Some readers might find this interesting, but others may be scandalised by the contents, especially as it involves my stepdaughter and me letting our desires get the better of common sense. Under normal circumstances, this incident should never have happened, but sometimes life throws one a curve ball that could never be anticipated. Whatever, it's my story, and I'll tell it as it happened.

Although an introvert, I've always been open and honest about the things that have shaped my life, but only if I'm asked: I don't go around advertising the facts, particularly when it comes to sex. However, there are a few occasions when I've consumed too much alcohol and let my guard down. Then, for better or worse, I confess my sins for all to hear. And at a recent dinner party, that's precisely what happened.

Initially, I hadn't wanted to go because the hosts bore me to death, but I had no choice as they were Wifey's best friends. However, my mood improved somewhat when Andrea and Peter, my wife's daughter and our son-in-law, also arrived. 

I say 'somewhat' because although they were family, Andrea and her hubby, like our hosts and nearly all the other guests, are fanatical bodybuilders, a sport I have absolutely no interest in. I've no problem with people keeping themselves in shape; I exercise regularly, much more these days than I ever did when I was younger, however, this crowd spent excessive amounts of time at the sports school narcissistically building their bodies into ridiculous proportions. Being more of an intellectual person, I prefer to expand my mind, not my biceps. 

 oØo

When Wifey and I first met, Andrea was at university, so we didn't meet until much later. However, when I was introduced to Andrea, I found it hard to believe Andrea was Wifey's daughter.

Whereas my wife is of average height, Andrea towers over me by at least three inches, and at five feet ten, I'm not exactly a dwarf. Wifey keeps her hair short, but Andrea has the long blonde, flowing locks usually associated with ladies from Scandinavian countries. Both are attractive, but while Wifey has accepted middle age with dignity, she still looks great; Andrea continually tries to stop the ravages of time. Although she is not from my loins, one couldn't wish for a better daughter. She's beautiful, intelligent, and just as generous as her mother. In fact, Andrea is almost perfect apart from her obsession with the 'body beautiful'. I say almost because there is one thing — well, two if we take things literally — that I can't help thinking weren't the improvement Andrea hoped them to be. And although it's only my opinion, I've always maintained that her natural breasts were much nicer than the present silicone monstrosities.

This so-called enhancement, combined with the punishing training regime, has given her a figure many women would envy. And despite being a mother of two beautiful, not quite teenage granddaughters, Andrea's wardrobe contains outfits that accentuate and display her curves and long, toned legs because, in her words, "It would be a shame to keep the benefits of her hard work under wraps."

Low tops, tight pants, daring dresses, and short skirts are all par for the course, and if what I've witnessed over the years is anything to go by, then her underwear wouldn't look out of place at Victoria's Secret. Before your outrage condemns me as a pervert, let me explain. One way or another, Andrea's outfits tend to reveal more than most women would want. Whether accidental or deliberate, whenever she sits down or leans forward, my stepdaughter has an unfortunate habit of flashing her undergarments with alarming regularity.

When she wears one, the bras are mostly the push-up variety, giving her bosom an uplift that almost defies gravity. And because some of her skirts are too short, a flash of her knickers is not uncommon. Whether these 'accidents' are deliberate or not, everybody turns to look at her whenever Andrea enters a room.

oØo

The dinner party was going as badly as one may expect. Although I was doing my best to stay hidden in the shadows, metaphorically speaking, I was pretty successful until the discussion turned to sex. Even though I tried to keep out of the conversation, fate had other plans for me. Because I was only half-listening, I didn't hear how the topic got around to anal intercourse, but Tracy, one of our host's more obnoxious girlfriends, pontificated that if a man took it up the arse, then he had to be gay.

This view was enthusiastically embraced by most of the testosterone-filled bodybuilders and blonde bimbos. Listening to the poor creatures bandying their homophobic opinions back and forth, I pitied their small-mindedness. As the discussion progressed, it was plain most of them had no fundamental knowledge of the subject and were simply repeating things they'd probably heard elsewhere. Sipping my black Russian, I smiled condescendingly into my glass.

Unhappily, I hadn't considered the fact that Tracy, not satisfied with keeping her opinions to herself, would hold a vote on the subject. She began asking everyone at the table for their opinion and fearing the inevitable and dreading the unavoidable, I silently awaited my turn.

"How do you feel about anal sex, Daniel?" she asked with a nasty smirk.

Taking a sip of my drink, I swilled the potent beverage around my mouth, savouring the different flavours, and contemplated my answer. Considering our mutual dislike, I knew Tracy would disagree with anything I said out of bloody-mindedness, so I chose my words carefully.

"Well, Tracy, that depends on whether one is a recipient or bestower of the anal interaction," I replied mildly.

"What are you talking about," she snorted.

"What I'm saying, my dear Tracy, is to form an objective and valid opinion, one must first know from what aspect one is talking about, and in that respect..."

"For fuck sake, Daniel, why can't you just answer the question? It was simple enough, would you let another man fuck your arse?"

Frowning, I sighed, not because she had rudely interrupted me but because of how biased she sounded.

"Oh, and here I was thinking you wanted to hear my opinion on anal sex." I saw Tracy open her mouth to speak again, and I raised a finger. "Tracy, if you ask me a question, then please do me the honour of listening to what I have to say." It was gratifying to see her indignantly shut her mouth. "As I was saying, all I wanted to know is in which respect I should have answered... as one receiving or bestowing anal intercourse. I didn't realise you were only asking if I'd let another man, as you so eloquently put it, 'fuck my arse'."

Luckily, I wasn't sitting closer to her because her acid glare could have killed me at six paces. "However," I continued, "for your information, Tracy… no, I wouldn't."

My antagonist raised her eyebrows and hands in a 'finally' gesture, but I wasn't finished.

"However, if we're talking about anal sex as a means of deriving pleasure, then I'd have to say it's a rather enjoyable way to spend an evening."

Tracy stared blankly as my words sank into her thick skull. "Are you fucking gay?" she spat.

"No," I replied calmly. "All I'm saying is that men can be the recipient of anal intercourse without being in a homosexual relationship. The paths to sexual pleasure are many and varied, and just because you have probably never travelled them, doesn't mean they don't exist."

I gave Tracy an enigmatic smile and resumed drinking while watching her tiny bimbo brain try to comprehend what I'd said.

Giving me a look that would have made a king cobra proud, Tracy moved on to the following person sitting next to me. She repeated her original question while I sat contemplating what had just happened. Admittedly, the cosy ambience of the dinner party was somewhat fractured, but I could do nothing about that.

I bear no shame from my past, particularly as I can't change it. Of course, Wifey wasn't too pleased with what had happened, not because she hadn't known about my history, but because everybody was now looking at her. Never having sought attention to herself, my outburst had evidently given some around the table a reason to judge her despite them not knowing anything about our private lives. Not that it mattered, because after a few minutes, the in-crowd was discussing another topic, and my contribution to the conversation was already forgotten.

Or so I thought.

oØo

I was working night shifts, so I usually arrived home around seven in the morning. During such weeks, I would generally eat breakfast with Wifey before she went to work, leaving me to clean up the mess and check my emails. Then, I would shower and go to bed.

That fateful day was no different. I was in the shower rinsing off the shampoo when I heard a door being opened and closed. Assuming it was Wifey returning because she'd forgotten something, I continued showering and didn't give it another thought. After drying myself, I was crossing the hallway to the bedroom when I heard someone calling me.

However, it wasn't wifey.

"Andrea, is that you?"

"Yes, I'm in the kitchen."

While my mind raced, I said I'd be down in a second and suggested she make coffee. After quickly pulling on tracksuit bottoms sans boxers and a white t-shirt, I joined Andrea as she put a mug of rich brown liquid on the kitchen table. I greeted her with the usual kiss on the cheek and was immediately intoxicated by her spine-tingling, musky perfume. I noticed her eyes sparkling like diamonds, and not for the first time in the last few minutes, I wondered what she was doing here. 

"So, to what do I owe this pleasure?" I said, sitting at the table. "Shouldn't you be out and about cutting peoples' hair?"

I took in her outfit while Andrea moved to the chair opposite and had to stop myself from staring. Her loose, thin blouse and tight leggings left little to the imagination, and the sharp outline of knickers and what seemed to be a patterned lace bra were clearly visible. My curiosity grew. As I've said, Andrea's wardrobe is more daring than most, but this outfit looked more suitable for a night on the town than a casual visit to family.

Feeling my cock stir, I knew 'sans boxers' hadn't been such a good idea.

"Your mum's at work? Is there something wrong?" I was genuinely concerned.

A warm smile and a quick shake of the head reassured me — but watching Andrea bite her lip, I sensed she was struggling with something, so I waited — Impatiently, I might add.

"Last Saturday, at the dinner party, you said something that intrigued me."

"What exactly?"

"When Tracy asked you about anal sex, you said something about men enjoying it without being gay. What did you mean by that?"

Momentarily taken aback by the subject and who was enquiring, I almost spilt my coffee. Still, I have always been open and honest with Andrea, and I wasn't about to lie now.

I nodded. "Why the sudden interest?"

"Who said it was sudden," she countered, surprising me yet again. "I saw it once in a porn movie and..."

"You watch porn?" I couldn't help interrupting, but the disbelief in my voice produced an indulgent smile on my stepdaughter's face.

"Not really, I prefer having sex to watching it, but I'm not anti-porn." 

I let her comment slide and continued. "Oh, sorry, you were saying," I apologised, gesturing for her to go on. 

"Anyway, I once saw a video of a man being pegged, and it turned me on?" Red spots on her cheeks appeared, and I didn't dwell on the fact she'd revealed a detail of her private life that, in hindsight, should have stayed private.

"Does Peter know about this?"

Andrea's long blonde mane shook vigorously while she smiled sheepishly.

"No, I've never told him," she admitted. "I once asked what he thought of men being pegged by women, and his fierce response quickly shattered any illusions I had. After that, I dared not tell him how much it turned me on. But, between you and me," Andrea stared into my eyes, "the thought of pegging a guy gets me so wet, I can barely keep my hands from my knickers."

I blinked and held my breath at this candid admission.

"After that row, I never mentioned it again," she lamented, gazing at the table surface. Then she looked up at me. "However, what I heard last Saturday intrigued me, so I thought I'd come and find out what you meant —"

"What I meant?" I interrupted, trying to keep my voice steady, but it wasn't easy with my pulse racing like a Formula One car.

"Well, from what I heard on Saturday, you know a lot about the subject, or am I barking up the wrong tree?"

"Questions, always questions," I muttered, unsure what to do next. Until now, nothing untoward had happened, and part of me wanted it to stay that way. However, a dark, powerful craving that I once knew surged to the front of my brain and halted all cognitive thought. 

"What do you want me to say, Andrea?" I stared at her. "I could tell everything I know, but you do realise that once Pandora is out of the box, there's no going back." 

As I spoke, all sorts of wild scenarios were racing through my brain, and against my better judgment, I hoped she wouldn't back down — and damn the consequences.

Andrea nodded enthusiastically, explaining she was old and wise enough to make her own decisions. Then, looking like a cat that had stolen the cream, she waited for me to continue.

Taking a deep breath, I explained that a former girlfriend had been into pegging, and when she asked if I wanted to try it, I agreed, purely to satisfy my curious mind. However, I discovered that I actually liked it." I smiled at Andrea. "Although the relationship lasted only a few months, pegging became an integral part of our sex life." 

I wasn't ashamed of my past, but my cheeks flushed as I added, "And I experienced the most amazing orgasms when she pegged me."

Andrea listened attentively, her expressions changing from shock to amusement and then to amazement, but she didn't interrupt.

"Hmmm, I know what you mean," she said when I finally stopped talking. I stopped breathing for a second as her words sank into my brain.

"Wow, but I thought..." I began, secretly wondering if I had stepped into the twilight zone. 

"Just because Peter doesn't like anal sex doesn't mean I should go without, does it?" Andrea responded, raising an eyebrow inquisitively.

"I'm sorry, Andrea; I didn't mean to insult you or anything, but I just..."

"Just what?" She interrupted me with a giggle.

My mind raced, trying to find a way out of the hole I was digging for myself.

"What I meant was..."

I shut up as Andrea's impish grin showed she was laughing at me. "Me enjoying anal sex isn't something that I shout about from the rooftops," she said. "I don't want people getting the wrong impression of me, do I?"

"And the wrong impression is what?" I asked playfully.

"That I cheat on Peter because he can't satisfy me in that way."

"And would you cheat on Peter?"

"Maybe, back in the day, but that was before we had children. Nowadays, when I'm in the mood, I'll turn on the laptop and use a vibrator to replace Peter."

I did my best to ignore the regretful tone, but knowing Peter's possessiveness, I had to ask the obvious question. "Does he know you're here?" Looking into her lap, she shook her head. 

"No, and I'd like to keep it that way. As far as he's concerned, I'm at work, and that's all he needs to know."

Our gazes met, and I smiled." So, why are you here then?"

I knew it was a rather direct question, but Andrea's arousing demeanour suggested she hadn't just come to discuss my sexual past. After taking a sip of coffee, she set her cup on the table and looked me in the eye. "Do you find me attractive, Daniel?"

I nodded, then pointed towards her huge boobs, "Andrea, apart from those two monstrosities, you are without doubt one of the most attractive women I know, and I'm not saying that because of who you are."

She slid her hands enticingly over her breasts. "Don't you like these?" she asked.

The overtly sexual gesture was a turn-on, but I shook my head. "Andrea, whatever possessed you to get a boob job? You had such lovely perky breasts when I first met you."

"Peter loves big tits," she said quickly. "His ex-wife was small-breasted... and I didn't want my little girlies reminding him of her. So I decided to —" thrusting her chest forward, she caressed the huge mounds again, "make sure he wouldn't have a reason to leave me. I know they're too big, and sometimes they give me an excruciating backache, but it seemed like a good idea at the time."

This provocative behaviour caused her nipples to harden, and I found it ironic that we were discussing something she'd done in the past to ensure Peter didn't leave her while contemplating something that could end up with both of us getting divorced if the truth ever came out. It didn't stop my cock from swelling.

"You do know what men think about when they see those things?" I asked with a smirk.

Andrea tilted her head to one side, a knowing smile brightening her face. "Yes, of course I do old man; I'm not stupid. Gets me hot," she admitted. "Haven't you ever thought about sticking your cock between these beauties," she added, cupping her breasts and pointing them at me.

"Do you mean have I ever fantasised about fucking them until I cum?" For a brief second, Andrea closed her eyes. Licking her lips, she nodded before speaking. 

"Hmmm, what woman wouldn't want that?"

Surprised again, it was my turn to grin sheepishly. "Okay, I won't lie. I have, once or twice, wondered what...