The Ballad of John and Al Ch. 06

This chapter is going to be a bit of a change of pace. That's because I'm following Al's lead now, and she's taking things in a somewhat different direction. In fact, large sections of this chapter are lifted directly from her texts to me. That's a different approach than anything I've submitted for publication before. I have no idea where this is going next. And I'm pretty sure John doesn't, either. He's going to find out a couple of things as he reads this story.

Just a couple of days ago...

"Wow," said the pretty young woman David had enveloped in his arms.

"Yeah," he agreed.

She was still breathing hard from her most recent orgasm, which he was pretty sure had been triggered by his own. He was still breathing hard, too, and he could feel his heart thumping in his chest. He just loved the feeling when a woman came, again, one more time, from the sensation and excitement and satisfaction of him pushing his cock as deep as it would go and holding still and pulsing as he flooded her with his semen.

Bareback, of course. Or ... well, he shouldn't say of course. He certainly would have used a condom if she had wanted him to. But he knew she wouldn't. He figured she was on birth control, and, well, he could tell all along she was a skin-on-skin kind of girl.

He was holding himself up on his elbows, so as not to put his full weight on her. She was a well-proportioned young woman, but not very tall at all, and he was a good-sized guy.

He stroked her hair off her forehead with one hand, tucking it behind her ear on the pillow. She smiled at him.

"That was ..." she paused, seemingly at a loss for words.

"That was great," he said, never one to beat around the bush, or use four syllables when one would do.

"It was amazing," she agreed. Now it was his turn to smile. Yeah, he thought. Not bad for sixty-six.

He bent down to kiss her. Her eyes closed and her lips parted, and she welcomed his tongue into her mouth. He let her tongue play with his, keeping their lips just brushing together, while he licked at them, at her teeth, at her teasing little tongue, which was flicking at his, dancing, and retreating. Like his was a lumbering George Foreman, and hers was Muhammad Ali, floating like a butterfly, luring him up against the ropes ...

He kept stroking her head with his right hand as their kiss went on and on, and she began to sigh and mew a bit, sounds more of mounting arousal than satisfied post-orgasmic bliss. He wasn't ready for more yet, but he wanted her to be.

Meanwhile, he was in no hurry to withdraw his penis from her warm wet sheath. He loved doing this, staying inside a woman, marinating in their combined juices. The act of insemination was so primal; and some women understood what he was doing, symbolically at least, and played along; and other women were oblivious to the notion that he was giving his seed plenty of opportunity to pool at and penetrate her cervix.

He figured she was one of the former.

Finally, she put her hands on his rib cage and gave a little upward pressure, nudging him to move off her. He responded, slowly, intentionally. As he started to pull himself up and off and out of her, he looked down, between their bodies, to see the show, hoping her eyes would follow his. Glancing up for a second, I saw that they were, and that she was transfixed at the sight of his shaft emerging out of her.

This was part of his ritual, whenever he got the chance. He was a "shower," not a "grower," but the dynamic works in reverse, as well. He had been feeling himself deflating inside of her for several minutes, but the soft, moist cock that he was slowly, slowly withdrawing from her, spent but still potent, was almost as large as the rigid one that he had first pushed into her a half an hour ago. It made for a rather impressive sight, he thought; and her gratifying little whimper told him she thought so, too.

He eased off her and lay down beside her on his back, and she curled up under his arm, voluptuous but seemingly tiny. He let his hand travel down her back and cup one magnificent buttock. She gently stroked his chest with the free hand that wasn't tucked up between their bodies, her fingers drawn to the little patch of hair right above his pectorals, the one part of his body hair that had gone silver. Well, other than his pubic hair; but he had been keeping that shaved for years now.

He could almost have drifted back into sleep for a while; but after a few minutes she stirred and got up out of bed. He watched her, marveling at her gifts. Her hair was almost translucent in the morning light, falling halfway down to her shoulder blades. Her breasts were full but buoyant on her diminutive frame; her tummy flat, her butt and thighs just slightly to the fleshy side of toned. A couple of discreet little tattoos just added to her youthful sex appeal.

She started to pull on a sheer little robe.

"What are you doing?" he asked her.

"Going to make us some coffee," she replied.

"Huh uh," he said, a bit gruffly.

"You don't want coffee?" she asked, tilting her pretty head.

"Yeah, I'd love some coffee. I don't want you getting dressed. I want you naked."

A glimpse of surprise flashed across her face, then she grinned knowingly. "Okay."

"What time does your boyfriend get home?" he asked.

"Around four," she replied.

"Okay. Then I want you naked until 3:45."

Her jaw dropped open in mock surprise, then she beamed. "Okay."

She turned and padded off toward the kitchen, barefoot, and bare-assed, both perfect plump cheeks rising and falling with each step as she disappeared from his sight.

He sighed and scooted up on the bed, against the headboard. He had six more hours to fuck this young woman in her fiancé's bed.

"I know, I'm a bastard," he told himself.

***

Four weeks earlier ...

Allison bit her lip as she clicked on the link and opened yet another chapter.

She had started reading this series on Literotica last night, and it had invaded her dreams so thoroughly that she had gotten out of bed early this morning to continue it, while her fiancé John kept sleeping down the hall.

He was the one who had pointed it out to her. He liked it so much, in fact, that he had told her he had contacted the author and carried on an email conversation for weeks with him. Al found John could be a little obsessive about these things, and for a while she had resisted reading this particular story for precisely that reason: once John got an idea in his head, he was like a dog with a bone. And she preferred to play things by ear rather than follow a script.

Which was exactly how she was going about cuckolding him. It had been his favorite fantasy for a couple of years now; and, truth be told, she had always gotten a thrill out of the idea herself. It wasn't something she had had to be talked into. She loved sex and found the idea of continuing to explore new experiences with new partners enticing. She just had to make sure that John was serious; and, practically, she didn't want to do it in the tight-knit community where they had met, and where everyone knew everybody.

But now they had relocated to suburban Washington, and the relative anonymity had freed her of her last reservation. But she had her own vision of how she wanted to do this; because she had figured out that John wasn't just a voyeur. He had a taste for a little humiliation, and a little denial.

Or a lot. How much? Well, she had grown confident in his assurances that he could take whatever she dished out. If he told her to stop, she would stop. If he told her after the fact that something she had already done had been too much, well ... she would cross that bridge when she came to it.

So, reading a story on Literotica that had piqued John's fancy hadn't been a priority for her, because she wanted to plot her own course, not follow someone else's. But she got curious about John's correspondence with the author.

One afternoon she casually approached John with a question. "So, that guy on Literotica that you've been emailing?"

"Yeah?" John responded, his interest piqued.

"Yeah," she replied. "Ask him if he's on KIK."

***

Rimbaud -- or J.R., as he invited her to call him -- did have a KIK account. He just wasn't used to using it. He was an old-school keyboard type and preferred to use email. Al hadn't used email since college. But J.R. started adjusting to KIK pretty quickly, especially once she started sending him pictures.

The first couple of pics she sent him were discreet, usually in a bikini, with part or all of her face hidden. But she also quickly started giving him updates on her activities and plans, in ways that both titillated him, and seemed to solicit his advice.

J.R. loved getting messages from readers. Most of them were from men who shared his kinks. But Al wasn't the first woman who had sought out his online friendship; and in fact, it seemed to him, the women were the ones who seemed the most curious and eager to develop an ongoing digital relationship.

Al was definitely eager. It seemed to J.R. that she was just seeking one bit of external validation that her boyfriend's kink was real and that he wasn't the only person in the world who actually had it.

JR wasn't sure whether it was a coincidence or not, but Al did report taking the final step and cuckolding John for real just a couple of days after she started exchanging messages with him.

To that point, she had given handjobs and a blowjob to a guy -- well, two guys, but the second guy was tangential to the narrative she was creating for her kinky fiance's benefit, and she hadn't even bothered to tease John about that guy.

But on J.R.'s third day of corresponding with John's feisty little fiancé, he got a series of messages in which she excitedly shared that the deed was done. She had knocked on the door of the neighbor she had been tantalizing and told him he could fuck her.

And he had said he needed to think about it! Which had infuriated her; so much so, that she marched back home and fucked John's brains out. Up until the time the guy texted her back and agreed. Apparently, he had some conditions, which Al declined to share with J.R. She also swore J.R. to secrecy about her mystery man's identity. But she took obvious delight in describing the thrill of having sudden, urgent, illicit sex with a shockingly arrogant man who didn't seem at all surprised that this beautiful, engaged woman had come into his apartment, to betray her seemingly oblivious fiancé, and fuck him. In fact, the guy's nonchalance about the gift she had offered him just made her want to be more submissive and compliant towards him.

J.R. felt a little bit sorry for his pen pal John; but he knew from experience that this was one of the risks of this game. When a cuckold gives his woman free rein, he surrenders control, and can't be surprised when she takes off galloping across a field. He knew John loved the whole idea of a slow burn; a long, gradual tease, slowly turning real as Al gradually ramped up her seduction of another man and revealed to him step-by-step what she had done with the stranger by denying the same pleasures to John. And for that matter, J.R. had been looking forward to stringing his readers along by capturing the fantasy that John had spelled out to him as a serialized set of stories on Literotica.

Well, so much for a slow burn. Al wasn't a time-delay fuse; she was rocket fuel.

***

A couple of days after she began her correspondence with J.R., Al was convinced that her fiancé wasn't the only man in the world who had this cuckolding kink for real instead of just a fantasy. And so she went and offered herself to the neighbor she had been teasing, and for the first time since she had started dating John, allowed another man's hot, rigid cock to slip up inside her betrothed body, and let him grind against her until he flooded her with his potent, foreign semen.

Al had always enjoyed sex. And sex with her fiancé was outstanding; certainly, good enough that she had been prepared to settle down and adjust to monogamy from here on out. But, if John wanted her to continue having new sexual partners, well ... she couldn't deny, her first illicit fuck as an engaged woman was fantastic.

And her curiosity about cuckolding, and her new friendship with J.R., prompted her to go back and read that story that had first captured John's imagination.

And, Oh. My. God.

The story that had grabbed John's attention to the point that he had revealed his private reading habits to her, and admitted that he had befriended the author, was an extended, 20-chapter series about a woman cuckolding her husband with his own father!

And the story made her heart race. It drew her in with several chapters in which she couldn't tell whether the wife was actually doing anything or was only teasing and tormenting her husband with the idea of it. It reminded her of how she loved to tease John; and gave her some ideas for future games. And she loved the way the writer got inside the mind of the husband ... how he found the shock and the excitement and the humiliation of being cuckolded, supplanted in his wife's love life and bed and womb by his own father irresistible and addictive, until he not only accepted it, but he wanted it. And this was John's favorite story, his favorite author on this website?

Hot.

So she texted J.R. and told him how much she loved the story. And then she shared with J.R. something that she had not yet revealed to her fiancé.

"I've never admitted to anyone how hot I think John's dad is," she told J.R. via text.

"Oh yeah?" he replied.

"And he's coming to visit in a few weeks. And now I'm having all kinds of wicked ideas."

"No kidding?" J.R. texted back. "What's his name?"

"David."

"Well," J.R. suggested, "Perhaps you should send him a friendly, innocent little text message."

A few hours later, Al was reporting back to J.R. that David had responded, and after few back-and-forth exchanges, had asked her about her new job ... particularly, her saucy little orange-and-white uniform.

"You think he's thinking about my tits?" she asked J.R.

"LOL. He might feel guilty for thinking it but I'm sure it's crossed his mind," J.R. replied.

"Hehe good."

"Well, this morning's conversation probably would explain why you were sending him a picture of you in your new uniform," J.R. typed, planting a suggestion. "Just one. Since he mentioned it."

"You're devious," she responded.

"I'll bet he would save it."

"Probably. I'll think on it. Sorry, I mean I'll think on sending it to you. Definitely sending a uniform pic to David."

Minutes later, a picture of a Hooters tank top stretched across a generous chest appeared on J.R.'s phone. It was cropped to avoid showing her face, but a little "Allison" name tag was pinned just below the left shoulder.

"See?" she typed. "It's too tight! LOL. His has the face, you think he'll like it? Sorry, no face for you."

J.R. sighed. Being teased and denied was his lot in life. "I'm sure he loves it," was all he said.

A few minutes later, Al forwarded him the response she had got from David: "'Looks like it fits perfect.'"

"You're so wicked," J.R. chastised her. "Making your own fiance's dad get hard, long distance."

She just replied with a smiley face.

"The neighbor sure does love having me naked," she texted. "Wonder if David will?"

J.R. arched his eyebrows at how quickly Al was escalating this. Well, he could play that game, too. "Oh, I am sure. A lot. Picturing you right now, you getting out of bed and padding off to the kitchen to get him coffee, completely bare, and bringing it back to him to relax a bit before the next round."

"So hot," she said.

"John's at work," J.R. typed. "His dad is in his bed, enjoying his hospitality and his naked fiancé. Sounds like a future chapter."

"I can't let you write something that isn't true though," Al replied. "So ..."

J.R. shook his head. "I haven't talked to John since yesterday," he reported. "At which time he was sharing that he was 'excited' that you were enjoying the My Father Visits story."

"Oh yeah?"

"Maybe at some point I should tell him that from now on you only want my stories to be about things that have actually happened," J.R. suggested.

"I'm making that pretty easy for you... by doing everything," she responded.

A few minutes passed. Then Al forwarded to J.R. her latest text from David: "'Is there a pool/hot tub at that apartment complex of y'alls? Just got a new speedo I need to try out.'"

"I think David might be flirting a bit," Al added to J.R., editorially.

"Sounds that way," J.R. commented. "Can a sixtyish guy rock a Speedo?"

"Should I ask him?"

"Of course."

A few minutes passed, and then Al forwarded to J.R. a copy of her latest text to John's dad. "'Good for you, most men don't have the confidence to wear a Speedo.'"

And his response: "'Never had an issue with confidence doll 😉'"

"Definitely sounds like a guy with the swagger to bag a 25-year-old Hooters waitress," J.R. told Al.

"Should I have John jerk off tonight while I tell him how handsome his dad is?" Al asked in reply.

"It probably wouldn't take very long."

"You think? How long you think he'll last?" And then, before J.R. could think of a clever reply, she forwarded him a copy of her next message to David: "'So, you got to see a preview of my uniform, do I get a preview of the Speedo?'"

"I imagine that is forthcoming," J.R. told her.

***

A few hundred miles away, John's father David was playing with his phone, contemplating taking the next step.

Allison was teasing him pretty aggressively. He had always thought she was quite the flirt, if not a downright vixen. It didn't surprise him. His son had always had a taste for women like that, and he had obviously picked a winner in Al.

If he escalated her teasing the way he would with any other woman, he just might shock her. He might actually offend her, but if he did, then she deserved a little bit of a smackdown for having led him on. He would laugh at her and tell her to grow up.

Of course, more often than not, responding in the way to which he had grown accustomed at this point ended up getting him between a woman's legs. Would his son's fiancé actually go that far? With her fiancé's father? It seemed like a pretty big risk, but ... well, his son had gotten engaged to either a tease or a vixen. Either way, he was in for some rough sailing. But John was a big boy.

David thought back to the event eight years ago that had first given him the confidence, the audacity, the sheer gall to start playing with younger women this way. The memory made him smile and made him hard. He took a breath, brought up one of his favorite photos from the gallery on his phone, attached it to a text to Allison, and pressed send. Then he sat back and let himself savor that particular memory.

***

Eight years earlier ...

David didn't date for a year or so after his wife passed. As much as anything, he was a little numb, and he was a lot cautious. He really was in no hurry to get into another serious, committed relationship. But he did miss the sex -- right up until the final weeks, it had been a wonderful part of his marriage -- and, in his late 50s, he still felt vigorous and, he admitted, reasonably attractive.

So, on the advice of friends, he had signed up for a couple of dating sites. He had met and gone out with a few women his own age or a decade younger. He had had pleasant enough dinners and conversations with some of them. He had had pleasant enough sex with three of them. Well, the sex was more than pleasant. It was welcomed, and reassuring. Confidence-restoring.