Three Fathers

Did I tell you about his tattoos?

He was a beast. A god. More than six foot tall and rippling with muscles, he was covered in ink. One evening, a few weeks after we had first been reintroduced, we were sat in my apartment, chatting away amiably enough. The conversation had somehow turned to our shared fascination with body art.

"I got my first tattoo behind bars," he told me, between sips of single malt scotch.

"Really?" I replied.

"Sure. Some of the best tattoo artists are in prison. It gets boring as fuck when you're doing time. There's precious little to do. Hardly anyone reads or tries to broaden their mind. You can work out. You can learn to reluctantly suck cock. Or you can paint your body. I opted for two out of the three."

"I can guess which one you didn't try."

"I'm sure you can."

"How many have you got?" I asked, pointing at the tattoo on his wrist.

"Oh quite a few," he said, pulling up the sleeves of his tight shirt, revealing his muscular, tanned arms,"there's plenty of pattern-work, some barbed wire. A lot of angry, nasty shit. You can tell my mood from most of the stuff I had done."

Then he took off his shirt. I almost gasped at the sight of his rock hard torso. Fuck, he was hot! There was more stuff on his pecs and his abdomen. Written across his chest, in an almost gothic typeface was the words: Deuteronomy 32:41.

"What's that?" I asked, lifting my hand to point at his chest, my finger almost touching his shiny skin.

"It's a Biblical verse: 'If I whet my glittering sword, and mine hand take hold on judgment; I will render vengeance to mine enemies, and will reward them that hate me.'"

"Whet your glittering sword?"

"Yeah, it sounds kind of stupid. I thought it sounded cool at the time."

I let my finger drop down, almost tracing the lines of his body, until I reached another inscription, close to his waist.

"And what's this?"

"It's Latin. Tata est puella. It means Daddy's little girl. Or at least it's meant to."

"Wow!" I exclaimed, suddenly conscious of my arousal and my excitement.

My finger was still brushing against his body. I looked up and gazed into his eyes. I licked my lips. Nothing was said and we just stared at each other. Finally, he stood up and walked to the kitchen. I sat there, shaking and shivering, almost overwhelmed with desire.

This was the weird world I had somehow ended up in. The dawning realisation I wanted to have sex with my father, combined with the reality of me already having sex with my future mother-in-law. Alana and I continued fucking without restraint or concern. I had wondered if our encounter at the bar might just be a peculiar one-off, but I was soon disabused of this notion.

Not long after, I paid a trip to the apartment they shared. We were going to have a meal together, all three of us. I arrived and gave my father a hug, almost shivering with excitement when he wrapped his arms around me. He took my coat and walked away, completely oblivious to Alana kissing me on the lips, and groping my breast as she did so.

She was perennially copping feels of my body whenever he looked the other way. Then, some event at his place of work meant he had to leave for a few hours. Upon announcing the news, Alana smiled at me with a look of pure hunger. Within ninety seconds of him leaving the building, the two of us were on the floor in front of the fireplace, tribbing like a pair of demented maniacs. Our cunts rubbing together so hard, we could practically have lit the damn thing ourselves.

I asked her about it, weeks later. She had come to my apartment one afternoon and we spent a couple of hours fucking each other's brains out. After this long and particularly nasty session of lesbian sex, the two of us were lying together on my bed, a tangled heap of naked limbs. Both of us were flushed and slick with sweat, a variety of dildos were strewn across the floor.

Alana was lazily playing with my tits, rolling my nipple between her lips, licking my salty wet skin. I brushed back her damp hair and looked at her intently.

"I realise it takes two to tango, so I'm hardly free from blame here, but you are cheating on my Dad, you know?" I said.

"No, I'm not. Not really," she replied.

"Yeah, you kind of are."

"No, I'm not. Your father and I have an understanding. Girls don't count."

"What?"

"Girls. Don't. Count. Not for us. I can fuck other chicks. He doesn't mind. He might mind that I'm fucking his daughter, but the fact I'm sleeping with another woman wouldn't bother him for a second."

"How does that work?"

"Well, I might have to tear up my membership card for the International Sisterhood of Lesbians for saying this, but sex between girls isn't really sex, is it?"

"It felt like sex, when you were pounding me with that strap-on a few moments ago."

Alana chuckled sexily.

"Yeah, I see your point. But - and again, our sapphic friends would freak out if they heard me utter these words out loud - sex between women isn't real sex."

I stared at her with a look of disbelief in my eyes.

"Okay, okay, yes, it's sex," she said, "but only for real, proper, full-on lesbians. I'm talking about bull-dykes with cropped hair and a lot of KD Lang in their record collections. For them, it's proper sex. But not for us. You and I are a lot alike. We're clearly both massive sluts. And we both happen to be predominantly straight. Sure, we like fooling around with a girlfriend, now and then. We can eat pussy all day long, but when the rubber hits the road, as opposed to rubber hitting cunt, what we really need is cock."

"I guess," I said, sounding a little unconvinced.

"If I fucked another guy, and your Dad found out, he'd lose his fucking shit. He'd dump me quicker than you can say the words extramarital affair. But if I slept with another woman, he'd be totally relaxed about it. He doesn't look on that as cheating. Nor do I."

"You sound pretty sure of yourself."

"I've done it before. He didn't mind for a second. Especially since I usually let him fuck her too."

"Really?" I gasped, sounding totally scandalised, which was a pretty strange reaction if you were to bear in mind all that was listed on my own sexual dance card.

"Oh yeah. As I've already explained, your father is a fuck-machine. He has healthy appetites in that regard, to put it mildly. We've had plenty of three-ways together. Only with other women, of course. He's broad minded but he's not that broad minded."

"Okay, but he might look at things a little differently if he found out you were fucking me?"

"That's true. Although, Jesus, wouldn't it be hot, the three of us together? You and your father boning? Wow! I'd pay good money to see that. But you're right, he'd almost certainly freak out," she said, nodding, "so, he better not find out then."

The conversation came to a close, as she resumed feasting on my tits. Twenty minutes later, I was pounding away at her cunt with a strap-on.

That was probably the moment I consciously decided I wanted to sleep with my father. Kneeling on that bed, eight inches of rubber dick sliding in and out of Alana's pussy. Thoughts of my father in my mind. Yes, that would be hot. Earth-scorchingly hot. His big powerful body controlling mine. His strong arms wrapped round me. His dick buried to the hilt inside whatever hole he wanted to use.

But how was I going to make this happen? Alana was going to have play her part in this, whether she knew it or not.

***

So the plan I hatched was simple. I was going to let my father catch me and Alana together. And when I say together, I mean the two of us would be butt naked and fucking each other's brains out. He was going to get a front row seat of his daughter and fiancée lezzing out.

The mechanics of it all was fairly simple. I had taken to spending a lot of time at his apartment, with him alone, with Alana, or with the pair of them together. I paid a visit one afternoon, when I knew he wasn't around. On my way to their place, I stopped at a local strip-mall and bought a cheap burner phone.

I parked up outside and before getting out of my car, I typed out an anonymous message to my father: Your girlfriend is cheating on you. If you want to catch her in the act, come home now. RIGHT NOW.

For a moment, I just sat there, my finger hovering over the send button. There was no guarantee he would take the text message seriously; he might just dismiss it as some kind of weird joke. He might try ringing this strange new number, curious as to who was sending him this salacious information. He might ring Alana. Still, I took a deep breath and pressed the button. With a swooshing sound, my message disappeared into the ether.

Quickly, I clambered out of my car and walked briskly to the main entrance of the apartment block. I rang the buzzer for my father's apartment and Alana let me in, without a query. She knew I was coming round for a booty call. I got the elevator up to the third floor and walked down the hallway. Alana was stood waiting at the open door to the apartment she shared with my dad. She was wearing a short silk robe, barely tied up with a slim belt.

"Hey, Gorgeous," she said with a smile.

"Hey, Mommy," I replied, using the sexy nickname we'd been fooling around with for a few weeks now.

"You want something to drink?" She asked.

"No, I just want to fuck," I said, wrapping my arms round her neck, and kissing her deeply.

"Well, that can certainly be arranged."

We disappeared into the apartment and quickly made our way to the main bedroom. Alana's robe fell to the floor, revealing her sumptuous frame. My clothes were discarded, leaving a trail of items, much akin to the breadcrumbs Hansel and Gretel had tried to use to find their way out of the forest.

Before too long, I was lying on the bed, my naked body spreadeagled, my legs stretched wide apart. Alana was kneeling on the floor, her face buried in my cunt. She was lapping away ravenously, her tongue exploring deep between the folds of my pussy. I was fondling my breasts intently, tugging and twisting my nipples.

I was certainly enjoying myself, Alana was an accomplished muff diver, but I was definitely trying to stay alert. I wanted to listen out for any possible movement. But her tongue was just too damn effective and soon enough I was squirming and groaning, my head lolling backwards, as I descended into deep tides of sexual ecstasy.

So, despite everything, it all came as something of a surprise when I opened my eyes and saw my father stood at the doorway to the bedroom. He was towering over us, just staring. Not saying a word. Alana was still unaware of his presence and she was feverishly munching away at my gash. But eventually she became conscious of my sudden stillness and lack of response.

She pulled back, looking up at me, her face glistening with my juices. I met her eyes, then looked up my dad. She turned round and saw him.

"Fuck," she hissed.

I was not unaware of the fact that I was completely naked and my body was spread out on the bed in front of my father. My legs were stretched wide and my cunt was totally exposed. I could feel his eyes roaming all over my naked flesh, and I made not even the slightest attempt to cover up. I wanted him to see me like this, naked and aroused, my pussy twitching and pulsing.

Then he turned round and walked away down the corridor. Moments later, we heard the front door slam shut. Alana's head dropped down and I stroked her hair softly as she began crying.

***

I didn't hear from either of them for several days. After our discovery, I had quickly left and returned home. Alana said she would call me, but my phone remained silent. I pondered whether to get in touch with my father, but decided to wait for him to make a move.

Whatever plan I'd had in mind, seemed pretty stupid now. Sure, he caught me and his girlfriend having sex, but how did that help advance my long-term scheme to seduce him? Suddenly, everything I thought might have happened, seemed far-fetched and ludicrous. What had I done, other than blow up a long-term relationship between two people who loved each other?

Then, somewhat out of the blue, he turned up at my door. I was sat watching YouTube on my tablet, when I heard a knock at the door. Absentmindedly, I opened the front door of my little studio apartment, and there he was. This big hulking presence, tall and powerful, looming large in my life and my fantasies.

"Can I come in?" He asked.

"Sure," I responded.

I asked him if he wanted a drink and he declined. Then he sat down opposite me, as I perched myself on the edge of my bed. I was supremely aware of the fact that the last time he saw me on a bed, I had been stark naked, in front of him, with his fiancée's face buried in my cunt. I shivered briefly at the thought.

"So, how have you been?" I asked him.

"Fine," was his rather noncommittal response.

"And Alana?"

"She's gone."

"Gone for good?"

"Yes."

"So, the wedding?"

"Not going to happen. Hard to do when you've been betrayed."

Internally, I cheered a heartless little cheer. A reaction that was cruel and unfair, but the reaction I genuinely felt. The plan was always to get Alana out of the picture, and that seemed to have worked like a charm. She was an obstacle in my way, and now that obstacle had been removed.

"And what about me?" I asked.

"What about you?"

"Well, I betrayed you too. I'm sorry about that, by the way. But I did betray you."

"You weren't my girlfriend."

"No, I wasn't."

"Alana was a cheap slut. I always knew that, even if I told myself differently. I should never have asked her to marry me. I was grateful to her, she had been good to me after I left prison. But I never really loved her."

"And me?"

"You're my daughter. It's different. I can't let you go."

"You don't have to."

I was wearing nothing but a short robe and for a moment I considered standing up, untying that robe and letting it fall to the floor. But instead I just sat there, watching him as he stared at the floor.

"I still want you to be part of my life," he stated, calmly, "I want to be part of your life too."

"That's what I want, too. There's been this hole in my life ever since I was a child. I always knew I was missing something. Someone. That missing thing was you. Now you're here, and I almost ruined it. I'm so sorry about that. But I need you. I need you to be with me. As my...father. I don't want to ever let you go."

He almost leapt over towards me and wrapped his arms round me. We embraced, both of us weeping. Then he left, kissing me tenderly on the forehead, before walking out of the apartment. And, the moment he was gone, I tore off my robe and spent the rest of the morning with my hand between my legs, masturbating like a teenager who has only just discovered self-abuse. When I came, I screamed out one word, again and again: Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!

***

We were rarely out of each other's company after that day. In fact, we were basically inseparable. Whenever either of us had a free moment, we were together. We went out to eat with one another. We went to the beach with one another. We lived our lives almost as one.

Which would make perfect sense. We hadn't seen each other in years. He was my father and yet I barely knew him; so nothing could be more natural than us spending as much time together as possible.

But if you saw us, you would probably assume we were boyfriend and girlfriend, as opposed to parent and child. We held hands like a couple. I would rest my head on his shoulder, or wrap my arm round his waist, as we walked. We flirted with each other. When we sat in a bar or a restaurant, he would stroke my hand and gaze into my eyes.

To be honest, we were falling in love. We had been from the first second he had stepped back into my life. That powerful physical attraction - genetic sexual attraction perhaps - was always there, burning away under the surface like a fiery volcano, but we were becoming closer and closer to each other in a romantic way, too.

One evening, we were at my place, watching TV. He was sat on the couch, with his feet up on the coffee table. I was snuggling up next to him, my head on his shoulder, my arm draped across his chest. I was wearing nothing but a pair of tight shorts and a strappy top. He was wearing a linen shirt and I was toying with the buttons, my fingers slipping playfully through the gaps, tickling the hairs of his chest.

Every so often he would slap my hand and tell me to stop it. It became a running gag. My fingers would creep stealthily up his shirt, like the legs of a particularly mischievous spider. For a while I would tease him, waiting for a response. Then he would suddenly try and catch me, his hand moving to meet mine. I'd pull away just in time, and giggle uncontrollably.

Finally, he could take no more. He grabbed hold of my body and started tickling me.

"Two can play at that game, young lady!" He shouted, as I howled hysterically.

His big, muscular, tattooed arms enveloped me, as he lifted me up like a rag doll. I screamed and yelped, almost wetting myself in excitement. I squirmed around on top of him, as he tortured me relentlessly. His fingers caressing the sides of my body, his arms almost crushing me with their power and strength.

Finally, both of us panting and gasping, we stopped. I was straddling his body, my legs spread out across his waist. I could feel his hardness beneath me, pressing against my cunt. We looked at each other, neither of us saying a word. He brushed a lock of hair behind my ear and gently caressed my cheek.

This was it. This was the moment. The moment we'd been building up to ever since we met up at that restaurant a few months earlier.

I leant forward and kissed him. I pressed my lips against his. For half-a-second I wondered if I might have misjudged things, but then he responded, kissing me back. Our mouths opened and our tongues met. I could taste beer and cigarettes; and I love beer and cigarettes. I wrapped my arms round his shoulders and carried on making out with him. I could feel his hands sliding down my back, his fingers slipping under the waist of my shorts. Then he cupped my buttocks, fondling my thick, creamy rear.

I rubbed my pussy up against his erect dick, grinding against him. Our tongues pushed and probed, rolling round together in a spit-filled chamber of mutual desire. Frantically, I pulled at my top, lifting it up over my shoulders, my fat boobs unleashed and bouncing free. He gasped at the sight of them, milky-white, with my small nipples pointing out like pencil erasers.

He buried his face in my tits, diving in to all that succulent flesh. I could feel his lips against my skin, his teeth brushing against my areolae. I moaned and groaned, turned on more than I could ever remember. I was dripping wet and hornier than a teenage boy. This was what I wanted. What I had wanted for as long as Conrad O'Rourke had been in my life. And now it was happening.

But then he stopped.

Without warning, he detached himself from my nipples, strands of saliva stretching out between my breasts and his lips. He sat back, his hands pulling free from my shorts, and spreading out beside me.

"What is it?" I asked.

"We shouldn't do this, it's wrong," he said.

"It didn't feel wrong to me."

"No, sweetheart, we shouldn't. I'm your father. Fathers and daughters aren't supposed to do stuff like this."

"Oh please," I guffawed, "I'm a grown up, for God's sake. It's not like I'm a little kid. I'm an adult; I know what I want."