Chrissy's sitting far too close to me on the couch. Though my son went to bed an hour ago, his girlfriend has remained in the living room, insisting she and I finish off the bottle of wine.

I try to look everywhere but at her. When she and Wesley arrived at my house earlier that day, I had to hide my surprise at her outfit. Beneath an unbuttoned Oxford shirt, she wore a black bustier with a sweetheart neckline. Her jeans made the top only a little less risque.

For his part, Wesley didn't seem to care how she looked; he barely spoke to her. The two of them recently moved into an apartment five hours from my house. I'm guessing they won't be living together long. 

After dinner, I heard them arguing. I tried not to eavesdrop, but the anguish in Chrissy's voice made me halt outside their closed door.

"I know you're sleeping with her!" she wailed. 

"Oh, for God's sake, stop it!" Wesley shot back. I was shocked by his vicious tone. "You're the one who carries on like a whore whenever my friends are around."

I understand that Chrissy is now here with me, and not in bed with my son, out of sheer spite. I should wish her a good night and head to my own room. 

But I stay right where I am. Even as she begins shrugging off the Oxford shirt, I don't move. 

"The wine has made me flushed," she says. Her dark blonde hair falls past her shoulders in waves. She is beautiful, more beautiful than she realizes. 

I recall the way she reached for Wesley's hand when he left the room earlier. Desperately, she willed him to acknowledge her. But he maneuvered away from her touch, speaking only to me as he said, "See you in the morning." 

I don't doubt he's cheating on her. The poor woman is being led along by a string, kept in play as a backup plan in case his new affair fizzles out. I know my son well, for he's much like me.

Maybe I'm envious of all he has. Maybe I let Chrissy inch nearer due to my own spite.

She places her hand on my thigh. Immediately, my cock twitches beneath my shorts. 

"You can get more comfortable if you want, Patrick." Her lashes are lowered, and her voice takes on a playful note.

"Oh, I'm plenty comfortable," I say, then drink the last of my wine.

She takes the glass from my hand and sets it aside. "But I'm still hot."

I follow her downward gaze to the blush spreading over her chest. Guilt and desire war within me as I turn in her direction. "What should we do about that?"

Raising her head, she meets my stare. "How about this?"

I gasp when she tugs down her bustier to reveal her breasts. The nipples, a soft rose hue, are begging to be touched. My dick instantly responds, working its way to full hardness.

"And this." Chrissy climbs to her feet and hurries to remove her jeans.

"We shouldn't..." It's not remorse making me say that. Instead, I fear my son will wake and catch his girlfriend nearly naked with me.

But my God, she's wearing the sexiest thong panties. Turning in a slow circle, she shows me that perfect ass. 

Once she faces me again, her gaze drops. My erection is noticeable now, and Chrissy definitely notices.

"Take it out," she urges. 

I'm breathing faster; my hands shake with longing. "You want to see my cock?"

Vehemently nodding, she moves to sit next to me again. Ah fuck, she's on her hands and knees!

I rush to free my dick. I can't help but feel a surge of pride at the way it springs forth, ready and eager. 

"It's big," she whispers. "Bigger than Wesley's."

I flinch at her words, then remind myself she might be lying. She could be saying that out of spite, too.

"You want to touch it?" I whisper back.

In reply, she wraps her fingers around my shaft. Leaning back against the couch, I release a faint moan. I feel her breath wafting over my tip. Unable to stop myself, I place a hand on the back of her head. I guide her down, and she readily submits.

Her mouth is warm and wet, her technique expert. 

"Good girl," I murmur.

My praise makes her even more determined, and she's soon taking me deeper with little more than a muted gag. I play with her nipple, rolling it between my fingers as her head bobs up and down. Spit leaks down the length of my dick. I wish I'd thought to do some manscaping.

"Fuuucck!" I groan when my cockhead pops into her throat. That delicious constriction makes my balls tighten. As a divorced man in his early fifties, I haven't had a proper blowjob in ages. And here this angel is, worshipping my dick!

It's only fair that I warn her. "I'm getting close, baby. Too close."

Chrissy pulls off and then sits up with a triumphant smile. Her lips are swollen from being stretched around my cock. When she slides into my lap, I offer no argument. 

"I need you inside me." She's almost panting. 

"It isn't right," I force myself to say. "You and Wesley..."

It seems nothing will dissuade her (not that I'm trying hard to change her mind). I have to bite back a cry of sheer bliss when she pulls the crotch of her panties aside and lowers her pussy onto my waiting cock. Shit, I'm not gonna last! 

She settles all the way down upon me, her tits in my face. The bustier, trapped under them, provides a gorgeous scaffolding. I can't resist gathering her breasts in my hands and pressing them together. They're large enough so that her nipples almost touch, and I try to envelope both in my mouth. While I hungrily lick and suck, nibble and bite, my dick throbs within her hot walls. 

"Patrick," she whimpers, "you feel so good!"

I moan in reply, reluctant to stop suckling. I have to remind myself not to mark her skin. 

It's then that Chrissy begins riding me. Her movements don't contain much grace, for she's clearly intent on reaching orgasm as soon as possible. But she's tight, so tight, sliding up and down my dick. She lets out a whine with each bounce, as if I'm hurting her. Yet her expression is one of rapture.

Beneath her, I do little more than fondle her tits. She's the one fucking me, harder and faster. 

"Ooh, you're stretching my pussy!" she squeals. I weave my fingers through her hair and pull her to me for a kiss in order to keep her quiet.

Just a minute later, I'm forced to choke out, "I'm gonna come!"

Chrissy's so wet that her pussy makes a squelching sound every time she drops back down onto my body. It's as though she doesn't hear my words. 

"Chrissy," I say in a firmer voice, "you need to stop, or I'm going to come inside you."

"I want you to!" She bites her lower lip, continuing to ride me like a practiced whore.

And I'm desperate to fill her. It's wrong—all of this is wrong—but I don't have the strength to deny my most craven desire.

"Come inside my pussy, Daddy!" she cries, dangerously loud. 

That serves as my undoing. My muscles strain, and my jaw tightens. A helpless growl emerges from between my clenched teeth. 

She climaxes with a fierce shudder, and not a moment too soon. It's all the permission I need to flood her irresistible cunt. Her eyes widen at the feel of my dick pulsing, and at the way I try to thrust upward and further impale her.  

Only when Chrissy is sure I'm spent does she ease off my lap and lie down on the couch. Catching my breath, I watch as she spreads her legs. Again, the damp crotch of her panties is tugged aside, and I can see my semen seeping out of her well-fucked hole.

The evidence of my wrongdoing makes me sick with regret. But I know if she were to come to me later in the night, ready for more, I'd do it again. 

"I needed that so much," she sighs, a satisfied smile lingering on her lips. 

The couch will have cum stains I'll need to clean before Wesley wakes. Still, I take my time drawing Chrissy into my arms and kissing her mouth. 

"You won't tell him, will you?" I whisper. "Even if you get angry?"

"Of course not! I promise this will be our secret." She gives me a final hug, and even allows me to fondle her tits a little more, before saying, "Good night, Daddy."

When she and Wesley join me in the kitchen for breakfast the following morning, they seem to have made up from their fight. To her credit, Chrissy acts like I'm nothing more than her boyfriend's dad. She gives no sign about what we did last night. 

Along with a blatant sense of relief, I feel resentment toward my son slowly return. I'm not proud of the twisted way I relish the fact that I fucked his girlfriend while he slept. 

For the rest of the summer, I work to put the transgression out of my mind. When Wesley finally calls in late August, I've almost succeeded in forgiving myself. 

"I have some news," he tells me.

I expect him to let me know about a promotion at work; he's quickly climbing the corporate ladder.

"Chrissy's pregnant," my son continues.

My breath hitches in my chest. I swear my heart stops beating for several seconds. Yet I manage to say, semi-convincingly, "That's wonderful! How far along is she?"

Upon hearing his answer, I quickly do the math in my head. It adds up. Squeezing my eyes shut, I ask, "And you're both happy about this?"

"We are," Wesley says. "She and I have had our rough patches, but we want to make this work. I'm going to ask her to marry me."

I have to suppress a groan. "Congratulations, son. Please give Chrissy my best."

"Actually, we were hoping to visit over Labor Day weekend. She thinks the world of you, Dad."

The idea of my soon-to-be daughter-in-law under my roof again should fill me with contrition. But even as I try to muster up a sufficient amount of shame, my cock stirs. 

"Of course," I tell Wesley. Disgracefully, I stroke myself through my pants as I imagine being inside Chrissy a second time. "You two are always welcome here."