My Daughter is a Fart Queen Pt. 10

Monday morning is, without doubt, THE worst time of the week.

Work looms. A whole week of it lay ahead of me. I didn't hate my job, but a long sleep-in followed by a lazy day of lying in the sun wouldn't have gone astray. Even after a ten-hour marathon of shuteye, I craved even more.

My alarm went off. Resigned to my fate, I yawned and stretched.

Belly's eyes blinked open. "Hey, Dad," she mumbled.

I threw the bed covers back. This is what I do most mornings, without even thinking about it. But Belly was here, and my cock was suddenly on full display.

My daughter's eyes widened; she pounced on me like a cat catching a mouse. I grew hard in her mouth almost immediately. I checked the time. Work beckoned. "Belly, I..."

She pouted. "Shut the fuck up, Dad."

How many times did she make me explode yesterday? Three? Or was it four? More than that? I couldn't count. And right now, with my cock buried in the back of her throat, I could hardly even think.

My daughter's blonde locks draped across my stomach and thighs. I watched her skull pistoning back and forth. I knew I couldn't last.

One of my hands rested on her plump, fat arse. "Belly, please..."

She slapped my thigh playfully. This was a non-verbal repeat of 'shut the fuck up'.

My balls spasmed. I heard her moan as I flooded her mouth; she swallowed hard, but a few stray streaks of semen escaped her lips, dribbling down the length of my shaft. "Fuuuuccckkkk," I groaned.

With a smile, Belly scooted up and kissed me on the cheek. Her lips were gooey and wet. "Wake up, Dad, it's Monday morning, the best time of the week! Literally anything can happen!"

Well, this was a burst of enthusiasm I hadn't expected. I knew exactly what was gonna happen to *me* -- five days of sitting at my desk.

"I have to get ready for uni, Dad, an' I need to go back to my place to pick up some stuff for my lecture, an'..."

"Yeah," I interrupted, "you said this last night."

"Just remindin' you," she beamed. "Might make a coffee first."

"You know your way around my espresso machine better than me," came my riposte.

"You want one?"

"Sure," I yawned. After a blowjob like that, I would've loved nothing more than to stretch out in a patch of sun, like a pampered cat, closing my eyes again, but I knew I didn't have that luxury. It was Monday morning.

"Get up, sleepy head," taunted my daughter. I knew her mouth still tasted of me. "Best day of the week!"

"What the fuck's wrong with you, Belly?"

Her smile turned into a worried frown. "What's up, Dad?"

"I... uhh... I... fuck, don't worry about it," I huffed.

"You wanna shoot the whole place down?"

I blinked. She looked so fucking cute in her pyjamas.

"Like the song goes, right? You don't like Mondays."

I rubbed my scratchy eyes. "I'm sure I'll feel better about everything once I've had a coffee."

"I get it, Dad," Belly sympathised. "I'm not lookin' forward to thirty years of wage-slavery either."

I stood up and pulled her in for a hug. My wet dick clung to her PJs.

"Don't get me goin, Dad," warned my daughter, "I'm fuckin' serious. I've got shit to do today, an'..."

"But I feel bad," I confessed. "You got me off this morning, but there's no time for me to return the favour." I dropped my hand, resting it against her thigh. Her breathing changed. Her eyes closed, her eyebrows raised in anticipation of something...

"Dad, seriously, don't..." she pleaded. "My lecture starts at nine."

I ran my fingers across the top of her pubic mound.

"Fuck," she shivered.

I reached inside her PJs and touched her. She was wet.

I pushed her back onto the bed, prising her thighs apart. I knew we didn't have much time.

"Fuck, Dad," she gasped, pulling her pyjama bottoms off.

My tongue sank deep inside her, just for a moment.

"Give me your hand," she pleaded. She sucked my index and middle fingers into her mouth, spitting on them, coating them with thick saliva. "Fuck my arse, Dad. Fuck my arse with your hand while you eat me."

I buried my fingers in her bum and began thrusting them back and forth. Monday mornings weren't so bad, hey. My tongue lapped at her pussy. I listened to her the sound of her breath as she moaned.

"Fuck, Dad, you're so fuckin' good at this..."

My tongue flicked her sensitive clit back and forth, sucking on it, teasing it...

"Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuckkkkkkkk," she roared. I felt her anus clench around my fingers as if she wanted to sever them. Her clit spasmed on the tip of my tongue.

I was conscious of the time. We both had things to do.

"Don't stop," she begged. "Don't fuckin' stop, Dad..."

I fucked her arse with my fingers. I sucked on her clit. My tongue teased her wet pussy lips.

"Don't fuckin' stop... nnnnnnnnnnnggggggghhhhhhhhhh......"

She exploded again, farting on my fingers.

I was gonna need to wash my face before work now.

And my hand.

"Not enough... not enough, Dad... please... please don't stop..."

My face and neck were drenched in her flood.

"I'm so... so fuckin'... Dad, I'm... you've got me so fuckin' horny for you... I need it... I need you to... Dad..."

"What is it, honey?" Her juices dripped down my neck.

"Fuck me, Dad. Please. Fuck me."

I was hard, but at this rate, we were both gonna be way late. Me for work, her for her lecture.

"I need it so fuckin' bad," she pleaded.

I rubbed my dick against her pussy lips.

"No... fuck... not there," she seethed.

"In your butt?" I clarified.

Her response was more of an animalistic grunt than a sentence.

Oh my fucking god.

As I pushed myself into her arsehole, she came immediately, soaking the bed. I felt her clench around my shaft.

"Don't fuckin' cum, Dad," she begged. "Not yet."

My cock's buried in my daughter's insatiable rectum very first thing on a Monday morning. I'm thinking of the spreadsheets that'll demand my attention when I log on, the meeting I've got planned with corporate services at eleven, and the inevitable and unavoidable 'how was your weekend' office chit-chat.

I tried to imagine the conversation. 'Had a quiet weekend, Rob. Mowed the lawn, did some housework, took the kids to watch a movie. Popcorn's so expensive these days. What about you?'

I'd shrug. 'The usual. Daughter jerked me off on a bus last night, she woke me up this morning with a toe-curling blowjob, then I ate her cunt and fucked her arse.'

Yeah, that'll fly.

Belly gripped my lower back, pulling my pelvis into her. I felt her hole dilate.

"Fuck, Dad," she whispered, closing her eyes. "You feel so good. I can't fuckin' believe Mum wasn't into this shit."

Fuck, Belly, I thought, please don't talk about your mum while my cock's up your butt.

She flicked her bean, moaning as I fucked her. "Who's better in bed?" she teased, a wicked smile painting her face. "Who's a better root, Dad, me or Mum?" She squeezed my shaft with her sphincter.

Beads of sweat broke out on my brow.

"Did Mum ever fuck you first thing on a Monday mornin'?"

I didn't reply. I didn't know. I honestly couldn't remember. Right now, my brain was a pile of goo.

"Like, I know she wouldn't have let you fuck her in the arse like I do, but... like... did she ever tickle your balls and roll you on top of her?"

Oh my god. Her filthy mouth.

"... but, like, surely she must've done nice things from time to time, y'know, to ease you into the work week... like, maybe a blowie, or a handie, or..."

I'm drowning in my daughter's beautiful, wide, expressive brown eyes.

"... we're both gonna be so fuckin' late today, Dad... like, there's no way I'm gonna make my lecture on time, and you're gonna be late to the office, an' I'm wonderin' what your excuse is gonna be... like, traffic was bad, or I had a dodgy curry for dinner last night, or... or my daughter insisted on anal first thing this mornin', or..."

Her filthy words. I'm sure she saw my facial expression change.

"Give it to me, Dad," she coaxed, lightly scratching my back. "I know you want to."

I exploded inside her digestive tract. My overworked balls ached. It literally hurt.

I fell out of her, collapsing onto the mattress beside her, in absolutely no state for a week of work.

My daughter stroked my face. "Was that good, Daddy?"

I nodded, eyes closed, sweating, unable to speak.

"We need to get up now, Dad."

I nodded again, eyes still closed. My dick stank of her. She'd worn me out before the week had even started.

I needed an ice pack on my nuts.

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom, then I'll make you a coffee."

The boundless energy of youth.

As she got up, I rolled onto my back, arms spread wide in a Jesus Christ pose.

"Don't fall back asleep, Dad," she chastised.

I mumbled something.

Five minutes later, Belly's jerking my shoulder, holding a fresh espresso in her other hand. "I fuckin' knew you were gonna go back to sleep, Dad," she taunted. "Drink this," she said, waving the coffee under my nose. It smelt good. I sat up.

We didn't talk all that much as we got ready for our respective Mondays.

I made sure to leave the bedroom door open. After the punishment it'd received this morning, the space needed some air.

*

I sat at my desk mid-morning, staring aimlessly out the window. I couldn't concentrate.

My balls ached. A dull, insistent, throbbing pain that radiated up into my abdomen. I'd never felt quite so empty.

I couldn't believe I'd suggested Belly move in with me. It might've felt like the right thing to say at the time, but let's be honest, it's never the right time to make important decisions when your dick is still wet, is it? In the cold, harsh light of a Monday morning, it felt like a serious mistake.

It was bad enough when Paige found out I was fucking our daughter, but now this? Moving in together? There's no way I could tell her I was merely helping our daughter economise on rent.

I wasn't sure if I'd made the right move.

Belly didn't say 'yes' when I suggested it last night, but in response to my offer, she said I was the best Dad ever before mounting me, riding me slowly, making my aching, empty, tortured balls shoot what little reserves they still had into her sopping wet pussy.

But that's not a 'yes', though, is it? Maybe she'll decline. Maybe she'll see sense where I didn't. That'd be for the best.

I washed my hands before leaving for the office, but I could still smell her stinky arsehole on my fingers.

I'm staring out the window, lost in thought.

My phone pinged.

Belly: hey dad u remember what u said

Me: what about

Belly: about me moving in

Me: yeah

Belly: you mean it?

I gulped, thinking hard. I'd made the offer, I couldn't retract it now. Or could I?

Me: yeah

Belly: yaaaaaaaaay! if you're sure?

It was too late now, wasn't it. I grimaced.

Me: yeah of course I am

Belly: fuck dad this is the fuckin best! but ive got a question for you

Whatever it was, I'm hoping it could wait. I ignored my phone, but Belly was insistent.

Belly: u still there dad

Me: yeah, just at work

Belly: ok won't be long, promise...

I watched three dots bounce in patterns at the bottom of my screen.

Belly: it's just that sometimes I like to invite Washington over to my place... or other boys... ive mentioned this before, i love inviting him over whenever i need his big black dick in my arse

Her message ended there. What the fuck was I meant to say? I'm staring at the spreadsheet on my screen, all columns and rows, letters and numbers and equations and v-lookups and trues and falses coagulating and disintegrating in front of my eyes as I imagine my daughter impaling herself on a fat black cock the size of a tree...

I desperately hoped my daughter and I could leave our conversation here. At least for now. I needed time to process.

Belly:?

Fuck. She's still there, wanting an answer. She's 100% gonna use my spare room as her fuckpad. I'm OK with her filming Onlyfans content in the spare room, but...

Me: I'm at work

Belly: should we talk bout this later daddy

Daddy?

Me: Yes please, Belinda.

Maybe my standoffishness threw my daughter off-guard. It's true that I was busy, but it's also true that the last thing I wanted to think about was Belly inviting a procession of anonymous cocks to plough her in my spare room.

Was this jealousy? Was I jealous of my own daughter's sexual life?

This was such a dumb idea. I shook my head in disbelief.

I took my lunch break. Munching on a burger and chips, I started wondering how I could weasel out of this.

When I got home, I logged on to check my emails and socials. A string of photos from Paige drenched my screen. Pictures of her and her salaryman covering all the basic Japanese tourism cliches: the two of them sitting in the nosebleed section at a baseball game, drinking beer at an izakaya, checking out an old historic castle...

Why is she sending these to me? I didn't understand. I mean, I'm the reason her life is...

Maybe she was looking at the upside of everything; a second stanza of life. She seemed happy enough in the pictures, but snapshots can mislead, and it's often hard to read the emotions hidden beneath the surface of the photograph. People smile before the button is pressed, but sometimes their smiles are little more than disguised grimaces. Who the fuck ever knows anyway? Was Paige living her second life now, freed from her first, or was it more complicated than that?

It's never that simple, is it? Emotions can't just be turned on and off, can they? They can be like noxious weeds that clutch us around the heartstrings, clinging, tying us to our pasts, and it can take a lot of energy and a series of violent kicks to break free of them. But if Paige was looking to break free of her past, why was she sending me photos of her present? Who's she trying to convince, her or me?

Fuck it. If she's happy (or even if she's only pretending to be happy) then so am I.

Feeling thirsty, I went to the kitchen in search of water.

I shook my ex-wife out of my mind.

Coming back to my computer, I logged on to Belly's Onlyfans. Aussie_fart_princesss. Only $12.99 a month.

Five minutes later, my pants were around my ankles. I jacked off, but my load was thin and watery. My nuts still needed more time.

I texted our daughter.

Me: you still wanna move in

As I pressed send, I mentally smacked myself on the forehead. A continuation in my extended pattern of making the dumbest possible decisions at the dumbest possible times. What the fuck's wrong with me?

Belly: fuck yeah dad!

We should've talked about this a little bit more, and I can only blame myself. I kind of just blurted it out...

She seemed so enthusiastic. I desperately wished she'd said no.

*

By late Friday night, we'd moved most of her shit in. We hadn't unpacked much, but we'd at least stacked her boxes in the corner of the spare room. We were sweaty, but not in a good way. She showered, then I did. I gave her my spare key.

Equally exhausted, we sat on my couch in front of the TV. We shared a few drinks, but we barely spoke. I wondered if there was something on Belly's mind. I didn't ask. Maybe we were both tired. Moving sucks.

We went to bed and slept. She lay on her back, I on my side with my arm draped over her abdomen. She rolled over after a moment or two, away from me.

Saturday morning; we ate breakfast in the sunshine at Dino's. Belly ordered fried eggs on toast with an espresso, and I had the same.

Conversation between us was dull. It suddenly felt like we were an old married couple. I wondered if we were gonna pull our phones out, scrolling through our separate socials in our own private mental worlds while ignoring each other.

I paid the bill and we each went our separate ways. Belly said she had something do to on campus.

I asked a vague question and got an even vaguer answer.

Something felt different between us, but I wasn't sure what it was.

I wished I could make her move back out again, but all her shit was here now, and all the forms to vacate her rental had been signed. There's no rewind button.

*

Saturday night. Belly's been here, officially, for a little more than twenty-four hours. We haven't had sex yet. We've barely even touched each other, except accidentally.

We're sitting on the couch. She should've been out drinking, dancing, partying with friends from uni or whatever, but instead, she's here with me, on the couch, in her PJs.

I should've felt relaxed, but I didn't. Everything felt tense, unnatural, forced.

She looked at her phone. "Have you heard from the woman from the beach, Dad?"

"Huh?" I asked.

She didn't look up. "The woman you met. The other day."

"You mean the one that I gave a fake number to?"

Belly had an immediate answer to her question. Of course I hadn't. "Fuck," she muttered.

We sat in silence. I wasn't sure what to say. It felt like the spell, if that's what it was, had been broken.

"Fuck this shit," declared Belly, getting up from the couch, "I'm goin' out." She didn't invite me. I wasn't in the mood anyway.

But I was curious. I wanted to know where she was going, who she'd be seeing, and when she'd be home.

Without even realising, I'd switched back into parent mode.

Twenty minutes later, she stood at the inside of my front door, ready to party. She wore a tight t-shirt, a short skirt, and a pair of black boots that went all the way up to her knees. Her lipstick was a bright cocksucking red.

At least she'd unpacked *some* of her stuff.

My mouth watered. I wanted to fuck her so bad.

She checked she had her new front door key before leaving. "See ya."

It felt like we'd gone back to how it was before, just last year, when I was her father and she was my daughter.

Maybe that's what she wanted.

I remember what she was like, always so studious, so careful... I suspected that she would've experimented with sex, but I never would've thought she'd be such a slut.

But I know now.

Here she was, just about to leave, looking like she wanted to get as much cock as she could. Having learned a thing or two about her sexual appetite, I suspected that's exactly what she'd get tonight.

The front door closed behind her. It felt like I'd been shut out. We'd become so close, but it wasn't real. At least, not in that way.

I poured myself a tall scotch and put a record on. I turned the volume up -- fuck the neighbours. I didn't expect to hear from Belly again tonight, and I prepared myself for how I might feel if she wasn't here in the morning. She might end up going home with some bloke, maybe she'd meet up with Washington, or maybe someone else. The way she was dressed, the way she looked, she'd get anyone she wanted tonight.

What'd be better for me: to wake up tomorrow morning with her still not here, or for her to be in my spare room with someone she'd brought back?

I told myself I wasn't in a relationship with her. I reminded myself that I was her father. She wasn't my girlfriend. It was appropriate for me to worry about her, for me to be concerned about her welfare.

I poured myself another whisky and raided the fridge for cheese.

I felt my heart racing.

Back when Belly was in her last year of high school, I knew how sensible and level-headed she was. I never needed to worry about her. But now that I know what I know... about my daughter's insatiable sexual appetite, and how much she loves it in the arse...

Should I be worried? Tonight? I didn't know. I couldn't tell. But sitting here, waiting for her to come home in the wee hours, or even tomorrow afternoon, was...

She's my daughter, but she's also a grown woman, and herein lies the heart of my dilemma.

I knew I was frowning. I could feel frustration welling up inside me.

Seriously, fuck this shit. I need some fresh air. I'm going out too.

*

As I closed my apartment door behind me, stepping out onto the street, I scoured my mind for places to go. Sydney's the biggest city in Australia and one of the largest metropolises south of the equator. There are literally thousands of places I could go to right now, things to do, things to see. Hundreds of restaurants, and just as many bars.

I thought about catching the bus to the beach. Coogee, Tamarama, Bronte; whatever. It didn't matter which one. I'd sit on a park bench, looking up at the stars as the waves crashed in.

I thought about going to Sydney Tower, the tallest building in the city, gazing out at twinkling lights spanning three hundred and sixty degrees.

There'd be women in cocktail dresses.

I could've gone to the movies, I could've gone to a concert, I could've gone for a late-night run.

With all these options at my fingertips, I somehow found myself at my local pub. It was a busy night. I ordered a beer -- a dark ale, high in alcohol -- and sat at the corner of the bar under a bright light. I pulled my novel out of my backpack and began to read.

I sipped my beer. I found it hard to concentrate on my book.

I wasn't here to meet anyone, but someone approached me. "Hey," she said.

I looked up from my book. Blonde hair, brown eyes, big tits...

The woman from the beach. The woman I gave a fake number to.

"I reckon I've seen you somewhere before," she said, squinting her eyes in concentration. "Are you the guy I met after a run, not so long ago, at Coogee beach?

I cleared my throat. "Yeah... yeah, I think so... that was me. I remember you." I put my book down.

"I... I don't mean to interrupt... are you waiting for someone?"

"No," I spluttered, "I'm here on my own."

The second chance I never thought I'd get.

"You gave me your number," she said. "I rang it once and got no answer. I tried again the next day, and this time, I got an answering machine for a Korean restaurant."

Fuck. How am I gonna spin this? "I might've typed my number in wrong. Can I see?" She showed me her handset. "Ah," I said, inspecting the digits, "I put two numbers around the wrong way. The six should be before the seven, not after."

The number I'd given her wasn't even remotely close to mine.

"Fuck," I sweated. "Give me your phone, let me fix this."

"And here's me thinking you gave me a fake number," she challenged.

"No, no," I said, accepting her phone, "it looks like I mistyped." I looked up at her. "And it's good to run into you again. I was wondering why you didn't call."

"I did," she smirked, "but I wasn't in the mood for Korean takeaway."

I gave her phone back and she dialled my updated number. My own phone rang in my pocket. She smiled. "You've got my number now, too." She noticed my book, turned face-down on the bar. "What are you reading?"

I held up my copy of 'War and Peace'. She's either gonna think I'm a brainiac, or I'm full of shit for reading something that's way beyond me.

She raised her eyebrows in surprise. "You're at a pub, reading Tolstoy on a Saturday night?"

I wasn't sure what to say.

"Well, at least it's original," she smirked.

I tried not to stare at her rack.

"Who's winning?"

"Huh?"

"In 'War and Peace'? Are the good guys winning?"

"Uhh... I guess so, yeah." My mind was too fried to produce anything more than that. I bookmarked my spot and threw the book back into my bag.

She pulled up a stool and ordered a glass of wine. We sat under the bright light of the bar. After a few minutes, she noticed a vacant table in a dark corner. "Wanna move over there?" she asked.

I stood up and followed her. I nearly tripped over twice.

"Nearly had to put my sunnies on," she joked, sitting down in the darkness. "So bright over at the bar."

"Good for reading, though," I said. "I'm Robert, by the way. Can't remember whether I said that... umm... last time... err... before. Most people call me Rob."

"I'm Jessica. Most people call me Jess."

"Nice to meet you, Jess," I said.

"It's good to be on a first-syllable basis," she quipped. "You live nearby, Rob?"

"Yeah," I replied, "not too far from here. I'm in an apartment."

"I'm local too," said Jess. "About four or five blocks away." She sipped her wine. "Strange that I haven't seen you at the local shops."

"Hmph," I agreed, not sure at all what to say. I'm not good at this.

We talked about recent weather trends before touching lightly on current events. I feared saying the wrong thing.

I watched Jess finger the stem of her wine glass. Her eyes were dark and expressive, much like Belly's. Her hair was tied back in a thick ponytail, her nails were painted bright red, and her low-cut dress left little to the imagination. "Are you with anyone?" she asked.

"Nah." I tried not to glance down too often.

"You married? Or in a relationship?"

What do I say? "Recently divorced," I admitted with a grimace. "Hence the apartment."

She reached out to touch my forearm, finishing her drink. "Sorry to hear that." An awkward moment passed. "Hey, so I'm gonna grab another glass of wine. Can I get you something while I'm up?"

"Sure," I smiled. "Sounds good."

"What are you drinking?"

"The dark ale. It's on tap."

Jess grinned. "Back in a sec."

I watched her lean over the bar, yelling her order into the overworked barman's ear. Her arse was perfectly toned. I'm sure she'd spent many hours in the gym honing those curves...

I wondered whether she was into anal. I wondered how tight her hole was. I wondered what it'd taste like.

My cock thickened.

I'm too many steps ahead of myself. Way too many.

"Thanks, Jess," I smiled, as she brought our drinks back. I accepted my pint with anxious hands, desperate not to spill.

"No worries," she grinned. She held her glass of red up for me to clink.

I relaxed into the conversation more quickly than I anticipated, and we talked for an hour or so. If nothing else, maybe I've found a new friend. Someone who's local.

Why am I still thinking about her arsehole?

I felt her foot brush against my ankle. She glanced around the room. "Busy night tonight, hey," she said.

"Yeah," I agreed. "Saturday night. Always busy."

"And noisy," she frowned.

I sipped my beer. We spent the next ten minutes talking about how hard it'd be to work in a pub, finding ourselves in furious agreement.

"After this drink," said Jess, "do you wanna... maybe... go somewhere a bit quieter?"

I took a deeper swig of alcohol. "What've you got in mind?"

"Well," she said, "I've got some beer in the fridge... you wanna come back to my place?"

I knew exactly what this meant, and the prospect of sex with Jess made me feel nervous all over again. I mean, I barely even knew her, plus there's the pressure of performance. If I go back to her place and I... y'know... what happens if I can't get it up? The last time I felt like this was the night Paige and I first met and she invited me home...

I felt like I was about to cheat on my daughter.

Or maybe I'd read this all wrong. Maybe we were just gonna sit on Jess's couch, talking.

Even though I remembered Belly telling me I was a fuckwit for giving Jess a fake number, something about this still didn't seem quite right.

Jessica's bright red fingernails grabbed my hand and led me out into the street.

We walked side by side, barely speaking. She led me to her building and we caught the lift to her floor. My heart raced. She unlocked the door and ushered me in. "Bathroom's over there, Rob, if you need it."

"Thanks," I mumbled, locking the door behind me. I stared at my face in the mirror. What the fuck was I doing?

I heard what sounded like the dull pop of a champagne cork. "You OK in there?" she asked.

"Yeah," I said, but that was a lie. I was literally busting for a piss, but I couldn't go. It wasn't that my dick was too hard, but that my mind was too wound up. I forced a few squirty dribbles out, zipped up, and washed my hands. My bladder still felt uncomfortable, way too full.

"I opened us a bottle of champers," said Jess. "I hope that's OK. But like I said before, there's beer in the fridge if you'd prefer."

"Wine's good," I muttered. Less liquid than beer. Less bladder pressure. I accepted her glass. "Thanks."

She drained hers before refilling. "You wanna sit down?"

I knew she'd invited me here for a reason, but I hardly knew her. I wasn't in my early twenties anymore. Something about this situation didn't feel right.

I wondered what my daughter was up to right now. Tequila shots at the bar, maybe, surrounded by bunches of horny boys watching her lick, sip and suck, wishing her bright red lips were licking and sucking something else. Grinding on the dance floor, flashing lights strobing around her. Picking someone, grabbing his hand, dragging him to the bathroom, and...

I'm fixating.

Jess sat on her couch and patted the cushion beside her.

"I couldn't help noticing how fit you were," she probed as I sat down beside her.

"I used to be an athlete," I said, sipping champagne. "Professional sportsman, but only for a few years. I've always liked exercise, and I enjoy staying fit, and..."

"Hence the long coastal run," nodded Jess.

"Yeah."

"What sport?"

"Huh?" My mind was somewhere else.

"What sport did you play?"

"AFL," I answered, trying to focus. "Aussie football."

"Top tier?"

"Yeah. Played a few seasons for the Swans."

"Fuck," said Jess, eyes wide. "I think I remember you."

"What was your sport?" I asked her, quickly pulling myself away from the spotlight.

"Hockey." Jess baulked for a second, presumably not wanting to boast either. "Played for the Hockeyroos."

I leaned forward. "Olympics?"

"Rio 2016."

"Shit!" I coughed. "Really?"

"No medal," she pouted. "Finished sixth."

"I never played in a premiership team," I admitted.

"OK," chuckled Jess, "so we're co-equal losers."

I smiled, sipping my champagne. "If you wanna put it like that, maybe."

She sculled her wine, resting her hand on my thigh. "You wanna fuck me, loser?"

I laughed, but it came out like an anxious strangle. She didn't seem to notice. Or care.

We're in her room. The bottle of champagne rests on her bedside table, cool beads slithering down the outside. The lights are off, but her bedroom window is open. There's a light breeze that gently pushes and sways her curtains. The sound of traffic infiltrates the room; there's the occasional impatient horn.

"You OK, Rob?" she asks.

I'm thinking about Belly. "Yeah," I lie. Maybe she's back at home already, having had a disappointing night, wondering where I am.

Jess's lips press themselves against mine. I feel her soft fingers on my jaw and neck, and my mouth opens. Her tongue... her lips... her mouth... her bright red fingernails lightly scratch my unshaven face...

She begins to undress me, lifting my t-shirt over my shoulders. She strokes my neck; she kisses my chest and nipples.

It's as if a switch flicks in my brain, and suddenly, I want her. I rip her bra off and my hands are all over her tits, groping, kneading, squeezing. She moans and squeals under my touch. "Fuck yeah," she whispers.

My face is in her crotch. She's wet, and I smear her gliding sleekness all over my lips and chin. I feel her grip the back of my head. "Fuck, Rob," she seethes, and a distant part of me is glad she remembered my name. "Eat my pussy."

She busts four times, five times, six. I'm drenched. My arms are wrapped around her thighs, trapping them. My jaw and tongue ache like fire, but I want more. Her hips grind into my face. Her voice is nothing but squeals and growls.

Seven times. Eight. She's a wet mess.

Jess grabs me by the hair, pulling me away before lying back on the bed, catching her breath.

I lie next to her, staring at her bedroom ceiling. My lips are puffy and raw.

She sits up and pours herself another glass of champagne, necking it in two neat gulps. Grabbing my face, she kisses me, her hungry tongue in my sticky mouth...

My face is soaked, exhausted.

"Fuck, Rob, that was... that was..."

She tears my pants off. I'm thick, but not fully hard. She sucks me into her mouth; I run my fingers through her long blonde hair.

She drools all over my cock, her sugary-sweet champagne saliva everywhere, dripping onto my balls.

I'm hard enough now.

She climbs on top of me, grabs my shaft and holds me steady as she...

Wait, that's tighter than I expected.

"Fuuuuuuuuuckkkkkk," exhales Jess, "you're big."

I've literally got no idea what to say. I know I'm not small, but hey, I'm not huge either.

And then I realised -- I was in her arse.

Fuck me dead.

I felt her gape, trying to relax, trying to take as much of me inside her as she could.

"Oh my god," she seethes, gazing up at the ceiling, "it's been ages."

It's dark, but I can still make out the shape of her; her brown eyes shone in the darkness. I stroke her thighs, feeling her muscles tremble and quake.

"It's been ages since I've felt this."

Her eyelids close, her head falls back, her hair flails.

I feel her butthole dilate; she squeezes another inch of me inside her.

She runs her hands across my chest, teasing my nipples.

"Fuck, Rob, you're a god."

I'm totally not used to this kind of praise. I'm not as big as she thinks I am -- unless she's less experienced than I assumed? -- and I'm totally not a god. I mean, that's just ridiculous.

Even so, my dick stiffened even further, though it felt like my orgasm was miles away, buried somewhere on a distant shore.

Her anus bounced up and down on me for ten minutes, twenty, maybe half an hour. I watched her tits bounce, her ponytail sway, her sweaty forehead clench with perspiration, her...

Her thighs began to ache. I could tell she was tiring, but I wasn't even close to orgasm. Her brow furrowed.

"Are you OK?" I asked.

"Mmm yeah," she replied.

"Want to change position?" I offered.

She shook her head.

Another five minutes. Ten.

Her thighs must've been on fire. And I know I'm not huge, but after this, I know she's not gonna be able to sit down properly for a few days.

I pushed her off. I wanted to fuck her face. I wanted to cum in her mouth. "Suck it," I commanded.

She took me deep into her throat, grabbing and tickling my balls.

I exploded, flooding her face. She coughed and gagged as fat streaks of my liquid spilled from her lips and trickled from her nose, dribbling down my shaft and onto my balls.

Jess gasped for air, her eyes wet. "Fuck," she seethed, her face drenched in my white. My cock pulsed in her loose fist.

She flopped onto her mattress, completely spent. I lay beside her, a ball of sweat.

I tried hard to think of a witty remark, as if to close the scene -- you know, like at the end of a porno clip, before the camera pans away -- but nothing came to mind.

I wasn't sure what to do or say. I wasn't sure what was expected of me. I'm not used to this. Was I meant to stay here tonight, sleeping in Jess's bed? Is that what happens now? I didn't have a toothbrush with me, nor a change of clothes. Were we gonna head out for breakfast in the morning, chatting post-slumber like friends? Or now that the deed was done, was I meant to leave?

The last thing I wanted was to overstay my welcome or make her feel uncomfortable.

It felt like Jess would tell me if she wanted me to leave, but she didn't.

"I should probably go," I muttered.

"Shit, really?" she replied, wiping semen off her cheeks.

I shrugged a little.

"Recent divorce," acknowledged Jess, frowning a little. "Post-nut clarity. I get it."

"Yeah," I said, clutching onto the conversational life raft, "recent divorce. Still trying to make sense of things."

"Your missus doesn't know what she's missing," said Jess. "Nobody has ever eaten my cunt like you did. Literally nobody."

I took the compliment with an awkward smile. "Thanks."

"And after the way you fucked my arse, I'm gonna... like, it's still tingling."

I wasn't sure what to say.

"Do you really need to go?" Jess begged.

I liked her. We had a good time at the pub, and we had an even better time in bed, but it was the first night. "Yeah, but I know where you live and I reckon we'll see each other again." I got dressed.

I walked the five or so blocks back to my building. I opened the door. My apartment was empty. Wherever Belly was tonight, she wasn't here. Maybe she was still out somewhere, drinking and dancing. Maybe she was asleep, but if she was, it wasn't here. Or maybe she was with Washington.

I don't want to be here right now.

I turned on my heel and walked back to Jessica's building. I rang the buzzer; she let me in, no questions asked.

I barely even knew her.

She smiled at me and kissed me.

"Can I eat your arse?"

Her breath caught in her throat. I'm sure this was the last thing she was expecting to hear when I knocked on her door.

We're back in her room, my face buried in her sweaty, sloppy anus.

"Fuck," Jess grunted, pulling her arse cheeks as wide as she could. "Sorry I'm a bit messy down there, but..."

I looked up from my work with a cheeky grin on my face.

"It's you're fucking fault I'm so wrecked down there, Rob." I heard her exhale. "The least you can do is kiss it better."

My cock was rigid as my tongue danced across the surface of her sphincter. I heard her breath shallow out as I teased her tortured hole.

Her bright red fingernails were right in front of my face, gripping her cheeks. I wrapped my arms around her thighs. I smelled her wet pussy. Her cunt lips were swollen, bright pink.

"Fuck, Rob... eat my arse..."

I buried my tongue in her hole, teasing her clit with my fingertips. She twitched and dribbled onto my fingers.

"I saw you at the bar," I said, "earlier tonight... you were leaning over, yelling your drinks order into the barman's ear... your arse... I watched you... I wanted to... I wondered what your arse tasted like."

"Fuuuuuuucccccccccckkkkkkk," she squealed, her thighs quaking.

With my tongue still buried deep inside her arse, I rubbed her abdomen. I felt something move.

"Shit, Rob," she said, "move your face out of the way..."

Was she about to fart?

"I'm fucking serious, Rob, get your face out of my butt, I'm... I'm gonna... fuck... pressure... too much pressure..."

I went deeper, my tongue scraping across her delicious opening. I knew she was trying to hold it back, but that only made it better.

"Rob, please," she sweated, "I don't wanna... I mean... we've only just met, and..."

I wanted it so fucking bad.

"This is awkward," she whispered, "and..."

She grabbed me by the hair.

"I'm... like... Rob... fuck... please... I'm gonna..."

I fingered her inflamed, puffy cunt. "I know what you're gonna do, Jess," I said, "but you don't know how bad I want it."

Her resistance gave way. Her guts moved. She farted on my face, and I felt like I was in the splash zone at an amusement park. God, it was wet.

She moaned at the release, grabbing my hair.

My tongue drove even deeper. I tickled her clit and she squirted everywhere.

"Stop... Rob, please... please stop..."

I took a time-out. I ran to the bathroom to wipe my face, and while I was there, I took a piss.

A long piss.

A veeeeeeeeeeery long piss. It felt like a dam cracking and bursting.

I stared at my face in her bathroom mirror, having no idea what to expect when I returned.

Jess was still lying on her back. She looked wrecked.

I lay down beside her. "I'm sorry."

"What for?" Jess ran her fingers through her sweaty blonde hair.

"Is it appropriate to admit kinks on a one-night stand?"

Jess propped herself up on one elbow. She reached for the bottle of champagne, pouring herself a glass. She poured me one, too. Each glass disappeared like lightning; we were both parched and my bladder was finally empty again. "I don't know how to answer that question." She paused for a second. "Are you telling me this is a one-night stand?"

I wasn't sure what to say. Perhaps I'd said too much already.

"Like, I know you're recently divorced, and I'm thinking about icebergs right now. Like there's probably only so much you can see above the surface, and I guess you're still processing what's still under water, and I know what that feels like because I'm kinda the same, but... like... that was the best sex I've had in twenty years, and..."

"I hope it's not a one-nighter, Jess," I interrupted. "You're cute, and you're definitely my type. That's what my daughter reckons, anyway..."

It was my host's turn to interject. "Your daughter?"

"Yeah, she reckons I've got a... a type."

"A type?" pressed Jess. "Your daughter reckons you've got a type?"

"Blonde hair," I replied, "brown eyes... huge tits..."

"Your daughter?"

I wasn't sure how to answer. Probably because I wasn't quite sure what the question was.

"You reckon my tits are big?" she teased.

"Yeah," I gawked. "They're nice."

"Thanks," blushed Jess. "But wait, you said something about kinks."

I fell silent.

"You wanna tell me? It's OK if you don't."

I gulped. "I've got this thing for... for... women with big arses who fart."

How juvenile that sounded. Jess's facial expression was blank, betraying serious confusion.

"I loved eating your arse, and it felt like you were a bit shy about... breaking wind while I was... y'know... down there... but I'm so fucking into that..."

Jess stared at me, and for a second, I felt extreme embarrassment. Maybe I should leave.

"I'm just gonna... look, forget I said anything, I'm gonna head off now... I'm sure I'll see you at the pub from time to time, or at the local shops or whatever... there's no need to... just pretend I never..."

"Wait."

I waited.

"I tried so hard not to drop my guts in your face tonight. I've never been in that position before, but..."

I kept waiting.

"It felt like you... like you... umm..."

"Yeah, I did," I underlined.

"I'm still... like... I'm still... you fuckin' wrecked my arse tonight, Rob. I'm not gonna be able to walk properly for a fuckin' week after what you did to me."

And just for a brief second, I wondered who's face Belly was sitting on right now. I imagined her victim's arms flailing, his lungs gasping for breath, for clear air; I imagined her taunting him, making him eat her arse, making him guess what she had for dinner...

"You can sleep here tonight if you want to, Rob," she said. "Or not, if you don't want to. It's totally up to you." Jessica paused. She looked at me, her brown eyes pleading.

"I don't have a toothbrush."

"I think I've got a spare in the bathroom drawer. And if I don't, you can use mine."

"I don't have a change of clothes for tomorrow."

"You live four blocks away, five tops."

I ran out of breath and excuses. My hunched-up shoulders, bearing the brunt of my emotional weight, finally gave way. "Thanks. If you're sure you don't mind."

Jess smiled. She gave me a towel and a supermarket-fresh toothbrush to use.

Hey, this was probably for the best. If Belly brought half a basketball team home, BBCs invading every orifice of hers, she'd have privacy and I'd get a good night's sleep.

I lay on my back in Jess's bed.

She turned out the light, and as she stroked my chest, I fell asleep.

This was a million miles from what I expected to happen when I went to the pub to read a few stray paragraphs of 'War and Peace', but...

I don't know what happens now. I mean, I've just invited Belly to move in with me, and now there's this. I've known Belly all my life, I've known Jess for one night, and... so...

I close my eyes. That's tomorrow's problem.