husband and lover

My husband works far away, so we only see each other about once a month.

I also work, and for convenience, I moved into my father's house.

His suite only has one bed. He said his daughter shouldn't sleep on the sofa, and I shouldn't have all of his bed to myself. Also, the wardrobe is in the bedroom, which is inconvenient. So, what if we sleep together?

He doesn't mind the inconvenience of father and daughter sleeping together. He also refused to accept rent or food. A married daughter and her father sleeping in the same bed to save money, time, and for convenience—what a novel arrangement! I'm a practical person, so I agreed immediately. We're both adults, so of course we understand what "sleeping together" means.

When I moved in, my father happily carried my suitcase into the bedroom. I saw he had cleaned it thoroughly and emptied the wardrobe to hang my clothes. The sheets were new, and there was a pair of new pillows. Before getting into bed, we changed into our pajamas. His pajamas were also new, taken out of the plastic bag with the price tag still attached.

My father spread out the double blanket, and we slept together.

The father and daughter weren't strangers, but lying head to head in bed, neither of them seemed comfortable, and it took them a long time to fall asleep. The father asked if I was tired. I said I was okay. He politely said, "Anyway, everyone has to have a first time. Can we do it on the first night?" I said, "Whatever you say." He said, "I won't do it if you don't want to." I said, "Come on." He rolled over, hugged me, and was about to kiss me when I pulled away and took off my pajamas and underwear myself.

Making love with my father for the first time was a little awkward; I fumbled around trying to find the clasp on my bra. My father unhooked it for me, saying, "Your breasts are always clenched; you don't need to wear a bra when you're sleeping." With

the bra loose, I covered my chest with my hands. My father folded my underwear and bra and put them aside before taking off his own pajamas. As he took off his underwear, he asked if I wanted to wear a cap. I had bought a few packs and kept them by the bedside. I said, "No, I'm taking birth control pills." My father said, "Then I won't wear one." I trusted that my father was clean and hadn't been with a woman in a long time. I said, "I'm making a lot of noise during sex, will it disturb the neighbors?" He said, "Everyone should mind their own business. Just keep making noise, let Dad know you're happy." So, we crawled into bed one after the other. Dad hugged me and kissed me. Kissing my father felt strange, and I instinctively tried to dodge, but we ended up kissing. Then I received Dad's caresses. I lay there like a statue, letting him touch my entire body. His hand reached down and teased me with his fingers. My labia opened, and I was wet. He probed deep inside with two fingers, digging around a bit, and then he touched me. Mmm, and I moaned. Dad's skilled hands pinched my nipples, which were hard and erect, and then he straddled me and pressed down on me.

I waited for it to end, but Dad seemed a little nervous, pacing outside the door, fiddling with my genitals. I was impatient. I touched that swollen, slippery thing; it was thicker and harder than I had imagined, like an iron pillar, which surprised me. I lifted it and quickly shoved it in. Dad put one arm around me and cupped my buttocks with the other, then lowered himself down and thrust deeply, all the way in, without slipping out. The friction against my vagina was unbearable, and I started moaning. He knew I was enjoying it, and he was enjoying it too, so he continued, the bed frame creaking and groaning. I was afraid the sounds of us making love next door and downstairs would reach us, so I told Dad, "That's enough, that's enough." Dad asked if I was coming. I said, "Come on, come on." After a few more deep thrusts, Dad shuddered and then ejaculated, filling me with his semen. I pushed him away, and Dad jumped out of bed, ran naked to the bathroom to get a towel, and came out with his shrunken member dangling between his legs, like a little boy. He took the towel, wiping himself clean as he went, and then wiped mine too. While Dad wiped the stains off the sheets, I quickly put my underwear back on and went to sleep. We slept silently that night; it was our first time.

I didn't expect it to start so easily; the first night set the tone for our future sex life. The second night, Dad suggested sex, and I couldn't object. However, the back clasp of my bra wouldn't cooperate, and Dad skillfully unhooked it for me. He said the same thing again: "We're sleeping; it's in the way." The intercourse was the same as the night before. I tried to spread my legs wide and relax; Dad didn't need to help, and he easily penetrated me, completing the act. As for kissing, I let Dad suck on my lips; his tongue came out, and I didn't open my mouth, only letting him lick my lips. I didn't really like his touching my whole body, especially his probing of my genitals, although it felt strangely good. I'd rather he just penetrated me quickly. After we were done, he handed me a pillowcase to wipe myself down. These preparatory steps, which are usually done by women, he did.

Because my father hadn't smelled a woman's scent in a long time, his libido was very high. He also liked novelty, and for the next week, he asked me every night if I wanted it. I let him have his way. To be honest, I didn't dislike having sex with my father, but I had never imagined having this kind of relationship with someone so close, and I couldn't let anyone know. My husband only knew that I lived at my father's house, and when he talked about relationships with his colleagues, he attributed what happened with my father to my husband. In short, it was awkward. I tried to think of sex with my father as a business matter, for everyone's convenience. But my father always managed to make me feel very comfortable and give me an orgasm, which made me feel a little guilty towards my husband who was alone away from home.

Actually, I never wear a bra to sleep, and I couldn't explain why I should wear one when sleeping with my father. In the days that followed, I only wore a bra and panties in the bedroom. I would unbutton them before getting into bed, and only let my father take them off during sex. I would take off my panties myself. My father and my husband are both men, but they are different. My father stared at my body curves with rapt attention, never missing a chance to see me naked. Was my naked body particularly attractive to him? Even though we slept together, it would be embarrassing for him to stare at my breasts and buttocks with lust. As time went on, I got used to it. In the cramped apartment, it was too much trouble to avoid looking while undressing. We were sleeping in the same bed, and sex had become normal. What was there to hide from my father? So, I treated my father and me like a married couple, undressing and dressing in front of him, letting him see as much as he wanted. I didn't hide or feel embarrassed when using the toilet, especially in the mornings when I was rushing to work. We would squeeze into the bathroom, one of us showering while the other relieved himself, without any hesitation or avoidance.

At first, my father and I had frequent sex, but gradually we became more restrained, about three times a week, like most newlywed couples. Doing it four times might be a festive treat, a couple of glasses of liquor, and a bit of relaxation, so it's a nice little extra activity. On ordinary days, sex is part of daily life, one of the seven necessities of life, simply because we both have sexual desires that need to be addressed; there's no romance or passion involved. Aside from the unavoidable kissing and caressing during sex, we don't do things like kissing, holding hands, or other intimate acts. Because in broad daylight or under artificial light, those intimate acts are impossible.

Intimacy happens in the bedroom, in bed. It's not about who initiates or who is passive. We do it when we need to. Want to make love?

Sometimes my dad strokes my nipples, and I take off my underwear for him. Sometimes I intentionally or unintentionally tease his penis; he wears loose-fitting boxer shorts, and every night he's like a tent, ready to climax at any moment. Sometimes I ask myself, what am I doing? I know my limits; I don't go overboard, just enjoy myself. When I don't want to, I turn my back to him or say I'm tired, and he doesn't force me. On the contrary, my father never refused whenever I asked him.

The eve of my monthly reunion with my husband was my day of abstinence. It was that shadow of feeling guilty towards my husband again, and I had to make myself appear sexually frustrated when we made love.

It's been several years now, and the subtle feeling is that I have sex with my father more often than with my husband. My father has become my de facto husband, living with me for more than twenty days a month, like a married couple. My normal sex life is with my father; having sex with my husband once a month feels a bit like an affair. To avoid calling my husband "father" in bed, I call him "husband" when we make love. My father didn't say anything. He only calls me "daughter," and I guess he enjoys sex with his daughter more than with his wife.

Until one time, when I came home to meet my husband, my woman's sensitive nose smelled another woman's scent on the sheets, and I even found another woman's hair on the pillow. My husband vehemently denied sleeping with another woman, and we had a huge fight. I kicked him out of the bedroom.

Heavy-hearted, I went back to my father's. He saw me sitting on the edge of the bed, not sleeping, and sat up, put his arm around my neck, and asked what was wrong. I told him the truth.

Dad said, "You two are often apart, so you can't blame your husband. Men have sexual needs, just like me. By kicking him out of bed, you're pushing him towards other women. You should come home more often. Put yourself in his shoes; if I weren't there for you, and you felt lonely, and another man tried to seduce you, could you resist?"

Hearing Dad's words, I cried bitterly. It turned out Dad always thought of me first, but I never considered his feelings. I only cared about my own happiness, never realizing that my happiness came from Dad's selfless giving, regardless of my enthusiasm or indifference. I sobbed uncontrollably, leaning on his shoulder. Dad stroked my back, comforting me. Then, without thinking, I threw myself into his arms and kissed him passionately. Dad used his fingers like a comb to brush away the hair covering my face, wiping away my tears, comforting me, and accepting my French kiss.

After I calmed down, he continued kissing me, taking off my clothes one by one, completely exposing my alluring figure to him. My father had touched and kissed many times, but seeing his daughter naked in his arms under the lamplight was a first, especially since she was so dependent on him and so demanding. He treated me like an antique, gently caressing my breasts and buttocks. I offered myself to him without reservation. Then, my father and I truly made love. I let him do as he pleased, kissing my entire body, teasing me until I was burning with desire, before slowly penetrating him. I wrapped my legs around him, and he wasn't in a hurry to ejaculate, thrusting while caressing my breasts, waiting for my moans to urge him on. I realized how skilled my father was in lovemaking; I hadn't had the patience to appreciate it, missing out on pleasures no other man had ever given me. His final thrusts took me to a paradise. I clung to him, squeezing out his last drop of semen, not letting him withdraw, wanting to give him everything I should have given my husband.

After that, I was transformed, a completely different person. The following month, I brought back the nightgowns and lingerie I had left with my husband. After dinner, I went to the bedroom, while my father watched TV in the dining room. Usually, my husband and I don't make love on nights we're together. I called him to come in quickly. Stepping into the room, he saw me lying on the bed, wearing a short, spaghetti-strap nightgown, completely naked, waiting for him. He couldn't believe it was real, immediately pulled down his pants, and pounced on me. We kissed deeply. My father didn't want to take off my nightgown because the feeling of touching my body through the smooth fabric was something he'd never experienced before. I whispered in my father's ear, "I'll listen to you from now on, and I won't wear a bra in bed." I didn't wear a bra, but my father didn't undress me completely. It was the first time I had sex with my father without being completely naked. I

still met my nominal husband once a month, had sex once a month, a routine, maintaining our marital relationship.

The rest of the time, I served my father like a gentle and considerate wife. My father, as always, treated me with utmost respect since we started having sex. I slept in his room and his bed, as if he owed me a debt.

Housework, cooking, laundry—he even washed and dried my clothes. He often reminded me that he didn't object to me calling him "husband" at home; it was just for fun, but I shouldn't let it slip to others.

I stopped calculating how many times a week we'd have sex, though of course, every night was fine too. But I started demanding higher quality sex. Now that I was more open, I wanted my dad to use his best skills. I'd stick my butt out and engage in a full-on foreplay, and then his "old man doggy style" would come in, penetrating deeply, his large hands grasping my breasts, pushing and pushing. I learned the "Guanyin sitting on a lotus," and with the Bodhisattva present, my dad could only kneel at my feet. I remembered riding on my dad's back as a child. Now, my dad let me ride him again. In short, I wanted him to make me sweat profusely and lose my senses to feel good about myself and my de facto husband.

It turns out the saying that fathers and daughters are lovers from a past life is false; they are lovers in this life.

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