My boyfriend's dad

This is a true story, i'm not proud of it but it's too hot too, not tell.

For months I played the perfect housewife in a house that wasn’t mine. My boyfriend and I had a huge age gap, and we’d moved in with his dad to “save for our future.” I lost my job, so I cooked, cleaned, and tried to be everything he wanted.
He barely noticed anymore.
He came home later and later, didn’t eat my food, and hadn’t fucked me in three months. His dad, on the other hand, couldn’t stop complimenting my cooking… or the way I looked while doing it.
One afternoon I wore my favorite pink mini dress while unloading the dishwasher. The straps slipped. My full, heavy tits spilled out completely. His dad walked in right as it happened.
“Don’t look,” I whispered, scrambling to cover myself.
He looked. Slowly. Like he was starving. That night I told my boyfriend. He just shrugged. “Stay in the room if you’re scared. Dad’s not gonna do anything.”
He was so fucking wrong.
My boyfriend kept disappearing until 6 a.m. His dad started casually mentioning the security camera footage, feeding me the truth in that smooth, concerned voice. One night I was sitting on the floor in my usual spot while he lounged on the couch like a king.
“He’s never going to be the man you need,” he said softly, eyes full of fake sympathy. “You’re a good woman. You deserve better. If you stay with him… you’ll end up with nothing.”
He made it sound like he was protecting me. But his gaze lingered on my body like he already owned it. And because my boyfriend had made me feel invisible for so long, I started listening.
The next morning I tested the waters. I wore a sheer brown gown that clung to my dark skin like it was painted on. My pierced nipples poked obviously against the thin fabric. I made him heart-shaped cinnamon toast crunch with blueberries and bacon.
After he finished eating I bit my lip. “Want to see something?”
I pulled up Snapchat. That’s when I found out he had one too. I showed him my Eyes Only content with my friend — me naked, playing, teasing. His breathing got heavy. Then I stood up, slid the gown down, and let him see everything in real life.
He groaned deep in his throat. I took his rough hand and placed it on my tit. His thumb flicked my nipple ring and I whimpered.
“I talked to a coworker,” he murmured, voice thick with lust. “He said if it’s only head… it’s not really cheating.”
I didn’t need more convincing. I crawled across his lap, arched my back, and pulled out his thick cock — Coke-bottle girth with a fat mushroom head. I sucked him like I needed to prove I was worth wanting. He gripped my hair and moaned like he’d been dying for this.
That night I sent him Snap after Snap: me fingering my dripping wet ebony pussy, pinching my pierced nipples, moaning “Daddy” as I came hard. It felt so fucking ironic calling him that — the man who was supposed to be my future father-in-law. But it made me wetter than I’d been in months.
He picked my outfit for the next day: a tiny two-piece swimsuit covered in cute bears and lollipops. I did my hair in pigtails and waited on his bed like a filthy little present.
He walked in and the hunger in his eyes made my pussy throb. He pushed me back, spread my thighs, and devoured me. His tongue was relentless on my clit, thick fingers curling deep while he squeezed and played with my tits. I came so hard I shook, grinding against his face.
Then he climbed up, pressed that thick cock against me, and pushed inside. He stretched me perfectly. Short, deep strokes at first, then harder. I was creaming all over him.
“Call me her name,” I whispered, voice shaking from how dirty it felt.
He did. He moaned his own daughter’s name while he fucked me. The taboo made me explode again. Right as he was getting close, he grabbed my pigtails like handlebars — one in each fist — and started pounding me harder. I was lost in it when my dog barked. Boyfriend was home.
I scrambled off, his cum already dripping down my thighs, and changed just in time. That night my boyfriend finally wanted sex. I let him eat his dad’s load out of me and fuck me sloppy. I didn’t even feel guilty anymore.
After that we became addicted. We’d flash each other in the kitchen while my boyfriend sat in the next room with his headphones on. I’d bend over in tiny shorts so his dad could see my ass, or he’d grab his bulge when I walked by. The risk made everything hotter.
One afternoon we were on the couch whispering about going to a swingers club together. I got bold. “Are you really attracted to me?”
He smirked. “More than you know.”
My boyfriend heard everything. He dragged me to the bedroom, turned the lights off, and fucked me like he was punishing me — hard, angry, possessive. I came screaming while still thinking about his dad’s thick cock.
A few weeks later I kept slipping up, talking about his dad constantly. My boyfriend finally snapped. He grabbed me by the throat with both hands and yelled because I had “nothing to say” after obsessing over his dad all day.
Then he left for a work trip.
For the entire week his dad had me every single day. He took me shopping, on dates, fucked me wherever he wanted. I finally felt wanted.
When my boyfriend came back, he knew. “Did you sleep with my dad?”
“Yes.”
All hell broke loose. He tried to kick me out, screamed, threatened to beat my ass. His dad kept stepping between us. For two days my boyfriend packed his shit while shooting me looks that made my pussy clench.
One afternoon he came back for the last of his things while I was home alone. He didn’t speak. Just grabbed me by the throat, shoved his cock down my throat until I gagged and cried, then slapped me hard and called me every filthy name I deserved: slut, whore, homewrecker.
He threw me on the bed, fucked me missionary while staring into my eyes, flipped me over and railed me from behind. I was sobbing because it felt so fucking good and I knew I’d never have him like this again. He dragged me to the floor by my hair, made me eat his ass while he jerked off, then came deep inside me.
Afterward he held me while I cried, handed me a rosary like some twisted blessing, and walked out for good.
I kept living with his dad for a while. We went on a trip — sex and food every day. But guilt started eating at me. After one big argument I decided to leave.
Guess who helped me move? His son.
We fucked that same day — rough, angry, emotional. For three months we kept seeing each other once or twice a week. Then life pulled me in different directions.
He eventually got engaged with the ring style I had picked out. He’s living the life I once wanted.
And me? I learned one hard lesson.
Never fuck your boyfriend’s dad.