I Fucked High School BF's Dad Pt. 02

The weeks following that hazy night - where, in the secluded darkness of Daniel's living room, I had taken his father Mr Dawson's penis into my mouth and, in a state of near hypnosis, had sucked and swallowed him dry - were like I dream.

The morning after it happened, waking up snuggled with Daniel, I had indeed thought it had been a dream, a beautiful one at that. Daniel smiled as I woke up and handed me a fresh cup of coffee. It was so unlike him to be thoughtful like that, I felt a flutter of excitement in my chest and gave him a big kiss on the cheek.

"I've made breakfast too," Daniel said.

"You're boyfriend of the year," I winked at him.

He seemed proud of himself, and at that moment I only had a general sense of pleasure between my legs and a vague memory of a sex dream. But as I sat up to eat the eggs and sausage Daniel had fried up for us, I felt the brittleness of my panties between my legs, the dried remnants of a gushing wetness from masturbating in half-sleep the previous night.

"My dad offered to take us to the cinema today if you want," Daniel said matter-of-factly between bites.

Then it hit me, like an icicle falling down into my throat. I coughed and sent a mouthful of baked beans flying across the bed. I coughed and coughed, half-choking on my food.

"Are you okay?" Daniel said, shocked.

"Yes, ahem, yes, totally," I smiled, tears streaming down my face. "Just forgot how to swallow - or, um, breathe, for a second."

Daniel laughed and shook his head. We finished breakfast in silence as guilt began bubbling up in my stomach and I tried to persevere and finish the rest of my breakfast without any further hiccups.

When we went down to the living room, Mr Dawson was there. And if there had been any doubts in my mind as to whether the now vivid memories - of Daniel's father breathing deeply and shaking ever-so-slightly as his dick throbbed his cum into the back of my throat - were real or the product of a dream, Mr Dawson's reaction to me that morning put them to rest. Or rather, his lack of reaction. Mr Dawson did not look at me or utter a single word to me. He addressed me only indirectly through Daniel. His face turned red the moment I walked in. But he made an excuse to busy himself with washing dishes and made a quick escape.

When Mr Dawson returned to the living room and Daniel asked if he still wanted to go to the cinema he responded: "Yes, of course, son. That would be a lovely way to spend the day with you. And would, uh, your girlfriend be coming - attending - with us...also...or will it be a boys' day out?"

I wanted to shake my head and roll my eyes, but of course I wasn't so foolish at to make things even more bizarre for Daniel, who was already giving his dad a strange look.

"You alright, dad?" he asked.

"Yes, Mr Dawson, you're acting rather strangely," I said, though what I really wanted to say was: Get it together, Mr Dawson, have you never told a fib before? Don't you know how to pretend everything's normal? Have you never had a moment in your life where you've done something out of the ordinary? Or did you really decide to raw dog adventure last night by going from being the most quiet, boring dad in the history of the world to letting your son's girlfriend suck your dick. Get your shit together, man.

I decided to put an end to the awkwardness by following the only good lead Mr Dawson had given me.

"You know what," I said. "I think you two could use a boys' day out and, to be honest, there's nothing in the cinemas that I like right now. So why don't you two go and I'll see you in school, Daniel?"

That settled it and I went home hoping to put the whole affair behind me. But the moment Mr Dawson and I had shared together played on repeat in my mind like a Tik Tok reel. Weeks passed where barely any thoughts could get through my head that did not involve some fragment of the memory of the fellatio I performed on Mr Dawson. I would try to work on exam preparations in maths but my eyes would lock onto the equals sign and the parallel lines would trigger memories of Mr Dawson's penis. (Give me that eight equals equals equals D 8===D Mr Dawson.) I would try to write English essays but find myself always analysing the use of pathetic fallacy, which was only one easy phonetic jump to thinking about Mr Dawson's phallus. In class, at my high school, I barely did any work and sat there doodling. Each of my textbooks and jotters soon had a doodle of Mr Dawson's penis and his name enshrined by a heart. During those weeks I truly lost my mind - I had gone boy crazy for Mr Dawson.

After one particularly risky incident where I almost called Daniel Mr Dawson in front of our entire class, I decided I had to take some sort of action. But what? I toyed with the idea of breaking things off with Daniel. I thought of implementing a rule where Daniel only came to my house and not vice versa. I even considered running away from home again. And yet, somehow, one Saturday afternoon, when I knew Daniel was at basketball practice, I found myself at Daniel's house, knocking on the door.

It was a chilly, sunny afternoon, and I was wearing a plaid, pleated, high-waisted kawaii miniskirt with a raw frayed hemline and a loose crop-top that showed the top of my bellybutton and my ribcage but stopped shy of exposing my bra, unless it caught the wind. I wanted to look like a sexy K-pop star and I was pulling it off quite well, especially with my knee-high tube socks. While I had dressed, I had told myself it was because I liked fashion but as I waited for the door to open I knew I was hoping to shock Mr Dawson with the amount of skin that I had on show.

"Hello?" The door opened. Mr Dawson was not there - it was Shirley, his wife.

"Oh, uh..." I stalled. "Hi."

Shirley did not hide as her eyes drifted from my face, past my waist, down to my long thighs, extended by the high-waisted skirt and its shortness. She then slowly meandered her gaze back up, stopping to look at my exposed ribs and then back into my eyes with a smirk.

"You know that Daniel is at basketball practice," she said, as if puzzling through a problem, "so who -"

I couldn't let her finish that sentence. "-Mrs Dawson! I was hoping you would be in!" I said in the most chirpy and innocent tone I could muster.

"Really?" Shirley raised an eyebrow.

"Yes," I said, scrambling my brains for something that could have prompted me to arrive dressed like this at her home with the specific intention of speaking to her. Why in the world would I have dressed like a sexy K-pop icon if I was intending to speak to my boyfriend's mother?

"Well, I'm here," she said, jutting her hip out, accentuating her curvy figure as she waited.

"Um, it's quite a private thing I wanted to speak to you about," I said, stalling for time. "Could I come in?"

Shirley, mystified, opened the door and walked into the house, expecting me to follow.

I stopped at a photograph in the entry hall. It was a photo of an old man smiling. I had always been struck by it because while his lips smiled, his eyes seemed to have real sorrow behind them. I had asked Daniel about the photo before and he had said it was his great grandad. I had asked him on which side and he had shrugged and said it was his dad's. I could see the resemblance to both Mr Dawson and Daniel.

Now, Shirley came over.

"Something caught your eye?" she said.

I nodded to the photo.

"Ah, my grandfather," said Shirley.

"Your -?" I started, then stopped myself.

Shirley gave me an impatient look and for a brief moment I saw a resemblance to the old man in her too.

Shirley led me to the open kitchen dining room where I had first laid eyes on Mr Dawson and where we often had dinner. It was a large room with tiled flooring, a sink and stove on the far end and a large dining table next to large windows on the other end. We sat at the dining table.

Shirley couldn't stop looking at my clothes and she didn't hide her confusion, fascination and judgement. But she said nothing. Eventually, as time passed in silence and she waited for me to speak, I said the first thing that came to my head - something I'm sure I had seen in countless teen movies.

"I wanted to ask..." I said, sighing internally but making my face look worried on the outside. "Do you think this outfit is slutty? My mum is really against me dressing like this but it's so normal these days, I mean, girls in Korea dress like this all the time. My mum and I had a big fight about it so I left the house and decided I would see what you think. Because, you know, I admire you, and I respect your opinions, so..."

"You do talk a lot, don't you?" Shirley said, as if speaking to a naughty toddler.

My mouth pressed closed and I raised my eyebrows in apology and anticipation of her opinion.

Who knows if she believed me or if she just didn't care to challenge anything I said because of the obvious conclusions that lay at the end of questioning why else I may have found myself at her door during Daniel's basketball practice. But she studied me long and hard with a shrewd gaze.

Eventually, she said, "It's not an inherently slutty outfit. But you make it slutty."

My mouth dropped.

"I don't mean it like that, darling," she said, batting her hand in the air as if to dispel the thoughts. "It's just, the way your ribs creep out that crop top - I feel like I can see your tits just by how accessible they feel. And I'm sorry but that skirt, I don't know if you noticed, but the second you turn around and it flicks up, you can see your bottom - and if you had one of those flat bottoms nobody would care, but yours is rather like mine - or will be in a few years at least - and with a bottom like that, it feels like sexual harassment just to see it without having been asked first."

I gasped, "What do you mean?" Her words whirled round my mind as I tried to make sense of them. I hadn't expected such a forthright answer to a question I didn't really care to hear answered.

"Oh, come on," Shirley said, standing up and grabbing my arm to lift me up with her.

She pulled my skirt up before I could bat her hand away and took a handful of my ass. I could feel her manicured nails digging into my skin. I turned around, arching my back and going onto my tip toes to look at her hand, to see her bright red nails biting into the pale cream-coloured skin on my ass, and Shirley scoffed.

"You must know what your doing," she said, almost as if to herself. "You must. Everything you do exudes sex. Look at you, like a little show puppy, twisting and standing, arching that back. Like a little sexy meerkat."

She kept her hand gripping the chunk of my ass and lifted it up to keep me on my tip toes as she grabbed my chest, just under my breasts, with her other hand, holding me up on my tip toes like I was a ballerina. I looked up at her inquisitively and she laughed. She pulled me up close and moved her hand on the small of my back. She was taller than me, so on my tip toes, we were eye to eye. I felt her breath on my face. It smelled of chocolate and mint. She stared into my eyes for a few seconds, her long lashes batting, her eyes narrowing as she looked at me hard, and then she let go of me and I lowered back down.

As she removed her hand I could feel the burning sensation of where her nails had dug into my flesh. I felt like her doll. In that moment I belonged to her. I would have let her kiss me hard on the mouth, I would have let her grab my ass as much as she wanted.

"What I mean," Shirley said, still holding my skirt up so that my panties - black lace through which the trace of my vulva could be seen - and my ass were still on show, "is that when you have a full ass like that, just to see it, invokes sex. I'm not slut-shaming or victim blaming or whatever you kids call it these days - I'm talking about a deep animal level. There are arses that are made for mating, that just the sight of them, you can smell sex in the air. That's you and me, love."

She dropped my skirt. My mind was spinning.

Just then Mr Dawson walked in through the front door. He stopped the moment he saw the two of us together. He looked terrified.

"...What's happening?" he said, his voice trembling.

I tried to open my eyes wide as if to say that he shouldn't give anything away but before I could, Shirley exclaimed: "Oh no! I'm so sorry, darling. I forgot all about it. I left the door open in your shed and you did say I should close it to help the glue on your chair dry, I know you did but then Vanessa arrived and..."

Shirley ran out of the room and slammed the back door shut behind her. I realised Shirley had mistaken the fear that Mr Dawson had shown - assuming I had told his wife about our sexual encounter - for concern and anger that she had neglected to follow his instructions. Mr Dawson didn't seem to realise what had happened and looked at me in confusion.

His look intensified when I raised my eyebrows - picturing myself as a lost puppy, just as I had moments ago, when Shirley had grabbed my ass - and lifted my skirt up and parted my legs slightly as I stood before him. As if possessed suddenly by some sort of spirit, he ran to me, fell to his knees and buried his face between my legs.

His coarse hands slide up my thighs. One hand grabbed the same ass cheek that a moment ago his wife had grabbed, while the other hand pulled the translucent lingerie to the side, exposing my bare vulva to him. He plunged his face into it. I could feel his tongue at the bottom of my pussy, just bordering my taint and my asshole, licking up and up. His nose pressed against my clitoris, sending sharp pangs of pleasure and discomfort up into my belly.

I grabbed two fistfuls of his hair and gently peeled him back a little to release the pressure on my clitoris. He was like an animal feasting on flesh. I had never imagined him like this, like a rabid dog or a hungry lion. He was moaning deeply from his gut as he gently bit my outer labia with his lips, pulling one to the side so that he could run his tongue down the centre of my small, inner labia. His hand continued to clutch my ass and I could feel a buzz as his large fingers pressed close to the area around my butt hole, where there was a deep, pleasant tickling sensation.

Everything was happening so quickly, the sensations came in waves and sometimes I didn't notice what had happened to a part of my body until it was over. I became aware of my legs shaking, my knees pulling inwards, my toes face each other on either side of his knees on the floor. I held his hair not just to control the pressure of his face against my pussy but also to hold myself up, for if I hadn't had him to lean on I would have crumpled on the floor there and then.

I could hear loud slurping sounds as saliva and my juices mixed and dropped onto the linoleum floor of the tiled dining room floor. Mr Dawson pressed his lips hard around my pussy and sucked and I felt my labia and clit being sucked gently into his mouth, pressing into his lips. I gasped and shook a little, feeling a bowl of warmth tipping behind my bellybutton and a wash of pleasure through my vagina and my hips.

Now that my pussy was warm and not so surprised by the sudden assault on my sense, I grabbed Mr Dawson's hair anew and pushed it hard against my pussy. In that moment, if I could have, I would has pushed his face into my body, fusing our bodies into some strange Cronenburg-esque creature. His face was warm against my inner thighs, I could hear bubbles and water as he tried to breathe amongst all the flesh and liquid down there.

His tongue flitted against my lips, licking up and down up and down. He gently circled his tongue around my clitoris. He grabbed my ass tighter. I could feel how smooth the skin of my pussy, how delicate the inner skin of my labia, were against his warm tongue.

"Huaauh," I moaned, trying to speak but temporarily unable to process language. "I think...huaaa..."

His licks intensified as if he knew exactly what I had tried to say. I could feel the bowl of warm liquid inside me spilling more and more warm pleasure through the walls of my pussy, emanating from my clitoris and somewhere deeper inside me, my pussy lips tingled, my legs became weak, my abdominal muscles began to spasm, and then something like a tiny nuclear bomb of pleasure went off inside me. And I fell.

Luckily, Mr Dawson caught me. He had one arm around my thighs, holding my legs up as he continued to bury his face deep in my pussy and his other arm held my shoulder to stop me slumping over onto him.

I honestly don't remember what happened in the moments that followed. I assume I was shaking and moaning as if a demon was leaving my body, while he finished feasting on me. Then, as the final ripples of pleasure ran through my body, he sat me onto a high stool at their breakfast bar. I was in a daze and it felt like I was a hospital patient being guided into a wheelchair.

Then, without looking at me, Mr Dawson muttered under his breath, "Did you get the orgasm that I owe you?"

I didn't answer, I just looked at him as if I had been rescued from a flooding river.

Mr Dawson nodded to himself. In silence, he walked to the kitchen counter, grabbed a cloth and wiped it on his face. He poured himself a glass of water then walked to the puddle of saliva and my cum on the floor where we had been standing a moment earlier. He dropped the glass. The glass smashed and I jumped. Mr Dawson, without a any expression or hint of doing anything out of the ordinary on his face, knelt down and began to clean the mess with the cloth, while picking up pieces of broken glass.

Just then Shirley walked back into the room and gasped.

"Don't worry, darling," Mr Dawson said. "Vanessa was just feeling faint and dropped her glass of water. I'm almost done cleaning it up."

I was astounded by the composure Mr Dawson was showing, to have thought so coolly of how he was planning to cover up everything that had just occurred, tying it up neatly together. It was genius. I watched his large hands collecting the little fragments of sharp glass, glinting in the light. I watched his broad shoulders as his arms pressed hard on the floor to wipe up the mess we had made together beneath the water and the glass. I looked at his wise eyes, the hints of wrinkles in the corners, hinting at a knowing smile just beneath the surface of his calm face. I was smitten.

"Oh my," Shirley said. "What a dutiful husband I have."

Just then, Daniel came home. When he saw me, he didn't look surprised at all. But he did look annoyed. I was still in a daze but he ignored his parents as they told him I was feeling faint and he dragged me up to his room and slammed the door behind him.

He was huffing and puffing, all angry and red in the face.

"What's going on?" I said in a distant, almost drugged up voice.

"You tell me," Daniel said, rage thick in his voice.

He bent down to retrieve something from his bag. It was my maths jotter. He handed it to me.

"Open it," he ordered.

I did as he commanded. I opened the jotter and on the first page was written: Mr Dawson. I had drawn a heart around it. Below I had written: Marcus Marcus Marcus Marcus. All in different styles of handwriting as if I had been trying to find the perfect way to write his name. But, most damning of all, beneath that there was a well-sketched, shaded and contoured, still life drawing of Mr Dawson's fully erect penis, as I had seen it weeks earlier.

"What...the...fuck..." Daniel struggled to get the words out. He swallowed then tried again. "What the fuck is going on between you and my dad?"

To be continued...

Author's Note:

I want to hear from my readers! What did you think of part 2 of this story - did you read part 1? If you feel like sharing something about yourself - are you a man or a woman? Do you think my writing appeals more to men, women or both? I do try to cater to both but I wouldn't be surprised if some material is more interesting to women and other's for men. Let me know your thoughts! Vanessa xoxo