Gay Dads- All His Son's Friends Read online

  We wished fire and brimstone on my ex while packing my stuff into their car.

  “Where are you going to be staying, Emma?” my mother asked while arranging the boxes in the trunk.

  “I called around, nothing certain yet,” I replied.

  “Well come back with us then,”

  “No, it’s ok, I can—“

  “Nonsense!” said my mother once more. “Get in the car. Come.”

  So I complied. And that’s basically how I ended up moving in back home.

  That afternoon, I packed out the boxes into the garage while Mom and Brett went out to dinner with their friends who I begged them not to cancel on. If my mom had had it her way she would have just stayed home and cooed over me all day. I just needed some space to get over all that had happened and I needed to be alone for that.

  I found a box marked ‘Brett’ that looked pretty precarious on the top shelf and so I pulled it down so that I could put it somewhere a little more stable while making room for one of my own smaller boxes.

  The box was half full of books and I wondered if there was anything good to read in there since the house did not have cable at the moment – some argument with the current provider over their new fees or something.

  Rifling through the box I saw that there were journals and manuscripts in the box. That was interesting. Brett wrote news pieces, interviews and editorials. I had always thought that he should write novels. I wondered if there was a good one in here. I grabbed a notebook at random and put his box back in its precarious position to avoid suspicion.

  I went upstairs. That night I read through the entire manuscript in one sitting. It was not what I expected. I thought it might be an excoriating piece of existential cynicism. I thought it was going to be dark and witty but instead… it was a romance novel, erotic and kind of kinky. Which was what made it more fascinating to read. It was like peeking behind this weird curtain that I knew was meant to keep things private. I could not help looking.

  Chapter Two

  The next morning, I joined my mother and Brett for breakfast and felt like I was in on a private joke that neither of them knew. If I was being honest, that kinky book had distracted me from my current situation so as they left for their country club (which, once more, I had to shoo them to go to since they had made prior commitments with their friends there) I headed straight to the garage to swap out a new stolen book.

  I went upstairs and began to read. This one was incredibly steamy. It had a sort of S&M vibe to it that really turned me on and I found myself getting wet about twenty pages into the story. By the 6th chapter my hands were in my panties, and I came by chapter 10. Brett could really write and by the sound of things, he also knew exactly what women liked.

  It was only after I came that I started to feel guilty. I realized that he was basically my father now. And yet here I was masturbating to something he had written! The idea… well it made me feel guilty but not repulsed. And that was how things started.

  First I began masturbating to his stories. I found more and more interesting material and a few days and stories later I picked up one of the newer stories toward the top of the pile to see what his most recent fantasies had been. I had been afraid, after finding out what he was writing, to pick up anything new lest I came across a description of my mother. But I was running low on material and would just have to throw the book across the room if he made mention of mature blondes.

  Somehow I doubted he would. His female leads were always pretty, young things. And this new story was no exception. She even had honey-blonde hair, like me. As I read, I got the shock of a lifetime when I saw mention of a mature blonde woman though – the honey blonde’s mother. I felt the repulsion rising as I cringed and read through half-shut eyes. But the mother only came in and out of the scene before disappearing forever. Then the honey-blonde and her… I gasped… her stepfather of 15 years… had sex. It was a crazy story. But it was also incredibly steamy.

  I felt more guilty than usual when I noticed I was getting aroused. I stopped reading instead. I went downstairs and looked for a new story.

  This one was worse. There was yet another honey-blonde. Only her name was Emily, and once again she and her stepfather of 16 years this time found themselves involved. However, it was when he described her outfit – an exact outfit that I had and wore to his and my mother’s anniversary party… this was when I realized Brett had been writing about me! In fact, he had fantasized about a very interesting end to that night that definitely never happened. I was outraged.

  He was a grown man, married to my mother, writing stories about me, about how much he wanted to have sex with me! And it was made even worse by the fact that he made the step-father relationship even tighter, describing the little girl growing up. It was sick. I raced downstairs to look through the other new manuscripts. Flipping through just a few pages showed the same thing. “Emma” or “Emily” honey-blonde, svelte but shapely, almond-shaped eyes, pouty lips – begging to be sucked or to suck, as he described them. I couldn’t bare it. I ran upstairs and decided I had to get out of this pervert’s house as soon as possible.

  It was impossible not to notice the way Brett watched me after that. He wanted me, lusted after me. It was obvious now. My every move could grab his attention. He thought I didn’t notice but I did. He was aware of me.

  After two or three nights of being upset over the new developments I felt myself getting frustrated. I had gone for three days without any sexual release. I decided that a story starring myself might actually prove to be very arousing and all I had to do was picture the male lead as someone else.

  So I got out one of the “Emma” stories and read that night. But instead of picturing someone else while I touched myself, I could not remove the image of Brett on me, in me, all over me. And I realized as I came, hard and strong, that maybe I did not want to remove the image. I had always thought he was an amazing man – a total win for my mother. But seeing his clear longing for me in his work, his descriptions of real moments in my life, even down to how he felt about my yoga in the living room and what he wanted to do to me… it was so raw and honest that I could not help being flattered, rather than repulsed.

  This was when I started to feel tainted by his perversion. That he had made it seem so seductive and hot in his stories that he had turned me into a pervert.

  But, after touching myself to sleep with stories of Brett taking my body in my mind every night, I soon began to hunger for the real thing, wanting Brett’s cock to pierce me and claim me.

  About a month and a half after moving back home, I decided I could not control it any longer. I wanted Brett. And I knew he wanted me. So now I just had to figure out how to take him without ruining my mother’s entire life. And that was not going to be easy.

  Chapter Three:

  My best idea was to dress sexily. I walked around the house in revealing outfits and left out in the mornings looking my best. I know that Brett noticed me, but so did my mother. She thought I was getting back into the swing of being single.

  Having her there made it difficult – not to mention gross when I thought about the fact that Brett and my mother were always doing it. There was no way to separate her from him when she was around like this. But then it all got easier one day. My mother alerted the household that she had completely forgotten about some random furniture convention that was happening in Thailand that her office had signed up for several months ago. She had to pack for Thailand and get on a plane the next day according to her calendar.

  We helped her pack and get everything in order and sent her off the next day in a cab. She would be gone all week. Between the flight across the world and the suppliers she had to check on between presentations at the convention, she had a long week ahead of her. And I had a lot of chances to try to exorcize the Brett demon.

  The first day as I got ready for work I asked Brett to zip me up. It seemed like he was holding his breath as he zipped me up but that was all I saw of anyt
hing near interest in me. I realized it would have to take more that passive actions.

  The day that followed I decided to do yoga in a pair of leggings that were completely transparent. I did yoga in the living room space with all the lights on. It actually felt quite liberating to do all my moves and stretches with no underwear, just my leggings. As Brett passed through the living room to go to the kitchen for his afternoon scotch before he edited his latest piece to submit to his editor, I saw him do a double take while I lunged into my poses. Downward facing dog, then I found my way as alluringly as I could into Karnapidsana, where my legs came over my head, my knees close to my ears, my calves and feet sticking up delicately in the air. The whole point of this pose was the view. Even I could see it. My ass was entirely in the air and Brett would certainly get an eyeful of my pussy from this position. And an eyeful he did get. I saw him freeze on the spot as I took deep breaths and did everything to maintain the pose in a way that remained sexy. I felt my sports bra sliding off my shoulder as I rocked a little in the pose and the rub of the fabric against me told me that I had succeeded at even showing my nipple in this position. I was giddy, and not just from the blood rushing to my head.

  I felt myself beginning to get wet as Brett stared at me, as I felt his eyes on my body. I pulled out of the pose and lay down on the ground flat, pushing my ass up in the air again, pretending to stretch my back while I looked up at Bret. I met his eyes and knew he wanted me. God, I felt my clit twinge, the arousal and a heat built in my stomach at the thought of being so close to getting some relief. I lifted my body up into modified cobra, but pushed my torso all the way up onto my palms. I feigned settling into the pose, when really I just wanted to show him more of my breasts and that one nipple that grazed lightly along the edge of my sports bra, hard and exposed.

  “Brett,” I breathed. “Could you help me with this next pose? It’s pretty challenging.”

  He looked at me quietly. I waved him forward. He came toward me slowly.

  “Can you take my legs and just push them back, behind my head? I am trying to get the pose down but it’s so difficult.”

  He held my thighs, and a jolt of desire zipped through me. He began to lift my legs. I could almost feel his heartbeat pulsing into me, it was so fast. He pushed my legs over and now could only stare at my pussy and the darkened fabric over it.

  “Yes….” I whispered, breathlessly, and I wrapped my hands around my thighs which now lay on either side of my head. I had managed, miraculously to pull my bra off even more with the movement of my thighs, exposing the flesh and the hard, pink nipple, dying for a mouth to find it. I slid my hands around my thighs from either side and grabbed the juicy flesh of my ass that he had described so well. I pulled each cheek away from the other. And now I saw Brett’s mouth open and genuinely start to water as my pussy opened for him, begging him to fill the void.

  “Oh… Brett,” I whispered. “Stretch it for me… won’t you?”

  His eyes were consumed by lust. And suddenly I saw his resolve melt. His hand slipped from one of my thighs unto the damp, thin fabric veiling my pleading pussy. His thumb played along my clit and then pushed into me. It felt coarse as the fabric entered me too. But he pierced it easily, like tissue, and suddenly his naked thumb was inside of me fully, and he pulled the fabric, tearing it, with his other hand. Now I felt the hot heat of my overly aroused pussy finally get some air, only to be captured by his mouth. He grabbed my ass and pulled me toward him so that he could bury his face in me even more.

  I felt his tongue lick me over and over and sounds of thirst and deep longing escaped him with each lick. I was quenching a deep, burning desire that had been in him ever since he started imagining me naked and the thought of being so desired made me come under his skilful tongue all too soon. But then his fingers entered me as he sat up and stared down at me. My legs fell back to the ground and I pulled my sports bra down to touch and squeeze my aching nipples.

  I wanted him. Strong and hard, I wanted him inside of me, ploughing through me, driving us both toward orgasm.

  He seemed to have the same idea in mind as he pulled out his cock, pink and beautiful, only to bury it inside of me with the loudest, longest groan of pleasure I had ever heard. The way he stared at me, I felt like the most beautiful and perfect being on earth. He rode me with such delicate reverence that I came just by looking into his eyes once more.

  It felt right to have him between my legs. Felt like he had always been mine. That he belonged to me and I should have been doing this from the beginning. As I felt the hot rod inside of me I rose and climbed on top of him to take in more of him, to take in all of him. I rode him fast and hard, without control or inhibition. I had known him for so long that I didn’t even feel self-conscious and the fact that I already knew how badly he had wanted me all this time, how he had watched me and longed for me and never said or done a thing to indicate it, the fact that he had just pined silently… well it just made everything that much hotter.

  When he descended on my breasts, bowing his head to suck my breasts as I rode him, I felt as though he were worshipping and I was his temple. I felt powerful, and the power was between my legs, suctioning out every ounce of self-control and virtue out of him, making him a cheater, a pervert and a sycophant in one.

  I felt a twisted pleasure that I had never felt before as I leaned back on my palms so that I could ride him better. I saw him mumble words of confusion and ecstasy as he looked at me and I smiled and told him: “Come for me, Master. I want all of it. I want it all over me.”

  It was the word. I knew that’s what did it. He pulled out of me and exploded fantastically. It was with the vigor and enthusiasm of a much younger man.

  He sat back now, his tall and fairly fit physique now slumped against the couch, his entire psyche captured, belonging to me. I felt victory. I felt triumph. And though I knew the guilt would kick in later, at least Brett had learned what his fantasy was like in real life.

  And as he pulled my foot toward his face and kissed it, still devout, still worshipping, I knew that I could have him whenever and however I wanted from then on.

  Story Four

  Chapter One

  The hours I work are long, and that’s how I like it. I hate having downtime. My life is planned to the minute. There isn’t a second that isn’t accounted for. Most people find my lifestyle intimidating, but they don’t understand. I need control. All of my choices are deliberate, including the ones I make in my private life. My social circle is chosen carefully; my friends are more than friends, they’re tools to project me further in my career. Without my control, I am nothing.

  My fantasies started when I became the CEO. They always involved the loss of my newfound power – to be the plaything rather than the player. I needed to be sexually used. In these dreams, I’d dress in the most revealing outfit I could imagine, go to an undisclosed location, and get fucked beyond reason by multiple men. After months of these dreams, I decided it was time to make my fantasy a reality.

  I decided to place an ad online. I read a lot of websites before choosing a site geared towards swingers. I posted a racy pic and just a few lines describing what I wanted – a group of men to fuck me raw. Nothing tender, no foreplay. Definitely no cuddling. Only hard fucking.

  The ad brought hundreds of invitations. I shifted through countless pictures of men with their hands on their flaccid penises. I started to get discouraged until I came across a man in his 50s named David. He represented a group of friends who’d talked about hiring a prostitute for the final NASCAR Championship race. He seemed sweet in his reply. Even though I wanted nothing emotional, it was still nice to be treated like a human instead of a piece of meat – ironic considering what I was asking from him and his friends.

  We planned to meet at seven o’clock for drinks at a local bar. I planned a meeting for 4:30 pm, thinking it would only last thirty minutes. For the first time in years, it took two hours. When it was over, I ran to my car and sped all the wa
y to the bar. I pulled into the parking lot at five minutes late feeling irritable and flustered. Nothing made me madder than being late. I unbuttoned my blouse to show some cleavage. It was a bit translucent and my white lace bra was just barely visible underneath. I took a moment to look at my reflection in the car window and pull myself together. I took a deep breath and pulled my shoulders back.

  David looked exactly like his picture. I strutted over to him and took a seat. “David?” I said, putting my hand on his shoulder to make sure he heard me over the din.

  “Ryanna! You made it.”

  “Were you waiting long?”

  He shook his head, then looked me up and down. He wasn’t creepy about it; he did it in that way nice men do when they see a woman they like.

  David and I chatted and instantly clicked. He was likeable in that hard-working, blue-collar kind of way. Within five minutes of conversation, I knew his friends and I would get along just fine. We went over a few ground rules for our night of fun – boring things like whether or not they could take pictures, who would supply the condoms, who’d pay for the room, and my limits. The conversation was more like a business transaction than a discussion of how I’d be fucked raw, but I preferred it that way. I still had the control. By the time we wrapped up the negotiations, however, David was having a difficult time keeping his attention on my eyes.