Scott's Dad Comes to Visit

Scott's father came to stay with a suitcase, a bottle, and the Sunday-lunch smile that had never quite reached his eyes when they landed on Emma.

He couldn't believe his geeky, stocky, chubby son had landed a girl like Emma. Scott was 23, and went to Oxford university despite his modest Welsh upbringing. He met Emma at choir practice when she was a fresher and he was as in his final year. After being friends for a few months, they started dating. Scott's first ever girlfriend.

Emma in comparison was 21, tall at 5ft9, slender, long brown hair with a model like physique. She was a pale, freckled English rose from a good family. Scott's friends and family were amazed she was with him, and often joked with him about it. Emma's family liked Scott. His father often wondered, what these pretentious English folk really thought, but clearly those thoughts were buried as they'd seen him fit enough to give him their blessing before he asked Emma to marry him. And so it would be, that Scott and Emma would wed in the summer.

At 65, Scott's dad resembled a typical, salt of the earth Welshman. Short, stocky, a white rim of hair that surrounded a shiny bald top. He had a proud beer gut, but looked very affable. He was visiting their flat in Oxford for the spring weekend.

The flat was two bedrooms and a wall you could hear a kettle through. Scott made up the spare like a good son. Emma put out towels. He hadn't stayed with them before but had landed nearby for a work conference, and thought why not explore Oxford.

Emma's uni friend Jenny arrived in a short dress and a laugh Scott had known since she used to sleep on their floor after nights out. She's a slender, blonde, with lovely long legs to support her 5ft10 frame. She didn't know Scott's dad was staying, and the sociable creature that she is, invited him out to the pub with them.

The local pub that evening was busy with a sparsely populated dance floor playing average pop music, Scott's dad got the drinks in. Pints. Wine. A third round before anyone asked. He was overjoyed to be out with young people. He was flirty in the way men his age called harmless: a compliment on Jenny's mouth, another on Emma's legs dressed up as you girls. The girls laughed. The girls flirted back. It was all harmless fun. Scott felt odd. He'd never seen this side of this father before, but after five drinks he could see how much he was ogling jenny and how differently he was behaving. Scott watched his father's wedding ring flash on the glass and felt his jaw set.

"He's married to Mum," he said to Emma, too quiet.

Emma said, "he's harmless. Let him have fun!".

She wanted to be on the good side of her future father in law before the wedding, and genuinely enjoyed seeing this side of him. He felt much more youthful, and fun. Mr. Jones was normally very serious.

On the dance floor, it should have been a joke. But Jenny wanted to have a dance, and Scott's dad offered to join. Jenny laughed in a mocking way, but thought it'd be a funny story at the wedding. Jenny danced with him because he asked and because she was drunk enough to think a short, balding, thick-waisted father-in-law-to-be was comedy. She had to tip her head down to hear him. Her slim body made his look shorter. They looked wrong together. Scott almost laughed.

But then he could see his fathers hands start to be a bit too friendly. Jenny of course had no idea. Alcohol and lack of awareness on the dance floor. She was just having a good time. Emma also didn't think anything of it, but Scott just felt uncomfortable.

The music changed to an old Céline Dion number, and Scott's dad put his hand on Jenny's lower back and pulled her towards him as they swayed together. Emma laughed at the hilarity of the scene in front of them. As did a few other younger people. Some of the older men were looking at the couple in a different way. Jenny just sung her way through the song, and dramatically acted it out for fun. Scott's dad pulled her tight and ground his crotch into her slightly. Then Jenny's face changed. She suddenly stopped singing and looked down at Scott's dad.

It happened in a gap between songs, when she stepped in and her hip met him square. Even through wool and her thin dress the shape was unmistakable -- not a half-hearted press, not an old man's vague warmth. A thick, heavy ridge against her belly, already hard, already bigger than the body wearing it had any right to advertise. Her mouth opened. She looked down. She looked at his face.

He did not step back. He kept himself pressed against her,

He put his mouth near her ear -- her young ear, gold stud, blonde hair stuck to it with sweat -- and said something Scott and Emma could not hear. They only saw the effect. Jenny's laugh came out high and cracked. She did not pull away. She tested it, a small roll of her hips, as if her body needed to confirm what her mind refused. The confirmation landed. Her eyelids dropped. The joke left her shoulders. She melted in the ugly, specific way a person melts when they have just discovered they are in trouble they like: spine softening, her long arms stretched around his thick back, mouth parting.

He whispered again.

Longer. His grey mouth at her ear while his gut and that hidden bulk stayed flush to her. Jenny's fingers tightened on his shoulders. She giggled and the giggle was filthy now, not social. She pressed in harder, riding the line of him through two layers of cloth, tall blonde girl folded around a short fat married man in the middle of a public floor.

Scott and Emma stood at the edge and could not look away. Emma's drink was forgotten. Her lips were parted. She watched Jenny's face the way she might watch a fire -- the melt, the whisper, the moment Jenny's eyes flicked toward them and away again, caught, already gone. Scott saw his father smile into Jenny's hair, the same smile that had asked for the spare towels, and felt sick and hard and furious in the same breath. This wasn't the man he knew. He looked almost predatory now with a young tipsy girl a third of his age.

Whatever Scott's dad was saying to Jenny wasn't family friendly. That was obvious. The whole pub now could see it and Scott was turning red. Emma hadn't spoken the whole time, but was transfixed. This just made Scott's anger worse. The more his dad strained his head up and whispered into Jenny's ear, the firmer he started to hold her. Jenny almost looked liked she was trying to get away from him with her hands gripping his arms and trying to push him away but her hips stayed clamped to his and her long legs started to part a bit as her heels clattered slightly on the dance floor.

"We're going home," Scott said to Emma,

Emma just made a noise in return, as if she hadn't heard the question.

Scott got up to go to the dance floor, but before he reached Jenny to rescue her, his father started frog marching her towards the door. Everyone was looking now. Some concerned. Some turned on. Scott became aware of just how many leery old men were in this pub, and quickly covered Emma in her jacket to go outside.

Scott's dad saw the two of them approach in the cool night air.

He gruffly said "Jenny's had a bit too much to drink. We should take her back".

Jenny looked dazed. She was clearly tipsy, as you could see from the way her long legs struggled to coordinate in her black strappy heels. But she looked entranced. Scott had never seen her like this. And the whole time, Emma had not spoken to her once. She was just transfixed.

They got back to the flat.

Four adults in a two-bed flat. Scott's father walked Jenny into the spare room. Words were spoken to her in a firm manner, but we could not make them out. He came back out and said goodnight to us like a guest. Friendly, non-threatening, a man who would rinse his mug in the morning. He told Scott and Emma to go to bed, and said he would be fine on the sofa tonight.

Scott had Emma lay on their bed fully clothed. Scott silent in fury. Emma silent in mystery. Maybe now they could talk about what happened.

The wall did not let them.

It started as a creak. The door where Jenny was opened. Then it closed. The unmistakable sound of Scott's dad speaking in a deep voice. Then the sound of a belt buckle followed swiftly by a zipper. They heard jenny gasp. And then Scott's dad chuckle. More clothes were coming off and hit the floor with a thud.

"Stand up" he bellowed.

Scott heard Jenny's heels and imagined her towering over his naked father.

"Take your clothes off".

Another command from Scott's father.

"Good girl. Now get on your knees."

"Take it out".

Emma gasped, she knew what that meant.

"Oh my God" Jenny said quietly.

Scott could hear everything including the deafening silence within his own room as he and Emma's ears moved closer to the thin wall separating them.

"That's it. Smell it".

It was hard for Scott and Emma to imagine anything else than this short old Welshman flopping his massive cock onto the face of his young English prize.

The pair craned their heads to the wall. Lost in fascination. They imagined the sound of a dainty young tongue tracing a big, grey cock.

"Get on the bed"

"Yes Mr Jones" she slurred meekly.

"Spread your legs". "Good girl".

Scott looked at Emma horrified. She was lost in this. Mouth open. Pale face slightly flushed. Thighs clenched.

Then a loud moan from jenny followed.

Then a hit. Then another. The spare bed finding the plaster in a patient, ugly metre -- thump. thump. thump. Not frantic at first. Deliberate. The sound of weight. The sound of a frame that had been bought for guests and was being used for something else.

Jenny's voice came through on the fourth or fifth hit, already broken.

"Wait-- that's-- fuck, that's actually--"

A man's murmur. Not the pub voice. The kind of voice that only existed once a door was locked.

The thumping picked up.

Steady. Heavy. The headboard kissing the wall, backing off, kissing it again. Scott counted without meaning to and hated himself for counting. Emma had gone still next to him, head turned, ear almost to the plaster.

Then the command.

Clear enough to score itself into the room.

"Call me daddy."

A pause. Jenny's breath. The bed still going.

"I said call me daddy."

"Daddy." Small. Shocked.

"Louder."

"Daddy-- oh my god daddy you're so-- you're so big--"

Scott sat up as if someone had pulled a wire.

That was not the man who had offered to wash glasses. That was not the visiting father with the polite laugh. Through the wall he sounded older and meaner and sure, a voice with a hand in it. Friendly had been a coat. This was what was under it.

The thumping went harder.

Jenny started to cum and could not keep it down. A long cry, then words stacked on words.

"daddy it's huge, daddy I've never, don't stop, you're stretching--"

The bed hammered the wall in time with her, a blunt two-hour engine that would not idle. When she broke the first time the frame stuttered and then found its beat again, because he did not stop. Scott heard his father laugh under it, short, pleased, and the laugh was the worst thing. It was cruel.

Emma was obviously, helplessly turned on.

Scott saw it in the flush high on her cheeks, in the way her nipples had gone tight against her vest, in the shine when her thighs shifted. She was listening with her whole body. Every time Jenny screamed daddy Emma's breath caught like the word had gone into her instead. Her hips moved on nothing. Her mouth stayed open. She was not comforting him. She was on the other side of the wall in her head, in the spare room, like she'd imagined she was pressed up against him on the dance floor earlier. Emma knew. She knew why her friend reacted the way she did back then.

The thumping went on.

Minute after minute. A wetter sound now if you knew how to hear through plaster -- skin, spit, the ugly music of it. Jenny came again, higher, almost laughing

"Daddy your cock, daddy it's too much.

And the headboard answered her, thump-thump-thump, relentless.

Scott was furious.

"That's my dad. That's Mum's husband. That's your friend saying--"

Emma's eyes were still on the wall.

"I know."

She did not sound like she wanted it to stop.

He turned onto his side in a huff, back to her, and felt the mattress give in a small guilty rhythm. He looked.

Emma's hand was between her legs. Two fingers, soaked, working in time with the headboard. She was watching the plaster as if it might open. She did not stop when she felt him looking. A sound left her that she tried to swallow -- small, needy -- when Jenny sobbed through another orgasm and called him daddy like she had been trained in an hour.

Scott opened his mouth.

Emma moved first.

She pushed him onto his back and threw a leg over and took him in one drop, so wet it was obscene. She rode him like she never had -- not fiancée-careful, not Sunday-quiet. Hard. Deep. Her palm on his chest to shut him up, her tits shaking, her face still angled at the wall so she would not miss a beat of the other room.

Jenny screamed. A scream that just went on and on. Unrelenting pleasure of a 21 year old beauty at the hands of a married, fat, old man three times her age.

Emma came with her.

Clenching down on Scott, a raw cry in her throat, still listening, still slamming her hips down to the same metre as the spare bed. The two rooms knocked against each other through the plaster, two rhythms trying to be one. Scott grabbed her ass because fury had nowhere else to go. She used him. She fucked the sound into her own body and came again when the headboard stuttered and Jenny's voice broke on

"Daddy fill me, daddy please."

"Emma--"

Scott continued

"Don't." Wrecked. Honest.

"I can hear him. Stop."

Through the wall he was in command and laughing with weight. In the pub he had been someone's dad getting the round in. The difference was now he's fucking young Jenny, soaked Emma's fingers and Scott was the reluctant beneficiary.

The spare room kept going until Jenny's voice was hoarse and the thumping finally increased. Jenny was screaming like a trapped animal. The wall felt like it'd break. Emma's focus intensified. She put one hand on the plasterboard. She almost sobbed as she started to hear her future father in law roar. He was filling her friend with his old seed. Emma came with him. She almost threw herself against the wall as she did. Her tight wet cunt spasming more than it'd ever done as she screamed loudly.

This was too much for Scott. Never had he seen Emma anywhere near like this or felt her sopping wet pussy. He couldn't hold on and his balls contracted tightly before he emptied his load to the sounds of his cumming father and fiancée. He held her slim hips tightly as he pushed into her with all his might.

The thuds next door slowly slowed. To an afterthought, an old bed ticking down. A last murmur. A last, wrecked yes daddy.

Emma collapsed on Scott's chest, shaking, hand still twitching toward the wall. Cunt still softly spasming on his softening cock. Breath quivering. Whimpering.

Scott stared at the ceiling and listened to his father get up. The door opened and then closed again. He fell asleep.