Filthy Daddy's Taboo Erotic Sex Stories

by Amira Bradford

  Over the next few weeks, Pat enjoyed the odd bout of socialising, letting me buy her drinks basically and having the feeling of being wined and dined by her younger lover. For my part, it meant regular oral sex for her with intercourse thrown in for good measure. We would still stop off in her jeep about twice a week and she stayed over at my place almost every weekend now, or I stayed with her. She likened our sexual liaisons to having a great meal then being handed the dessert menu. Often, I would bring her to orgasm then lick her gently and gradually build her up to a second orgasm, before she would let me fuck her. This was her way of saying she wanted dessert first.

  She had already commented a couple of times that she thought I was very handsome and it turned her on no end to fuck my face hard, knowing I would let her, yet other girls had no idea what a total pussy hound I was.

  Then a few weeks later, Pat was moving to another part of the business and was hosting drinks in the usual haunt in town for close colleagues and friends. As the evening wore on, people made their goodbyes until Pat was still there with just a few friends and me. The bar was quiet as it was a Thursday and having the Friday off meant Pat had picked a week night to have drinks. Of course, most people were working the next day hence the bar slowly quietening down. At one point I was speaking to her as she about to use the women's toilet when without warning she grabbed my hand and ventured in. It was empty and she proceeded straight to the end stall, of which there were only 3. I was slightly worried about being thrown out by a bouncer at this point, but Pat was drunk and past caring. She used the loo quickly then stood up, ushering me to sit on the toilet lid. When she realised this wouldn't have me at waist height, she had me kneel instead and held back her knickers with a gleam of arousal in her eye.

  "Hurry up" she urged and did I ever.

  Part of me had to admit this was exciting but another part of me thought about being caught and reasoned speed was of the essence. However, alcohol has a funny way of delaying orgasm and Pat was only halfway there when the main door opened and we heard voices. A few girls were together and none of the voices sounded familiar but I could hear a discussion about make up and then some of the cubicle doors near us being slammed shut. One girl seemed to still be at the mirror as her voice was further away and they kept up a conversation. The girl must have approached the cubicle we were in because she tried the door and that's when I realised Pat hadn't bothered to lock it. To her credit, Pat didn't panic too much but the girl let out a silent gasp. Pat shrugged her shoulders in apology and dropping her skirt, simply walked out of the cubicle and headed for the exit. I hurriedly scrambled to my feet to follow when the girl gasped again; it was someone I was at school with and she was probably only 2 years older than me. She didn't look embarrassed, just really surprised as it was evident I had been performing oral sex on an older woman. I went bright red as I mumbled a whispered apology and followed Pat to the door. Once there, I pretended to be on my mobile so that it may have just looked as if I'd stumbled into the wrong door whilst talking but no one seemed to notice. I assumed Pat would want to leave immediately but instead she asked me to get a round of drinks in for her, Hazel and Tracey, who were still out with her. I did so and walking back to the table, I saw my old school colleague with her friends. She perhaps hadn't told them what she had witnessed as none of them gaped at me, but she smiled a knowing smile and stopped to talk.

  "Long time no see" she quipped sarcastically.

  "Um, hi Lynsey. So you still live in town then?" I asked.

  "Yeah. You bought a flat near the park last I heard, didn't you?" she asked me.

  "Yeah. Good investment. Well, I'd best be going" I stammered.

  "Sure. Hey, my friend Jenny, she's the one over there wearing the red skirt and white blouse. Well, she really likes you. Don't worry I won't say anything about what you were up to she's a great girl. She usually goes running in the park every Monday" she added, smiling as she walked off.

  I was intrigued and slightly turned on. Jennifer wasn't a classic beauty, rather a girl with a fairly sexy body and long dark hair, 2 or 3 years older than me. I wondered if she meant something innocent and then reasoned I should forget whatever it was as Pat would be furious if I even looked at anyone else.

  The End.

  Running Late

  Oh. My. Goodness. Was she seeing what she thought she was seeing? Creeping closer in the darkness, she realized she was, and while disturbing to watch, she felt her pussy twitch. Watching for a bit longer, until she felt sure she had to be back or be caught, she slowly and quietly made her way back to the street.

  She had recently moved to the neighborhood, a really nice neighborhood, almost at the end of the cul-de-sac. Kids playing on lawns, dogs barking, birds singing and more than a few squirrels running up and down the White Oak trees had attracted her to the neighborhood. She drove through a few times, at different times of the day, to get a feel for it and see if she liked it enough to settle here. She'd noticed that people waved at you as you drove by, even though they didn't know you. And they genuinely smiled when they did, so it didn't feel like their eyes were just following you to see what interloper was driving through their quiet neighborhood. In particular, one day, she saw what had to be one of the hottest guys she'd seen in a long time. Dark hair and eyes, olive complexion, tall and well built but not overly muscled. And he was mowing his lawn. Shirtless. Yum. She'd never thought those goofy, long plaid shorts were sexy, but man, he'd make a flour sack look good.

  He smiled and waved, smiling even more broadly when she slowed down and waved back. She took the opportunity to stop and offer him a bottle of water from the little cooler she carried in the car. Drinking so much water every day was too expensive to stop at every convenience store and inconvenient when she had places to go, so she started carrying a few bottles of her favorite brand with her, icy cold in the morning and at the perfect chilled but not too cold temperature by mid-day. Which was now. She appraised him with her eyes as he approached the car, glad that the sun was opposite him so that not only could he not really see the lust in her eyes, but she wasn't blinded by the same light that hid the open emotion on her face. He introduced himself as Frank, thanked her for the water, and gave her another treat as he threw his head back to down half the bottle at once, the muscles of his stomach and chest undulating with his gulps.

  She realized that she was almost eye-level with his crotch, and even though the baggy shorts hid any indication of what he had, her vivid imagination filled in the blanks. When he finally quenched his immediate thirst, he yanked a towel out of his back pocket, wiped his face and chest then his hands, and put the right one out for a shake. She reached out with her own right hand, realizing that when she did so, the shifting in her seat made her respectable length skirt ride up just a bit and at the same time caused her breasts to get pushed together, giving him a perfect view of her cleavage. They chatted for a bit, her mentioning two houses for sale in the neighborhood she was looking at, and another about a half a mile away that she was also considering. He gave her the rundown of the area, letting her know that in about 8 months, construction was going to begin on a man-made lake connected to this street, causing property values to skyrocket.

  That day was six months ago, and while she and Frank chatted when she saw him out cutting grass on the weekends, she never did see much of him otherwise. Which was disappointing, and one of the reasons she had decided to start jogging in the neighborhood. It was perfect for a good run; slightly hilly, exactly a mile from the main highway to the end, full of people out during daylight hours which made her feel safe, and had lots of trees lining the street so that she had a good bit of shade to run in. Hopefully, she'd see him out and be able to make more conversation, maybe more intimate than just a handshake and a cold bottle of water on a hot day. She also felt good about herself since jogging also helped her tone up a bit and drop a few pounds. Not that she didn't already look good; she overheard the comments all the time about how men like a woman with
a little 'meat on her bones' and cushion for the pushin' and all that. All her extra weight was in her ass, which was a good place for it to be. It gave her a rounded, luscious look in jeans, accentuating her small waist and nice boobs. Full lips, but not Angelina Jolie full, a nice, straight nose, and some big, blue eyes completed the picture. She'd always been told she looked like an owl as a baby with those huge eyes, and after investing in some MAC makeup and a few tutorials, she knew exactly how to apply her makeup to accentuate those baby blues.

  Her friendly, outgoing personality and willingness to discuss any subject helped. It had gotten her in trouble a few times, once waking to find herself tied up with pantyhose and being spanked with a spatula by a guy she met in a bar. He'd drugged her drink, taken her back to her place and raped her, thinking she wanted that when she got into a discussion with him about BTK killers, her love of cooking, and how she thought it was wonderfully innovative that during wartime in the '40s, women drew hose seams on their legs with eyebrow pencils because of rationing. She guessed when some people put two and two together they get five. He untied her, cried profusely, apologized repeatedly and called the police on himself. She found out later that he was mentally unstable and was not taking his medications. She had herself checked out, and overall was fine. No STDs, although she had some interesting bruises from the spatula on her ass, scratches on her thighs, and had obviously been sodomized. She found he had recorded part of the rape on her cellphone, but being embarrassed by the entire situation, and the fact that he had turned himself in, she never shared it with the police. It was bad enough when she found it and started to watch her assault. It was in snippets, just a few minutes at a time of her weird and disturbing night.

  What bothered her the most was not how gentle he was with her; making sure that her ties weren't tight enough to hurt her, having sex with her physically willing but mentally incapable body as though he dearly loved her, and spanking her as in the most enjoyable sex game. What disturbed her most was how much she wasn't disturbed by the entire thing. How she actually got turned on watching him spank her and sweetly abuse her. What she tried not to think about was how much she had always wanted a man to do those things to her but how dirty it would be to ask. How she wanted to be tied up. How she wanted to have her ass spanked until it was warm and pink and then filled with a hard cock. How she wanted all those things but couldn't ask for them. How she was almost sorry that she hadn't been conscious, but if she had been, none of it would have happened. So torn.

  So here she was today, after having moved into the neighborhood, fitted herself into a good life, and found a way to release some pent-up energy while doing her body some good. She wished she would see Frank again, and that would make her life better even even if it just gave her fuel for her fantasies. She had deleted the videos from her phone, but she didn't need to see them to see them. It was late evening, much later than it usually was when she went jogging, well into dusk. She didn't worry about creeps or thugs and didn't want to get out of the habit of her daily run, so she put on her shoes, her running pants and a sportsbra with a loose tank over it, and took off. It was on her way back home, right before the last curve before the straightaway that she lived on, that she heard people talking. She was amazed at how sound carried out in the country without the city to drown it out. She couldn't hear enough to have joined the conversation, but she did hear a man and a woman, the man speaking quite forcefully, the woman much lower, and an occasional smacking sound.

  Her concern was domestic violence. There was no way that she would let a man hit a woman in her presence and not do anything about it. Hell no. She didn't want to make a bad situation worse by running full speed into it, so she quietly crept from the street, across the lawn, down the side of the house and peeked around the corner into the screened, covered patio. What she saw froze her in her tracks. Was she seeing what she thought she was? Oh. My. Goodness.

  There was Frank. Naked. He looked like Adonis. In front of him was a woman, blindfolded and bent over a low table, also naked. She was tied to the table by her wrists with padded straps. In one hand he had a small leather paddle and in the other, his cock. It wasn't huge, but it was bigger than any of the ones she'd had. His hand wrapped around the shaft, stroking it tightly and slowly, the veins rising up on it, the head shiny and bulbous. When she heard him say, "Now it's going in your ass." she gasped, suddenly realizing how loud her own breathing sounded, and made her way back to the street. By the time she made it back to her house, her panties were soaked. Just the rubbing of her thighs in the fitted pants with the picture of Frank in her head had made her almost lose control on the way home. She undressed on the way to the shower, leaving her clothes in a trail on the floor.

  In the shower, the cool water on her hot skin did nothing to cool her emotions. She washed her hair, taking extra time, trying to keep her hands and her mind off of her body. The thought of being the woman tied to the table became too much when she finished washing her hair and started to soap her body. Her thighs trembled as she brushed the washcloth over them and her nipples hardened enough to be almost painful with just her arms crossing over them to wash the rest of her body. When she reached between her thighs to wash, she exploded, her body overtaken by the sudden, violent orgasm, her clitoris hard and pulsing, her puckered rosebud tingling, and her nipples throbbing. Images of Frank fucking her played like a movie that she was a part of while at the same time watching. Her knees buckled and she fell in slow motion to the shower floor, overcome by the intensity of it all. She lay there for a bit, finally getting out of the shower, wrapping a towel around her and crawling to bed. Her dreams were the same as her shower. She woke, tangled in the sheet, naked, with her body still humming. Considering how wet she was when she got up to pee, she had to have had at least a couple of really wet dreams that she couldn't even remember. She put it out of her mind as best she could so that she could get on with the things she had to do that day.

  No matter how well she controlled it during the day, keeping her mind as busy as her body, at night, she was a servant to her desires. Every day she woke up tired, her pussy drenched, a vague smell of sex in the air. How could she hope to even look at Frank again if she saw him?

  Three days later, she found out. Out for her evening jog, he was doing some work around the side of his house. He called to her, but she acted as though she didn't hear him. He called to her again, got no response and went back to his business. She made the run up to the main highway and was on her way back when she saw him standing by the street just before the final turn. There was no way to avoid him, and she didn't want to seem unsociable, so she slowed and tried to act as though she didn't want to break her stride, talked to him while slowly moving past, and tried to get away. It was no use; as she turned her head to acknowledge him and make nice, she tripped and fell. He quickly moved to catch her, succeeding in keeping her from landing face down on the street, but causing her to land face down on him. She managed to not hurt herself other than scraping her palms on the asphalt. He bolted into action, getting up, helping her up, and over her objections, taking her around the side of the house to clean her scrapes. Her insistence that she would be fine until she got to her house and would take care of her hands then was of no consequence. He bodily carried her along, her ability to move away gone with the closeness of him. He smelled vaguely of fabric softener and musk. She could smell the slight tang of perspiration from working outside, and could smell her own arousal on top of it all. She wondered if he could, too.

  Rounding the back corner of the house, she froze at the sight of the little table, innocuous with a cold glass of water sweating on it, and a hand towel next to it. She felt her pussy throb at the thought of her sweating on that table and missed a step. Taking that as a sign that she had hurt herself more than she was letting on, he let her over to a chair and sat her down. He went to get her a glass of water and when he came back and handed it to her, she realized that for the second time in her life, she was almo
st eye level with his crotch. Only this time she knew what he had, and upon picturing it, she gasped. He dropped to his knees in front of her, taking her left hand to inspect it. He was close to her; his body invading the space between her thighs, and she knew he could smell her arousal. Her eyes darted to the little table with a knowing look and he saw it and smiled slightly. He became very perfunctory, getting some antibacterial cream and bandages, cleaning her hands, taking both the glasses inside, wiping down the table and sending her home. He told her as he walked her partway home that he would check on her later. He refused to hear that she would be fine and didn't need checking on.

  Two hours later, after a shower and a small snack, the doorbell rang. It was him, carrying a bottle of wine, two glasses, and the tube of antibacterial cream. She was in her robe, but he insisted that he come in to check on her and share the wine to make up for distracting her enough to make her fall. Her insistence that she was fine and that she was getting ready to go to bed was completely dismissed. He found a comfortable spot, poured them each a half a glass, and told her not to worry about the robe, that it covered more of her than her jogging clothes did anyway.

  Half a bottle of wine later, her nervousness was overtaken by good conversation. He turned out to be well-read, smart and funny. Not pretentious, just one of those people who knows enough about almost any subject to hold a good, intelligent conversation. Not sure how it even happened, how the subject came up, she touched on her rape. It was long enough ago that she could talk about it, leaving out the most intimate, embarrassing details. He drew enough out of her to come to the conclusion that it wasn't the traumatic experience that rape usually was, and she ended up telling him more than she had ever told anyone before. While she could hide some of what had happened, she couldn't hide the flush that involuntarily crept up her chest, showing past the V of her robe, to her neck, coloring her cheeks with a rosy blush when she talked about being tied up and spanked. She left out the part about getting it in the ass; that was just too much. They talked a bit longer, finally satisfying his need to know that she was fine, and he left. He hugged her, kissed her forehead like a little girl being put to bed, reminded her to lock the door and left.