Sienna was the kind of cheerleader who turned heads without even trying. At 20 years old, standing at 5 feet 5 inches, she had a body that screamed temptation—curves in all the right places, with perky C-cup breasts that strained against her tight uniform top, a narrow waist that flared into hips made for grabbing, and an ass that bounced with every high kick. Her brown eyes, deep and smouldering like melted chocolate, co...

It took some explaining. I'm not sure I'll ever forget the way my son's expression changed from curiosity over the whereabouts of his girlfriend, to seeing her bare-arsed across my knee with my spunk peppering her very pink flesh. And his mother standing alongside us, her palm a similar shade to Molly's bottom. “I'm serious, Dad. What the fuck is this?” I'd never heard him use that particular cuss word in front of me befo...

Whoever invented the phrase 'you can't have your cake and eat it too' is wrong. Like many well-intentioned proverbs or ideals, the internet has killed it off. I love having my wife-shaped cake. Delicious. Dependable. Comforting. Like a Victoria sponge. Her reinvigorated, voracious sexual appetite in response to Molly upsetting our domestic balance has added an extra layer of cream, and she'd be the first to admit the emer...

4.5 inches. That was all Iris had ever known. She adored her husband Kent; they had been together for fifteen years now. They went from high school sweethearts, attending college together, and then to marriage, but she always wondered what a bigger man would feel like. Truthfully, it didn’t matter because she would never act on such a curiosity. She stuffed it down and would occasionally let it come up when she touched he...

After my wife discovered I hadn't been entirely honest with her about what happened with Molly in the car, things changed at home. She still doesn't know the extent of what went on, and I'm confident in my head that I’ve stayed strong—alright, ish—and haven't cheated on her. Though I guess it depends on the definition of ‘cheating’. To date, my son's girlfriend has cavorted herself in front of me, flashed me, let me shave...

If there was a prize for the highest number of inappropriate thoughts about my son’s girlfriend, I'd be on the podium. As I potter in the garden in the most pleasant British summer since the last one, I'm acutely aware of Molly watching me from the patio. All three of them are there—Molly, Aaron and Astrid—sipping drinks and chatting. Digging up yet another dandelion and hearing the pop of the tap root snapping rather tha...

True to her word, my son's girlfriend put on a hell of a show for me last night. I've been a wreck all day replaying the sounds of them fucking in the room adjacent to ours, knowing that she knew I was listening. Unlike Friday night, where she'd been a little reserved with stifled moans and murmurs, last night she was very vocal. Very. “Oh baby, do you like my little bare slit? Isn't it pretty? I shaved it all for you. Go...

I try to banish the inappropriate thoughts about my son’s new girlfriend, but they won't fade. As the week since their visit drags on, I find myself progressively more distracted, both at home and work. On Wednesday I was daydreaming while making sandwiches and then couldn't find my keys. Turns out I put them in the fridge. That'll teach me to fantasize about pulling her over my knee and spanking some sense into her. I ke...

My son told me over the phone that this one’s a keeper, but it isn't until I open the front door to them both that I believe him. “Hey, Dad.” He steps over the threshold, gangly and towering over me, Lynx Africa wafting as we embrace, and I catch sight of her over his shoulder. Well, mostly her hair. Pink. So pink. The fading sun accents the highlights in her mane that tumbles messily and effortlessly over the low-cut cro...

The cameraman looked salaciously at the last model of the day. A gorgeous redhead with a delightful set of tits, she had his dick harder than it had been in eons with just one (likely innocent) lick of her lips. He wanted her but didn’t want to risk being called out for unprofessionalism. So, he went to his office, grabbed a hoodie, and tied it around his waist to hide the aching hard-on he was sporting. When he returned...