My Father Visits Ch. 08

Well, my heart hadn't exploded on me yet, I thought. I guess I was going to survive this afternoon after all.

My wife had laid down beside me with her head on my shoulder and actually, apparently, drifted off to sleep, in spite of the fact that her "pillow" was still trembling and occasionally twitching. My breathing was just now returning to normal.

Well, she had had quite the busy day already. She had just administered a delicious handjob and an expert ruined orgasm on me, and she's told me that requires a certain amount of concentration. That was after a four-hour drive in traffic. And before that, I knew, at least one vigorous pounding underneath my barrel-chested sixty-year-old father, who was now her lover.

I closed my eyes and tried to maintain my steady breathing. Already, my testicles were beginning to ache beneath the chastity cage where my cock was already straining to get hard again. That's the thing about ruined orgasms; they drain me of my semen, but without any spasm of pleasure; and without any calming refractory period.

We had just crossed a bridge, I thought. Or rather, we had crossed it a month ago, and I had just now turned around to confirm that we had also burned it behind us. It had been two months since she had first started teasing me with the shocking notion of cuckolding me with my recently-divorced father, who was visiting us for the weekend.

For a month, I had known that she was just playing with me, tantalizing me with an incredibly illicit and rather humiliating fantasy. But the more we played at it, the more I reacted to it, the more we realized that we were both drawn to immersing ourselves in the experience for real. She was attracted to him, despite or because of the age difference, and the physical and psychological differences between him and me. She understood better than I did how I craved the cuckolding experience. And she was growing in her own sense of empowerment, the notion that she was a woman who might do *anything.* Even fuck her husband's father.

So by the time, a month ago, that she suggested that she would go visit him, ostensibly to help him paint his new apartment, while I was in Atlanta on a business trip, I knew at that point that we were moving from fantasy to reality. And that's when I could have said no, that's far enough, let's keep this as an incredibly erotic fantasy between husband and wife. Instead, I feigned... uncertainty, or at least, helpless surrender. Which she read as, "Yes. God yes. Do it, Michelle, do it. Go and offer yourself up, open yourself up, to my dad, to my own father, let him take what should be mine and make it his..."

Even then, though, through another month and two more visits, we continued to tease each other, this time playing with the fantasy that her visits were completely innocent. But this afternoon, I hadn't been able to take it any longer. I had to break character and ask her. And she told me, and I was sure that this time everything was the truth. My father had been fucking her, repeatedly and with willful intent, for a month. And he knew that I was a cuckold, my manhood locked in a little cage while my wife came to his bed and spread her legs for him.

She suddenly made a little snoring noise, and I chuckled in spite of myself. For all of the excruciating, delicious angst this game was causing me, I didn't doubt that she loved me, nor did I fear losing her. (Where else, she had sometimes asked me, was she going to find a man who challenged her intellectually and let her explore other sexual experiences to her heart's desire?)

I gently stroked her bare shoulder and shook my head. No, what was so exquisite about this whole endeavor was that the other man was my father... that, and the fact that Michelle *knew* that. Ever since she had introduced this idea, I had been scouring the internet, looking for forums and erotica that might help me understand why it gripped me so. Nothing that I had found matched my experience.

Every story, every dubious personal account that I found, had the same dynamic. An alpha male dad, a captain of industry. A lazy son, skating through life on his looks and his daddy's money. A young woman who was a slave to her hormones, surrendering to the charms of her husband or boyfriend's dominant father.

That wasn't my reality at all. First of all, Michelle was completely and utterly in control. But my dad was far from dominant, from alpha, and that had always been the case. He wasn't the kind of guy who grabbed life by the horns and bent the world to his will. My dad was just a decent guy, comfortable to be around. Kind to clerks and waitresses.

I had never questioned that he was proud of me, my grades, my scholarships which had spared him the difficulty of paying for the college education with which he had no experience. He hadn't understood my professional choices, my decision to run a non-profit organization instead of becoming a high-powered attorney. But he told me often that he was proud of me. At least, he had, before he found out that I was a cuckold.

"Hey there." I turned my head to look at my wife, who had stirred from her little nap and was looking up at my from behind her pretty lashes, her head still on my shoulder.

"Hey," I said. "Did you have a nice nap?"

"Uh huh," she said, closing her eyes again. "Did you get one?"

I snorted. There was no fucking way I was going to be sleeping any time soon after the revelations of the past hour.

She burrowed her head into the side of my neck, affectionately, and stroked my chest with one hand.

I exhaled deeply. "So," I said, eager to finally talk to her without being on the verge of an orgasm, but also oddly nervous. "It's all real."

"As real as the day is long, baby," she assured me.

"Well, I'd, um... I'd like to know... everything."

She propped herself up on one elbow and looked at me with a face full of... tenderness, I guess. Her full breasts fell together, alluringly -- she had removed her translucent blue bra before napping -- and I was mesmerized by the sight, by the elongated areolas surrounding her relaxed nipples, the tiny blue veins. And perhaps, tiny suggestions of little bruises? Images flooded my mind of those breasts in my father's greedy hands or mouth, nipples rigid, and my penis began to strain in its cage again.

She still had on the matching panties, though, and she still had the fine little chain around her waist. She ran her fingers over it, and asked, "You want to hear about him buying this for me?"

I gulped. Well, I had other things in mind, but yes, yes, I nodded. I want to know everything.

"He was so cute," she chuckled, pressing into me and drawing one warm soft thigh up over mine. "We went to the mall, into one of those little boutiques, and made him tell the salesgirl what he was looking for..."

"Oof," I said, both for my own sake, and for his.

"He told her, 'We're looking for a waist chain, for my..."

His what, I wondered. His lover? His daughter-in-law?

"My ladyfriend," she finished. "And the girl led us over to a display. And no, I didn't make him tell her what I was going to be wearing on it."

"Hmm. Were you wearing your wedding ring?" I knew my father no longer wore his.

"Of course," she replied. "I kind of flaunted it.

"We walked around the mall with my arm up around his bicep, between his arm and his chest, like this," she said, moving to demonstrate with me. "And honestly, Ryan... he didn't touch me or try to hold my hand or anything, but he was just beaming."

"I'm sure he was."

"Hmmm. Well, I'm not sure it was the spectacle you're imagining. No one was staring or anything. After all, a man his age and a woman my age together, it's not that remarkable."

I suppose not, I thought; not if they don't know that the man is your father-in-law.

Then she hit me with, "I mean, it's not like if I had seduced him the first time you brought me home from college."

She laughed as I twitched at that. "What?" she said. "You didn't notice me flirting with him back then? Let's see... I was nineteen... he must have been what, forty-four?

"Baby -- the way your dad looked when he was in his forties? That's one of the reasons I married you!"

God, I thought. Now I would have a whole new universe of mind-pictures to obsess over.

She settled back against me, her arm still nestled under mine. Now it was my turn to reach down and toy with her waist chain, and the key to my chastity cage which dangled from it. "But *he* knew why he was buying it, right?"

"Well, not quite," she nodded. "This was just two days ago. By then he had had time to get used to the idea of how we were playing. He knew you were locked up. But I think he just thought I wanted to... decorate myself for him. I didn't tell him that the chain was to... display your key... until we got home... and I put it on... and climbed on his lap."

She put her hand over mine, and pressed the key into the soft flesh of her belly, below her navel. "And impaled myself on him. Right... behind... here."

My heart was rising in my throat again. And my testicles were continuing to ache.

"And how did he react?" I rasped.

"Oh... quite... forcefully," she said, huskily. "Although he didn't really say. He gets even more tongue-tied than you do."

I laughed at that, and she moved her hand down to where I was twitching in my cage. "Honestly, though, I don't know if he was thinking about *you,* per se. He still gets awkward talking about you. But he definitely seems to be taking to the 'bull' role."

Huh. My wife and I don't often use the term "bull" when talking about the men she cuckolds me with, unless they initiate it. It gave me a weird thrill to think of my dad as a bull.

"So..." I said, slowly, deciding to rip the bandaid off. "I want to know about... the first time."

She was quiet for a moment. "You want to know how I seduced him?"

I nodded. She sat up beside me, and tucked her legs under her.

"Well, the first day I got there, the first time, when you were in Atlanta. He really did expect me to help him paint. And we did spend a couple of hours, three or four maybe, just taping the trim. And had a couple of beers -- wine for me -- and talking.

"So I had been thinking about this for a long time, and I just kept steering the conversation around to him being single again, and how he should be dating, playing the field. I already knew he's a little hesitant about that.

"At first he was just focused on how to ask someone out, where to go, whether it's still okay to open doors, that sort of stuff. Eventually he talked more about how the last time he was single, he had been taught that women were just looking to get married. To trade affection for financial security.

"That let me assure him that that was not the case, at least these days. And that, so, maybe he ought to be dating younger women. And that, 'Oh, trust me, John, plenty of younger women will be interested.' And finally, something like, 'Don't worry, they'll let you kn.'"

I listened intently. I was intensely interested in how that conversation had gone. Part of me wished I could have a transcript of every word of it. But another part of me wanted to race ahead to the gory details, and Michelle could sense that.

"He said he wanted to take a shower before we went out to dinner. And so once he was in the shower, I went into his bedroom, and took off all my clothes, and got on his bed, and waited for him to come out of the bathroom. Like this."

And with that, she scooted up against the headboard, and leaned back against it, with her arms spread out across the tops of the pillow shams. She swiveled at the waist so she was on one hip, and crooked the knee of her top leg. I sat up myself, across the bed from her, to get the full effect. God, she was irresistible. I told her so.

"And your dad didn't resist," she commented. I gulped hard. "He came out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist, and all that thick curly hair all over his chest and belly, and just stood there."

"He didn't say anything?"

"Nope. Tongue-tied again. But I could clearly see that he was starting to get hard under the towel."

"So... what happened?"

"What *happened*?" she repeated, with a laugh. "Well, I just extended one hand, like, for him to come kiss my ring... and he took three steps toward the bed. And then the towel fell off and he got up on his knees on the end of the bed.

"And then I put my hands on the headboard and scooted myself down toward him, and opened my legs...

"and then he leaned forward and put his hands on the bed on either side of me...

"and I reached down and wrapped my hand around his cock..."

I whimpered. She had dropped her voice to a throaty whisper.

"His thick, uncut cock... and I rubbed it against my pussy... and then he pushed it into me."

I jerked as if I was having a convulsion. We were both sitting up now, three feet apart on bed, but it suddenly felt like she was very far away. "Are you okay?" she asked.

"Yes," I nodded. Then, "Keep going."

"Well, then he started moving in and out of me. Slowly, but very... intently? It was... very nice. Very... unhurried. And then..."

She paused. "And then *what*?" I demanded.

"Well, then he kissed me." I stared, and she giggled. "That's right. Your dad fucked me before he kissed me."

Somehow that broke the tension a bit for me, and I chuckled a bit, too. "His moustache tickled," she went on. "Actually, your dad fucks better than he kisses."

I had to put my hand over my eyes, partly to keep myself from laughing at the absurdity of all this.

She leaned across the void and put a hand on my knee. Lovingly. "But he *can* fuck."

I hated myself for asking, but I was down the cuckold rabbit hole. "Better than me?"

"Different," she said. "But, yes, baby, he's *bigger* than you. At least, thicker. Much thicker.

"And uncircumcised." She rolled her eyes back into her head, dramatically. "God, I love that."

I looked at her with puppy-dog eyes. "No condom?"

"No condom." Of course not. "No, your dad came in me. Bareback."

I inhaled and exhaled deeply. It was no worse, or better, than I had been fantasizing about all along anyway. Then it occurred to me. "Did you cum?"

She shook her head. "Not that time. Later.

"Anyway, afterwards, he got up off of me, and sat on the edge of the bed with his back to me, and didn't say anything. So that's when I told him that it was okay. That you and I have an agreement. That you knew I was here. WHY I was here. That it was okay with you."

I nodded. I crawled across the three feet between us and curled up beside her, resting my head on her thigh while she continued to sit cross-legged on the bed.

"But he didn't know about my whole cuckold/chastity kink yet."

"No," she replied, stroking my hair. "That came later."

"But now he knows all about my kinks."

"Yes. And I think he gets it. I've told him that I adore you. He knows he's not going to steal me from you. He understands that we're three consenting adults playing a sexy game."

Huh, I thought. But he hadn't understood that when he came out of his bathroom and found my wife naked on his bed, and decided to walk across the room and wordlessly put his fat cock up inside her where only mine belonged. And somehow that made this whole thing all the more exciting for me.

"You know," she said, looking seriously at me now, "This was scary for me, too, you know. I wanted this. You wanted this. But I thought, if it all goes sideways, if he gets freaked out and tells me to leave... well, I didn't want to spill all your secrets, humiliate you up front, and then *not get laid.*"

I sat back up, and shook my head. Somehow, in a way, it all made sense out of a situation that I had always found insanely erotic but also... just insane. My dad was just such an old-fashioned nice guy. A guy who came across as nice because he had spent his entire life doing exactly what was expected of him. My wife had not just given him a pity fuck. She had unleashed something primal in him.

"I love you," I blurted out.

"I know," she replied. She was suppressing a teasing smile into a pouty little smirk.

Then she added, "So, I think it's time that we invite him back over."

Oh God. I wasn't sure I was ready for that.

"Just think. A whole weekend. With him knowing. And you knowing. And eventually, I'm going to tell you goodnight and take his hand and lead him to our bedroom."

I shuddered at the thought of how humiliating and erotic that sounded. That he would do that, in my home. That I wanted him to.

"You, traipsing off to bed in the guest room," she continued to tease. "While your daddy has adult time with his woman."

I quivered, and then remembered something else she had told me earlier today.

"Did he really say that it's his pussy now?"

She stroked my cheek and made me wait too many seconds for an answer. "No," she finally admitted. "I made that part up.

"But you know," she continued, tilting her head and piercing me with her smoky eyes. "We could *pretend* that he said that. At least until after his next visit."

I felt myself getting sea-sick. I looked down at my caged and practically numb penis; saw more than felt how it was pushing through the bars of the cage.

"I think that's you really want, isn't it?"

I looked back into her eyes, powerless to object. And realized I didn't want to object. She was right.