Husband and lover

Author: My father, husband, and I. Who is my husband? Who is my lover?

My husband works far away. We only see each other about once a month.

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

My father's suite only has one bed. My father said that his daughter can't sleep on the sofa, and I can't have my father's bed all to myself. Also, the wardrobe is in the bedroom, which is inconvenient. So what if we sleep together?

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

The two of us are not strangers, but lying head to head in bed together is obviously not comfortable for either of us, and neither of us can fall asleep for a long time. My father asked me if I was tired. I said I was okay. My father said very politely, "Anyway, there has to be a first time. Can we do it on the first night?" I said, "It's up to you." He said, "If you don't want me to, I won't do it." 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.

It was my first time making love with my father, and I was a little flustered; I fumbled around trying to find the clasp on my bra

. My father helped me unhook it, saying, "Your breasts are always suffocating; you don't need to wear a bra now that you're sleeping." My bra came loose, and 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; will it disturb the neighbors?" He said, "Everyone should mind their own business. Just keep making noise; let Dad know you're having fun." So, we crawled into bed one after the other. Dad hugged and kissed me. Kissing Dad felt strange; I instinctively tried to dodge, but we ended up kissing. Then came his caresses. I lay there frozen, letting him touch my entire body. His hand reached down, teasing me with his fingers. My labia parted, and I was wet. He probed deep inside with two fingers, digging around until he found me. I moaned. Dad's skilled hands pinched my nipples, which were hard and erect. He straddled me, pressing down on me.

I waited for it to finish, but Dad seemed nervous, pacing outside the door, bumping and probing at my genitals. Impatient, I touched his swollen, wet member—thicker and harder than I'd imagined, like an iron pillar—which surprised me. I lifted it and quickly shoved it in. Dad wrapped one arm around me, cupped my buttocks with the other, and lowered himself, thrusting deeply all the way in, pumping a few times 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. Afraid the sounds of our lovemaking from next door and downstairs would reach us, I told my dad, "That's enough, that's enough." My dad asked if I was coming. I said, "Come on, come on." After a few more deep thrusts, my dad shuddered and then ejaculated, filling me completely with his semen. I pushed him away, and my 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 my dad wiped the stains off the sheets, I quickly put my underwear back on and fell asleep. We slept silently that night; it was our first time.

I never thought it would be so easy to get started; our first night together 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 kept refusing to cooperate, so Dad skillfully unhooked it for me. He said the same thing again: "We're going to sleep, wearing it is in the way." The intercourse was the same as the night before. I tried to spread my legs wide and relax, so Dad didn't need to help; he easily penetrated me, and we completed the act. As for kissing, I let Dad suck on my lips, his tongue coming in. I didn't open my mouth, only letting him lick my lips. I didn't really like his touching my whole body, or 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 Dad 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 Dad, but I had never imagined I could have this kind of relationship with someone so close, and I couldn't let anyone know. My husband only knows I live at my father's house. When he talks about relationships with his colleagues, he always attributes the sex I had with my father to my husband. It's awkward. I try to think of sex with my father as a business matter, for everyone's convenience. But my father always manages to make me feel comfortable and give me orgasms, which makes me feel a little guilty towards my husband who's alone away from home.

Actually, I never wear a bra to bed, and I can't explain why I should wear one when sleeping with my father. From then on, I only wore a bra and panties in the bedroom, unbuttoning them before getting into bed, and letting my father take them off during sex. I took off my panties myself. My father and husband are both men, but the difference is that my father stares intently at my body, not missing any opportunity to see me naked. Is my naked body particularly attractive to my father? Even though we sleep together, it's embarrassing for him to lecherously stare at my breasts and buttocks. As time went on, we got used to it. In the cramped apartment, avoiding the hassle of undressing and dressing was too much trouble. Since we slept in the same bed, sex became commonplace. What was there to hide from Dad? So, we treated each other like a married couple, undressing and dressing in front of him, letting him watch to his heart's content. Going to the toilet wasn't awkward or embarrassing, especially in the mornings when we were rushing to work, crowding into the bathroom, one showering

, the other relieving himself, without any hesitation or avoidance. Initially, we had frequent sex, but gradually it became more moderate, similar to newlyweds, about three times a week. Doing it four times a week was probably a holiday treat, maybe after a couple of drinks, when we were relaxed and wanted to add some fun. On ordinary days, sex was part of daily life, something beyond the seven necessities of life, simply because we both had sexual desires that needed to be addressed; there was no romance or passion involved. Aside from the unavoidable kissing and caressing during sex, we didn't engage in kissing, holding hands, or other intimate acts. Because in broad daylight or under artificial light, such intimate acts were impossible.

Intimate moments happen in the bedroom, in bed. It's hard to say who initiates or who is passive. We do it when we need to. Want to make love?

Sometimes my father would stroke my nipples, and I'd take off my underwear and let him have his way with me. Sometimes I'd intentionally or unintentionally tease his penis; he wears loose-fitting boxer shorts, and every night he'd be all tented up, ready to climax at any moment. Sometimes I'd ask myself, what am I doing? I know my limits; I don't want to go too far, just to be happy. 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, whenever I ask him, my father never refuses.

The eve of my monthly reunion with my husband is my day of abstinence. It's that shadow of feeling guilty towards my husband again; I want to act sexually frustrated when I make love with him.

It's been years now, and the subtle feeling is that I have more sex with my father than with my husband. My father has become my de facto husband; we live together for more than twenty days a month, like husband and wife. My normal sex life is with my father; I have sex with my husband once a month, which feels a bit like an affair. To avoid calling my husband "Dad" in bed, I call him "husband" when we're having sex. 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 and met my husband, my woman's sensitive nose detected 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, sat up, put his arms around my neck, and asked what had happened. 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 I do. 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, would you be able to resist if another man tried to seduce you?"

Hearing my father's words, I burst into tears. It turned out that my father always thought of me first, while I had never considered his feelings. I only cared about my own happiness, never realizing that my happiness came from his selfless giving, regardless of my enthusiasm or indifference towards him. I cried uncontrollably, sobbing against his shoulder. My father stroked my back, comforting me. Then, involuntarily, I threw myself into his arms and kissed him passionately. My father 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, gently removing my clothes one by one, completely exposing my alluring figure to him. My father had touched and kissed many times, but seeing his daughter completely naked in his arms under the lamplight was a first, especially seeing her so dependent on him, so demanding. My father treated me like an antique, gently caressing my breasts and buttocks. My father and I offered ourselves completely. My father and I truly made love. I let my father do as he pleased, kissing my entire body until I was burning with desire before slowly penetrating me. I wrapped my legs around him, and he didn't rush 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 blissful state. 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 nightgown and lingerie I had left with my husband. After dinner, we went to the bedroom; my father was watching TV in the dining room. Usually, my husband and I didn't make love on nights we were together. I called him to come in. 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; he immediately pulled down his pants and pounced on me. We kissed deeply. Dad didn't want to take off my nightgown because the feeling of touching my body through the smooth fabric was something he had never experienced before. I whispered in Dad's ear, "I'll listen to you from now on and won't wear a bra to bed." I didn't wear a bra, but Dad didn't undress me completely. It was the first time I had sex with Dad without being completely naked. I

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

The rest of the time, I served Dad like a gentle and considerate wife. Dad was as respectful as ever since we started having sex. I lived in his house and slept in his bed, as if he owed me a debt.

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

I stopped counting how many times we had sex each week, although of course, every night was fine too. But I started to demand quality in our sex life. I was ready to unleash my father's full potential. I stuck out my bottom, ready for a full-on, sensual foreplay. Then his "old man pushing the cart" began, penetrating deeply, his large hands gripping my breasts, pushing and pushing. I learned the "Guanyin sitting on a lotus," a move so powerful that even the Bodhisattva could only kneel before me. I remembered riding on my father's back as a child. Now, my father was letting me ride him again. In short, I wanted him to make me sweat profusely and lose my senses; only then would I feel I had done right by my husband. [The following text appears to be unrelated and possibly machine-generated:
"
It turns out the saying that father and daughter were lovers in a past life is false; they are lovers in this life."

[The End]

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(This post was edited by Xiaoxin Liumang on 2015-03-20 23:44)"]
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