saddle—and thinking what a lucky saddle that was—I couldn't walk away from that.

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As I heard the hoof beats of the Arabian recede into the distance, I stood up to stretch my legs. I walked to over to the edge of the field and looked out over the foothills below. I turned to see my father and Beth enjoying a similar view of the hills at the other end of the meadow.

He was also enjoying another set of hills that were coming into view. Beth was taking off her top. She'd already removed her shirt, and was in the process of peeling out of her two camisoles, one white, one navy. Finally, she pulled off her sports bra, rejoined my father, and nestled into his side. Dad put his arm around her bare back, and gently stroked up and down her side.

After a few moment, she leaned in, he leaned in, and they kissed. It was a slow kiss. When it broke, they went back to standing side-by-side, surveying the countryside below, my dad in his bomber jacket, Beth topless.

Their backs were to me, so they couldn't tell I was watching. It was also a wide open field, for God's sake, so if they were trying to hide this from me, they were doing a piss poor job of it. I didn't know what I should do, so I took the best course of action I could think of; I stood there and continued to watch.

Soon, Beth got down on her knees in front of my dad, and starting unbuttoning his jeans. Dad was still angled away from me, but I knew from experience what was happening. Beth pulled his cock out, took it in her mouth, and started to give him a blowjob.

My dad stood with his hands on his hips, looking down. Beth was holding his ass with both hands, her head bobbing in and out, causing her ponytail to bounce with each oscillation.

Dad was apparently enjoying it. He tilted his head back to look up at the sky. Meanwhile, Beth had removed her hands from his butt and was deftly removing her boots while maintaining her rhythm on his cock.

After removing both boots, Beth took a short break to sit up and stroke his cock with her hand. She used the other to unbutton her own jeans. Once unfastened, she returned his member to her mouth and started long, slow, trusts with her head. I couldn't tell from this angle, but I wondered if she was deep throating him. If true, that would be an impressive feat. I've seen my dad's cock up close. Hell, I've had it in my mouth.

Beth was, simultaneously, shimmying out of her jeans—no panties, that I could see. She worked them over her hips, then alternately pulled on one leg and then the other, inching them completely off, all the while using her throat to work over my dad's, now fully erect, member.

Beth then got up and stepped back into her boots. Dad took her hand and they walked towards a nearby stand of trees. I could catch brief glimpses of my father's sizable cock bobbing between his legs as he walked away.

Beth's backside was completely exposed to me. Her skin was more creamy than white, her only tan lines were on her arms. She had strong shoulders, a surprisingly trim waist, and voluptuous hips that rocked seductively as she walked. Years of riding had left her bowlegged. Even with her legs together, there was a heart shaped opening between her legs you could pass your hand through.

I slowly walked towards them, drawn both by voyeurism and a desire to test the boundaries of this new, sexual, relationship my father and I had started.

When they got to the nearest tree, Beth stepped in front my dad and leaned forward, bracing herself on the trunk, presenting her round ass to him. Father reached for his crotch. I couldn't see exactly what he was doing, but it was obvious to anyone who's done it that he aimed his cock at her opening and slid inside. Beth repositioned her feet for a surer footing. Father did the same, took ahold of her waist, and started fucking her.

By the time I was within a hundred feet, they had been at for awhile. Beth was arching her back and breathing heavily. Dad, for his part, didn't seem to be exerting himself at all. Comfortably sawing in and out of this woman, you'd think he could do this all day.

Dad stopped, but didn't pull out. He reached around and took Beth's breasts in each hand, and lifted them, pulling Beth back into a standing position. They stood there, back to front, him holding her breasts like a makeshift bustier, his cock still buried between her legs. She turned her head to the side and they kissed.

Dad finally let go, stepped back, extracting himself at the same time. Beth stood, naked, patiently waiting while he removed his jacket. He held it open, behind her, so she could slip her hands into the sleeves and then pulled it up and over her shoulders. He turned her around and walked her backwards until her back was against the tree, the jacket protecting her from the rough bark.

With the jacket on, I couldn't see her boobs. Her pussy was bare, with round outer lips, and longer inner ones that hung down slightly between her legs.

Father reached down and grabbed her left boot at the ankle and lifted it straight up. Her left leg was now pointing almost directly overhead. Beth reached around with her left arm to hug her own leg, helping my dad keep it in that position. I mentally added "flexible" to her list of talents.

This maneuver caused her pussy to open up completely. Even from where I was standing, I could see her inner channel. My father hardly needed any aim to fill that void again; anything in the vicinity would have a hard time not falling in.

At that moment, Beth saw me. She had no reaction to speak of. Our eyes met and we each knew we'd seen the other, but there was nothing else communicated by her look. It was like when you're going at it with a vibrator and you spot your roommate's cat or pet parrot watching you diddle yourself. You acknowledge their existence, but you don't care if they watch, nor are you inviting them over either.

Father resumed fucking Beth against the tree, leaning into her so her head now rested on his shoulder. She was now pinned against the tree, standing on one leg, her other suspended in my father's iron grip, her ass thumping against the trunk with each thrust.

I walked around to the side of the couple. Father still hadn't seen me. He was pressed against Beth, his nose almost touching the tree. From this angle I could see the "action." I thought this would make a good porn scene; I resisted getting out my cell phone.

Beth was not a petite women, yet my dad's cock still looked massive sliding in and out of her pussy. I could tell by her expression that this wasn't the most comfortable position for her, nearly immobilized. My dad's efforts seemed to grow insistent. With each stroke, it was like he was trying to get even deeper insider her.

After what seemed like a long time, he slowed, pulled out, and lowered her leg. She did a little plié to get the blood back into her legs. Dad took her hand and turned, seeing me for the first time. He smiled and gave a little jerk of the head as if to say "Hey, kiddo, let's go get some ice cream." Holding her hand, he walked a bare-assed Beth back to the horses and the blanket. Small bits of bark clung to her ass cheeks.