I 37 [F] slept with my boyfriend’s 38 [M] dad 58 [M]

I should say that all this started when I turned 18. I was very sexually conscious, horny ALL the time, and experiencing sex for the first time legally and uninhibited. After a few okay encounters (still a few good ones of note) with men my own age, I found myself gravitating towards older guys. It started with men in their 20s, then 30s, etc. Dads were constantly checking me out, and I couldn’t lie, I liked it.

One such experience was a mind-blowing experience for me, and also remains a favorite. He was this incredibly “hot dad”. Big arms, hands, incredibly strong and completely wicked. His hair was still lush and full, and he had these small white streaks at his temples, it was such a turn on. His wife had passed away many years prior, and while he had been without sex for awhile, I was just getting started. A perfect storm.

I met him at a community event during the summer, and bumped into him when the strap on my sandal broke LITERALLY delivering me into his lap outside a cafe. I cried out when I fell and the motion my mouth made must’ve felt like I was scream-kissing his covered cock. In the back of my mind I was mortified for falling on a stranger, but also aware of how close we were, his hands on my waist and back to steady me. My nose was red, and he tried to make me feel better by offering me a coffee. I probably would’ve taken my embarrassed ass and left, but he was so kind and disarming. He even helped me fix my sandal enough for me to limp to my car. We made light plans to meet again.

We met several times after that, the chemistry just phenomenal , chatting, flirting, and slowly our chairs in the cafe started getting closer together, to where when we sat, he was a little further behind me with his arm around me. I loved touching his arms, and he would always fix the strap on my sundress when it fell down my shoulder that summer, always lingering. Light touches. I was in a constant state of arousal with this man. He was shocked when I told him I was 18 (at the time), and he said he had a kid that age, and he that he was 38. He and his wife had been young parents. I couldn’t tell fully, but I think his eyes got darker when my “innocent self” said to him, “So you’re a daddy, then!”

We started learning each other’s habits, finding excuses to meet up. I was struggling with how attracted I was to him. Each outing felt like a date, and apart from a few touches, brushes, leaning against each other, and his arm against me, it hadn’t progressed. I didn’t see him for a week when I kissed his cheek once to say goodbye. I missed him terribly. I wanted him to notice me.

When I had been in school, I went to schools with uniforms and strict dress codes. When I would meet up with him, (let’s call him “Michael”) I started incorporating some pieces into my regular clothes as the weather got cooler. A cardigan. A skirt. Occasionally the tie. He always looked so intense when he saw me with any of these elements. I learned that he lived not too far from the cafe we often met at, and when my crappy car broke down during a bout of bad weather, he offered to have me over (his kid was out of state at school) while we waited for the tow truck, the cafe had just closed.

That was the first of many visits to his home, as we started just meeting there instead of the cafe. I liked wearing my school skirt and putting my feet up on his coffee table, and feeling his hand on my legs when he’d “swat” me off the furniture. I did it every time, and each time his hands got a little higher. When his hands started getting a bit higher, I stopped crossing my legs at the ankle when I’d lean back on the couch with my feet up, my legs would be only “just” spread. Michael still swatted me off the furniture, but as my legs would part a bit more, my choice in panties would escalate. Simple cotton became lacy, sheer, and eventually non-existent. I knew Michael could see. One time when he swatted my leg and left his hand there when he sat down next to me close on the couch, I felt incredibly turned on. I was getting wetter by the minute, and when I lifted my hips up to adjust on the couch, it caused his hand to slip under my skirt, his fingers just a whisper from my sopping pussy.

We made eye contact, and the fucking dam broke.

His hand on my pussy, stroking gently, (he groaned when he realized I wasn’t wearing panties) the other hand on my neck directing my face toward him as his kiss nearly burnt me, my tits crushed against him…oh god, it was too much. He flipped my skirt up and feasted on my pussy. I’d had guys who thought “making out” with my pussy or using their fingers “was enough”, so I didn’t much care for oral, but he fucking knew what he was doing. With one hand he held me in place as he helped himself to my pussy, and with his other hand he’d pulled my top down, my lacy bra now visible, barely containing my 36GG tits. He growled, and I could feel his teeth grazing my clit. It was enough to send me over. He kissed me, and I’d never tasted myself before. I was in such a haze.

He began just worshipping my tits, licking, sucking, biting through my bra, I was crying it was so good. He looked me in the eye almost threatening, demanding, and said “Off.” I quickly did what I was told and pulled off my top and bra. I was just so full of desire, I wanted this man. I could feel him on my thigh, and it was the first time I had seen a cock that big. I was so wet, it had spread all over my thighs, and I rubbed against him to the point where he hissed and grabbed my hips, rubbing and circling his cock around the sloppy pink pussy he’d been torturing.

“You want this.” It wasn’t a question. I nodded, and said, “Yes, Daddy.” I had no sooner acquiesced, nay, BEGGED by saying that where he shoved himself inside of me. I screamed, and his hands left marks on my hips, he fucked me so brutally, all that teasing, all that desire. He said “You’d better be on birth control because I can’t stop.” I said that I was, and prayed he would never stop. My first creampie, I saw stars.

Over the next two years, I was at his house almost every day in between college classes. I could dedicate whole novels to how I was finally able to take him fully into my throat, how his obsession with filling me with cum and fucking me to the point where his cum as dripping out, his long and deep strokes that he said was like “womb-fucking” (it certainly felt that way), and when he was the first to take my anal virginity, got me completely addicted to him. I should say I also appreciated him as a person, as a man, and also how compatible and untiring our bodies were.

I was so sad when he told me he was moving for his job and while it meant he would be closer to his son, I was shattered. No other cock had hit as deep, his hands in my hair, his cum tasted so good, and he just KNEW how my body worked, and could break me with ecstasy. We had one last amazing weekend before he was gone forever. Two years of fucking, a silent prayer of thanks to birth control.

After college, I moved to the same area he’d moved to for my own job, but major metropolitan areas don’t guarantee you’ll meet. I didn’t even have his phone number anymore. I dated of course, some more serious than others, and when my boyfriend at the time (we’d been dating a year) invited me over to meet his dad, I thought nothing of it.

Then it hit me.

That large hand on the doorknob, the arm leaning on the bannister. The white hair at his temples had grown. He was still the most handsome and sexy man I’d ever seen, and he’d certainly been keeping himself well. it looked like some recognition hit his eyes, but I avoided them. My hair had changed, makeup, style, and though my tits were still 36GGs, my body had matured more. More womanly. My boyfriend “Chris” introduced us, and Michael didn’t let on anything. Dinner was cordial agony with Chris playfully teasing me about my “sudden shyness”.

Chris was so happy we all got along, that the drinks were almost a bit too free and flowing. Chris has always been a lightweight drinker, but I think he was showing off that night. He was soon passed out on the couch. Michael turned to me and said, “You changed your hair. I knew right away it was you. Does Chris know?” I started getting angry and finished my wine. “And what should he know? I had no idea you were his Daddy!” A slip. Oh, Daddy. Oh, fuck.

I’d meant to say “Dad”. Michael caught it, nothing ever had escaped his notice, and I immediately felt like prey. I got up off the couch and started backing up. Before I could say I was going to bed, Michael was in front of me almost immediately. His hands bruising on my shoulders. “Does Chris know? Does he know you like I know you?”

I thought back to those two years of nonstop fucking and my pussy immediately responded. He saw the desire plain as day on my face, and picked up on how my thighs were rubbing together, and he started nipping at my neck. I gasped when he cupped my pussy over my jeans “Answer me.” and I moaned. “No, he doesn’t know, he’s not like you.” Michael’s hands were suddenly everywhere. My top was up, and I didn’t know if it had been fate that allowed me to choose a front clasping bra that morning.

As soon as my tits were free, he devoured them, “I still dream about these gorgeous fucking tits!” My jeans were unbuttoned and pushed down to my knees and my back was pressed against the wall. He kneeled down and fucked my pussy with his mouth, my hands in his hair, holding him close to me, pushing him further. As I cried out cumming all over his tongue, I suddenly worried about Chris. Before I could say, “What about…?”, Michael had pushed me onto my hands and knees and drove into me from behind. If it’s possible for pussies to remember cocks, mine remembered and wept for his.

My legs were trapped by my jeans, so my knees were tight together on the floor, back arched, one of his hands gripping one of my tits, the other on my hip, holding me in place as he reclaimed me. “Chris won’t wake up for awhile, he barely slept because he was so nervous to introduce us. He wanted me to like you.” He slapped my ass and I felt myself grip him harder inside. “Still so fucking wet, you take all of me each time…so, do you think I like you??”

We fucked throughout the evening, Michael even asking who was the “better fuck, him or Chris”. I should’ve said my boyfriend. I should’ve defended his cock, his skill, how loving and sweet he’d been, but I knew none of this compared to Michael. Chris was not small, but he hadn’t inherited Michael’s genes when it came to how far he could reach. Or Michael’s unbridled passion.

Michael fucked me like he wanted to breed me each night after Chris would pass out. I again sent up a silent prayer of thanks for birth control as load after load of Michael’s cum invaded its way everywhere inside me. One night after a particularly rough anal session, the night before we were meant to leave, Michael and I had cleaned ourselves up and we’re watching TV while Chris started to stir on the couch. My feet were up on the coffee table. Chris said, “Hey, better get your feet off the furniture, my dad really has a thing about it.”

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/ueicyb/i_37_f_slept_with_my_boyfriends_38_m_dad_58_m