Forbidden Heat: My Father's Wife

Chapter 1: Singapore Fuckery

So here's the thing. I shagged my dad's wife. And his maid. Sometimes both together.

Not what I expected when I got on that BA flight to Singapore, but there you go. Life's full of surprises, innit?

I'm Jamie. 22. Finished at Cambridge last year with a shit degree and even shittier prospects. Been kipping on my mate Dave's sofa in Clapham since Emily told me to sod off three months ago. Dad called out of the blue, said I should 'come out East for a bit, clear your head.' Translation: he was sick of Mum going on about what a state I was in.

So off I went. 13 hrs on BA with a hangover and the world's most uncomfortable hard-on thanks to the new cabin crew uniforms. The stewardess on my aisle had these legs that went on forever, all wrapped up in those sheer tights they wear. Reminded me of Ms. Richardson who taught English when I was sixteen. Same energy. Same effect on my cock.

Must've dozed off somewhere over Turkey cos next thing I know I'm dreaming about that stewardess. She's got me in the toilet, cramped as fuck, and she's bent over that tiny sink with her skirt hiked up. No knickers, obviously, cos that's how dreams work. 'We've got three minutes before they notice I'm gone,' she keeps saying, all posh BA accent. Her name badge says 'Charlotte' and she's definitely older than me, probably mid-thirties, wedding ring glinting under the harsh bathroom lights. Keeps looking back at me with this filthy smile. Woke up with a start when the food cart banged my elbow, sporting a tent you could camp under. Had to sit with my jacket on my lap for an hour. Fucking embarrassing.

Landed at Changi sweating like a nonce in a nursery. 35 degrees and humid as BALLS. Dad's driver, some bloke who looked like he'd rather be anywhere else, took my knackered rucksack and chucked it in the boot of a Mercedes.

'Mr. Bennett senior is in Jakarta, sir. Mrs. Bennett waits at home.'

Course he wasn't bloody there. Charles Bennett, international man of mystery, too important to pick up his own son. Wanker.

Dad's place was in one of those wanky skyscrapers with names like 'The Pinnacle' or 'Infinity Towers' or some other bollocks that wealthy expats lap up. Doorman bowed when I got out of the car, which made me want to crawl into a hole.

Up in the lift, mirrors everywhere. Christ, I looked rough. Hair all over the shop, stubble that was just past sexy and into homeless territory, and massive sweat patches under my arms.

Lift opened directly into the flat. Sorry, the 'penthouse residence' as Dad insisted on calling it. And there she was, waiting like something out of a film.

The maid. Filipina, early thirties, in one of those old-school uniforms that was probably Dad's idea of tradition but just came off as creepy colonial bollocks. But fuck me if she didn't wear it well. White blouse, black skirt, and those sheer nude tights that made her legs look incredible.

'Welcome, sir. I'm Maria.' Her eyes did a quick up-and-down that lingered just a bit too long. 'Mrs. Bennett is waiting.'

Christ, look at her. Probably mid-thirties but fit as fuck. All prim and proper in that uniform, but bet she's filthy behind closed doors. Wouldn't mind finding out what she's into. Probably more than her husband back in Manila knows about.

And then there was Ting. My stepmum. Dad's trophy.

'Jamie.' She crossed the room in heels that could kill a man. 'Welcome to our home.'

Fuck me. The photos Dad had sent didn't do her justice. Forty-ish but could pass for thirty easy. Black bob haircut, red dress that probably cost more than my student loan, and legs wrapped in sheer black stockings.

'Thanks for having me,' I managed, suddenly aware I was sweaty, smelly, and sporting a semi that thankfully my baggy jeans were hiding.

'Your father is very sorry he couldn't be here,' Ting said, offering a hand with a rock on it that could sink a small boat. 'Jakarta emergency. Very last minute.'

'You need a shower,' she said, looking me up and down. 'And proper clothes for dinner. Your father expects certain standards.'

I bit back about fifteen sarcastic responses. 'I didn't pack much formal stuff.'

Something flickered across her face. 'There are many rules in Singapore,' she said. 'Some written, some not. You'll learn.' She gestured toward a hallway. 'Maria will show you to your room. Dinner at eight.'

As Maria led me down the corridor, I caught her stealing a glance back at Ting. Something passed between them that made my spider sense tingle. There was history there. Secrets.

But first, I really did need that shower.

Stood under it for ages, washing off twenty hours of travel grime. My cock had other ideas though. Kept thinking about Ting's legs in those stockings, and Maria's arse in that tight skirt. Ended up having a wank just to clear my head. Felt a bit wrong doing it in Dad's house while thinking about his wife, but fuck it. Needs must.

Dad always said I lacked impulse control. He'd lost his shit when I got caught smoking weed behind the bike sheds at Eton. 'Control yourself, James,' he'd said, all stern and disappointed. Said the same thing when I shagged Felicity Carter at his fiftieth birthday party. Well, technically that was in the garden, not actually AT the party, but whatever.

Crashed on the bed for a quick nap. Woke up four hours later with a raging hard-on again and that weird jet lag feeling where your brain doesn't know what fucking time it is. Checked my phone. 7:30 PM. Shit. Dinner at eight.

Pulled on the one decent outfit I'd brought -- a blue button-down and some navy chinos. Headed out to face the evening.

The flat was fucking MASSIVE. All minimalist furniture that looked expensive but uncomfortable. I followed the sound of voices to the balcony.

Ting had changed into something even more distracting -- a black dress with a slit up one side that showed a flash of thigh every time she moved. She was on the phone, speaking rapid-fire Mandarin or Cantonese or something. When she saw me, she ended the call.

'Good, you're awake,' she said, looking me up and down. 'I was beginning to think we'd lost you to jet lag.'

We had dinner. Fancy wine I pretended to appreciate. Fancy food I didn't have to pretend to like. Throughout, I felt a current building between us. Ting's gaze kept lingering when she thought I wasn't looking. She'd lean forward slightly when she spoke, offering glimpses of cleavage that seemed both accidental and deliberate.

'Your English is very different from your father's,' she observed. 'More... informal?'

'You mean I sound like a normal person instead of someone with a silver spoon permanently lodged up his arse?' I suggested, the wine loosening my tongue.

Ting's laugh was genuine and unexpected, a sound that transformed her face. 'You speak too quickly sometimes. It's hard for me to follow.'

'Sorry,' I said, automatically slowing my speech.

She reached across the table, her hand resting lightly on my wrist. The touch was gentle but lingered a moment longer than necessary. 'English is my third language,' she explained. 'After Cantonese and Mandarin. Before French.' She refilled our wine glasses. 'Your father speaks like BBC World Service. Very proper. Very clear. You speak like... a university boy. Too quick, too eager.'

'That's what I am.'

'No,' Ting said, studying me with unexpected intensity. 'Not just a university boy. Something else too.' She leaned forward, the movement causing her dress to shift. 'Something more interesting.'

I tried to keep my eyes on her face rather than letting them drop to her cleavage, but failed miserably. When I looked up, Ting's slight smile told me she'd noticed and wasn't bothered.

Suddenly, the air conditioning failed, allowing Singapore's natural climate to assert itself. Heat enveloped us like a physical presence.

'The system does this sometimes,' Ting explained, seeming unbothered. She rose and moved to a control panel on the wall. As she reached upward, her dress rode higher, revealing not just the tops of her stockings but the suspender belt that held them in place.

Fuck me. My cock went from half-mast to full salute in about two seconds flat. I gripped my wine glass tighter, trying to think about anything but the fact that my stepmum apparently wore a full suspender belt and stockings to a casual dinner at home.

'It will reset eventually,' she said, turning back. In the sudden heat, a flush had risen to her cheeks, and bits of hair clung damply to her neck.

'Should we go inside?' I suggested, though I made no move to get up, uncertain I could do so without my erection becoming embarrassingly obvious.

'Are you uncomfortable in the heat?' Ting asked, returning to her seat.

'Not uncomfortable,' I admitted. 'Just... very aware of it.'

Something shifted in her expression. 'Awareness is good,' she said softly. 'Singapore is too perfect, too controlled. It makes people forget what's real.'

'And what's real, Ting?' I asked, her name feeling strangely intimate on my tongue.

She set down her glass, dark eyes meeting mine directly. 'Heat,' she answered simply. 'Always heat. Everything else is pretence.'

'So hot,' Ting murmured, reaching up to touch her throat where a bead of perspiration traced the elegant line of her collarbone. Her fingers lingered there before sliding lower. 'This dress is too much for real Singapore weather.'

I couldn't tear my eyes away from the movement of her hand. 'Maybe you should change into something lighter,' I suggested, my voice rougher than before.

Ting's lips curved in a knowing smile. 'Maybe.' She rose again, moving to the balcony's edge. 'Come see the view properly.'

I hesitated, then stood, turning slightly to adjust myself before joining her. I stood close enough to feel the heat coming off her body.

'Beautiful, yes?' Ting asked, her shoulder brushing against my arm.

'Yes,' I agreed, though I wasn't looking at the cityscape.

She turned to face me, so close now that I could see the flecks of gold in her dark irises. 'Your father will call soon. To check you've arrived safely.' Her voice had dropped to nearly a whisper. 'What do you want from Singapore, Jamie? Why did you really come?'

'I don't know,' I admitted. 'Something real, maybe.'

'Real is dangerous,' Ting said, her gaze dropping to my mouth. 'Especially in Singapore.'

A phone rang from inside the apartment. Ting didn't move immediately, her body still close enough that I could feel her breath against my neck.

'That's your father,' she said finally, stepping away. 'Always calling, never here.'

As she moved past me, her hand brushed against the front of my trousers, a touch too deliberate to be accidental, too brief to acknowledge. She paused, the barely noticeable widening of her eyes confirming she'd felt my erection.

'Coming?' Ting paused at the doorway, the single word hanging between us like a challenge.

'Right behind you,' I replied, unable to move straight away, needing a moment to calm down.

From inside, I heard Ting's voice answering the phone. 'Yes, Charles. Jamie arrived safely. Very tired from the flight... No, I've made sure he's comfortable... Of course, proper dinner... Tomorrow? But you said Jakarta until weekend...'

I stayed on the balcony, Singapore's heat pressing against me like a physical reminder of desires better left unexplored.

---

Later that night, I woke up. Jet lag was a proper bastard. Checked the time. 3:17 AM. Decided to look for water.

Padded quietly through the main living area, heading toward what I thought was the kitchen. A soft sound caught my attention. From around the corner came Maria, moving across the marble floor in bare feet.

I froze, not wanting to startle her. She hadn't seen me yet.

'Couldn't sleep?' Her voice surprised me. She'd known I was there all along.

'Jet lag,' I explained, suddenly aware I was standing there in just boxers and a t-shirt with a tent that could house a small family. 'Just looking for water.'

Maria smiled. 'Kitchen is this way.' She led me through to a gleaming space. 'Mrs. Bennett also has trouble sleeping sometimes.'

There was something in the way she said it that made me glance at her. In the dim light, with her hair down instead of pulled back in its daytime bun, she looked younger, less formal. The gold cross still hung at her throat, catching what little light there was.

'How long have you worked here?' I asked, accepting the glass of water she handed me.

'Seven years. Since before your father married Mrs. Bennett.'

'You must know them well then.'

Maria's smile was enigmatic. 'Some things are better known than others.'

I found myself studying her more carefully. In her simple silk robe, she was surprisingly attractive, with a quiet confidence that hadn't been apparent earlier.

'Your father will be gone for at least two more days,' she said, leaning against the counter. 'The Jakarta meetings always run long.'

'You don't seem surprised that he's not here.'

Maria shrugged. 'Mr. Bennett travels often. Mrs. Bennett is used to it.'

'And you?'

'I am used to many things, Mr. Jamie.'

The kitchen felt smaller suddenly, the space between us charged with something I couldn't quite name.

'Mrs. Bennett has asked me to make sure you're comfortable during your stay,' Maria continued, her voice lower now. 'She's very particular about hospitality.'

'Is that right?' I found myself moving closer.

'Very particular,' Maria confirmed. 'She believes guests should experience authentic Singapore hospitality.'

No mistaking what she meant. Felt a rush of heat that had nothing to do with the tropical climate.

'What kind of hospitality?' I asked, voice rougher than before.

Maria stepped closer, close enough to smell her perfume. She touched my arm. 'Whatever you need, Mr. Jamie.'

My heart raced - surprised and turned on at the same time. My cock strained against my boxers, clearly visible through the thin fabric.

'Mrs. Bennett approves of this?' I asked, still not quite believing it.

Maria's laugh was soft and musical. 'Mrs. Bennett arranged it. She's very... thorough in her planning.'

The implications of that statement were staggering. My father's wife had deliberately sent her maid to seduce me?

'Why?' The question came out before I could stop it.

'Some things are better experienced than explained,' Maria replied, her hand sliding up my arm. 'Singapore is very different from London, Mr. Jamie. Different rules. Different... possibilities.'

When she kissed me, it was with surprising boldness, nothing hesitant or servile about it. Her mouth was warm and confident against mine, her body pressing closer as my arms wrapped around her instinctively. The gold cross at her throat pressed between us, a small, hard reminder of a faith that seemed at odds with what was happening.

'Wait,' I managed, pulling back slightly. 'Is this some kind of test? Or trap?'

Maria's eyes held mine steadily. 'Not a test. An invitation.' She untied her robe, letting it fall open to reveal she wore nothing underneath except for sheer nude tights. 'Some things can only be communicated through experience.'

When she turned to lead me toward my bedroom, I saw it -- an elaborate tattoo covering much of her upper back. The image of Christ crucified, rendered with surprising artistry. The contrast of the sacred imagery against what we were about to do sent a forbidden thrill through me.

'You're Catholic,' I said stupidly, as if the cross and tattoo hadn't made that obvious.

'Yes,' she replied simply. 'And married. With two children in Manila.' She turned back to face me, no shame or guilt in her expression. 'Does that bother you?'

It should have. It really fucking should have. Dad always said I was morally flexible. Always sounded like an insult when he said it, but right now it felt like a superpower. Of all the things that should bother me - my dad's maid, the wedding ring on her finger, the gold cross, the Jesus tattoo - none of it was stopping my cock from being harder than A-level calculus.

'No,' I lied.

Her smile told me she knew better, but didn't care. 'Good. Now come to bed, Mr. Jamie. Let me show you Singapore's real hospitality.'

In my room, Maria took control with a confidence that left no room for hesitation. Her body moved with mine in perfect synchrony, as if she somehow knew exactly what I wanted before I did.

'I want you to suck me off,' I said, surprising myself with my directness.

She smiled, a knowing look in her eyes. 'Is that what you were thinking about in the shower earlier?'

Christ. How did she know about that? 'Maybe,' I admitted.

Without another word, she slid down my body, her silk robe falling open as she knelt before me. Her lips closed around me, warm and wet, and I had to grip the edge of the bed to stay upright. Her technique was nothing like the awkward fumbling I'd experienced with uni girls. This was a woman who knew exactly what she was doing.

'Fuck,' I breathed, threading my fingers through her hair. 'Where did you learn to suck cock like that?'

She pulled back just long enough to give me a mysterious smile before taking me deeper than before. When I warned her I was close, she didn't pull away, instead increasing her pace until I spunked down her throat with a groan.

After that, we moved to the bed. I entered her from behind, the sheer fabric of her tights torn just enough to allow access without removing them. The sight of her -- this Catholic woman with a husband and two kids back in the Philippines -- wearing her cross while I fucked her through torn tights, her crucifixion tattoo fully visible as she gripped the headboard, was the most erotic thing I'd ever experienced.

The next morning, I decided I needed a proper encore.

'You have time,' I said to Maria, more boldly than I felt. 'For a proper good morning.'

Maria paused, then slowly turned back to face me. 'That would be unwise.'

'So was last night,' I countered. 'Didn't stop you then.'

A small smile played at her lips. 'Last night was arranged. This would be... improvisation.'

'I like improvisation.'

Her eyes dropped to the front of my shorts, where my interest was becoming obvious. 'I can see that.'

In my bedroom, Maria was different - bolder, more assertive. She pushed me against the wall, kissing me hard, her hands already working at my shorts.

'We must be quick,' she whispered against my mouth. 'Mrs. Bennett is sometimes early.'

That only made it hotter somehow, the risk of getting caught. I spun us around, pressing her against the wall now, my hands sliding up under her uniform dress. She was wearing those same sheer nude tights again, already slightly torn from the night before.

'These need to come off,' I said, dropping to my knees. I hooked my fingers into the waistband and slowly pulled them down her legs. She stepped out of them, leaving her in just the uniform and whatever knickers she had on underneath.

A sudden impulse hit me. I stood, tights in hand, and guided her toward the full-length mirror on the closet door.

'What are you doing?' she asked, watching as I positioned her in front of it.

'I want you to see what I see,' I told her, moving behind her. I gathered her wrists behind her back, wrapped the tights around them in a makeshift binding. Not too tight, but enough to hold her. 'Is this okay?'

Her eyes met mine in the mirror, pupils dilated with desire. 'Yes, Mr. Jamie.'

I reached around, unbuttoning the top of her uniform, exposing her breasts. Small, perfect, with dark nipples that hardened under my touch. Her gold cross hung between them, catching the light as her chest rose and fell with quickened breathing.

'Look at yourself,' I instructed, turning her to face the mirror fully. I lifted her dress from behind, bunching it around her waist to reveal simple black cotton knickers. Practical, not fancy like Ting would probably wear. I slid them to the side rather than removing them.

Fuck me, the sight of her like this - half in uniform, wrists bound with her own tights, watching herself in the mirror. I blame the bloody heat for what I'm about to do next. Or maybe it's Singapore. Something about this place makes you do things you'd never imagine back home.

Bet she's never been tied up before. Bet her husband doesn't fuck her like a kinky British guy. I couldn't help but wink at myself in the mirror at the thought.

Truth is, I've got no fucking idea what I'm doing. I've watched enough porn to know the moves, but this is proper filthy, tying up my dad's Catholic maid with her own tights while she's still in uniform. Should feel wrong, but Christ, it feels like the most right thing I've done in months.

'Your husband,' I said, positioning myself behind her, guiding my cock to her entrance. 'Does he fuck you like this? Make you watch yourself?'

'No,' she whispered, eyes widening as I pushed inside her. 'Never like this.'

I established a rhythm, watching our reflection - her bound hands, her uniform dress bunched around her waist, her gold cross swinging with each thrust. As I shifted my stance slightly, I noticed something I hadn't seen before - a delicate silver ring around her second toe. Such an unexpected detail on the otherwise proper maid. Something about that small rebellion against her conservative image, that hint of a hidden side, sent a fresh surge of desire through me.

Even her feet have secrets in this house. Wonder if Dad knows his staff wear toe rings and crucifixion tattoos? Probably thinks she's just the quiet Catholic maid who does the dishes.

'Oh God,' she moaned, the words sounding like both pleasure and blasphemy given the cross at her throat.

'That's it,' I encouraged, increasing my pace. 'Watch yourself come.'

Her orgasm took her suddenly, her body clenching around me, her reflection showing the exact moment she lost control - eyes wide, mouth open in a silent scream. The sight pushed me over the edge, and I spunked hard, gripping her hips tightly, watching our joined reflection through half-closed eyes.

Emily never came like that. Two years together and I'd never seen her completely lose control. I'd just met this woman yesterday, and here she was coming around my cock like her life depended on it. Singapore: 1, London: 0. Maybe Dad was onto something with this whole expat life after all. Though I doubt this is what he had in mind for me.

After she left, I lay there staring at the ceiling. What the actual fuck was going on here? My stepmum sends her maid to shag me, then apparently wants to know all about it? And why did I get the feeling there was more to come?

I glanced at the bedside table where Maria had left her hairpin - a small silver thing with tiny gems that caught the light. Without really thinking about it, I reached over and pocketed it. Bit weird to take a souvenir, maybe, but then this whole situation was weird as hell.

Somewhere in the flat, I heard a door close. Ting, probably. I wondered if Maria was reporting to her right now. Telling her how eager I'd been, how quickly I'd given in. The thought should have made me uncomfortable, but instead I felt my cock stirring again.

What kind of fucked-up family had Dad dragged me into?