My Father's Woman Ch. 03

John cleared his throat, and simply answered, "Ummm... family friend." At least Bryan was talking to him. Jeremy, he noticed, was still watching Michelle move through the crowd. Lustfully.

"Couldn't help noticing the wedding ring, John," Brian said, sipping his drink.

"Mm hmm," John replied. What was the phrase from the dating websites? "It's complicated?" Instead, he went with their rehearsed lie. "She's separated."

"Nothing wrong with that," Brian assured him. "Strike while the iron is hot, I always say."

John smiled, and said nothing. Brian raised his glass and moved on to the next group, and Jeremy drifted off in the other direction.

John went to the bar and got a club soda. He had nursed a couple of drinks tonight, but he wanted to keep his wits about him. When he repositioned himself to observe the room, he noticed that Jeremy had maneuvered himself to be standing outside the hallway to the restrooms.

When Michelle reappeared, resplendent in her cerulean dress, Jeremy caught her attention. John watched and frowned as she paused, turned to the young man, allowed him to engage her in conversation.

Nothing inappropriate. Jeremy kept his hands to himself. John watched as Michelle chatted with the young man, casually, innocently, her natural flirtatious self. At one point she laughed. She raised her hand and brushed her hair behind one ear, palm forward, that unconscious gesture a woman makes that subliminally signals... availability. Submission. John scowled.

But a moment later, she was moving back across the room, making eye contact with him, smiling. Soon she was beside him again.

"Here," she said, surreptitiously extending a closed fist toward his right hand. He hadn't realized he had shoved his hands in his pockets. He removed his hand to receive whatever she was giving him, knowing before he even saw it that she was handing him her panties. He grabbed them and shoved them back into his pocket.

She had been talking to Jeremy while not wearing panties. He felt a surge of jealousy. So he told her so.

"You weren't wearing panties while you were talking to Jeremy," he stated.

"Uh huh," she replied, eyes twinkling. "But they're in your pocket now..."

True enough, he thought.

"He did ask me about my wedding ring," she confided.

Alarm bells went off again in John's head. "What did you tell him?"

"I told him it was none of his business."

That wasn't quite the message that John wanted the young turk to have heard. A bit on the suggestive side, inviting more questions than it answered.

"He asked me if I wanted to dance."

John inhaled quickly, violently. His son no doubt liked it when she played this game, but he didn't.

"Should I?"

"No," John replied, curtly, trying not to sound angry.

"Okay," Michelle replied, agreeably. "Then maybe you should take me home."

=====

They drove home primarily in silence, rife with sexual tension. John was confused by his own mixture of emotions. Michelle seemed happy, and pleased with herself. He wasn't quite sure what he was feeling.

No sooner had the apartment door closed behind them, than John had Michelle pinned against the wall beside it, his body pressing into hers, his hands roaming her body, his tongue deep in her mouth.

"Mmmmph!" was all she could manage, a vocalization of surprise and willing acceptance.

He released her, took a step back, grasped her jaw in one hand to look at her. There was a fire in her eyes, to match what he assumed was the inferno in his own.

He spun her around, eliciting an "eek!" from her, and then his hand was in the middle of her back, pressing her chest and the right side of her face up against the cool drywall, while his other hand reached down and jerked the hem of her tight dress up over her hip. He could feel the straps of her garters on his palm, but nothing else but the warm supple flesh of her ass, where her panties should have been.

With one hand still pressing her into the wall, he fumbled with his other to undo his belt and drop his slacks. His cock, already hard, caught briefly in his boxers and then slapped up between her thighs, against her upturned bottom. Right where he wanted it, right where it belonged, right out of the gate.

Her hands had gone to the wall, flat against it at shoulder height, her arms bent at elbows. Now she moved them, slowly, straightening them upwards, until her wrists came together a foot above her head. John took his left hand, which had been on her back, and reached up and wrapped his paw around her two slender wrists, pinning them there while she splayed her fingers out against the wall. He wrapped his right hand around his shaft to guide it into her.

Into her. Into the shameless young married woman with the scandalous blue dress bunched up around her waist now, up on her toes with her back arched and her perfect pale heart-shaped ass framed by the garter belt and suspenders, tipped up toward him, an offering, a taunt: here it is, take it.

"Nnnnghhh," she moaned when his thick cock found its mark between her moist labia and was promptly forced halfway up inside her, stretching her open.

"Hrrnnnnhhh," he responded, filling her with one more thrust.

His right hand now free because his cock was buried in her. He used it to grab her by the hipbone and push her down harder onto his rod, simultaneously pushing her wrists higher on the wall above her head with his other hand. Stretching her, on the rack.

"You're a bad man," she grunted.

Her words and her tone took him by surprise, and he stopped for a moment, erect, at the top of this thrust, with her on her toes and the weight of her body suspended on the root of his cock, imbedded completely inside her. But only a second. Ah, he realized. This is her, role-playing, the dirty talk that she had told him turned Ryan on so much.

He relaxed a bit, bent his knees, let her heels touch the floor again. Then rammed into her again, harder than ever.

"Unnnghh!" she grunted. That wasn't roleplaying, he thought.

"I'm bad?" he grunted in reply.

"Yes," she hissed. "You get blowjobs from teenage girls."

Huh. Yeah, she had him there.

"You fuck other men's wives."

Not wives, he thought. Just one. My son's wife.

She was still talking, gasping out words to drive him wild. And it was working...

"You proudly... parade them... around... in front of your friends... in skintight dresses... with no panties."

Well, that wasn't quite fair, he thought, but he was moving past the point where logic mattered to him.

"Take them... unh.. away from their husbands... unh... on holiday weekends..."

Okay. Guilty.

"Make -- unhh --their husbands -- unhh -- wear condoms."

Yes. That too. Not his idea at first, but he would own it now. And be proud of it.

"So -- unhh -- you're -- unhh -- the only -- unhh -- one -- unhh -- who -- unhh --gets to --"

"Unhh Unhh Unhh."

She didn't finish her last thought. She didn't need to.

John had a dim, satisfied awareness that he had fucked the sass out of her. He let go of her hands which he had been holding against the wall above her head, and drew his hand the length of one arm while she left both arms in place, a butterfly pinned to his display board. He closed his fist around her sandy blonde hair and bent her head back, exposing her neck. He wanted to say something to her, taunt her back, but he couldn't find any words.

It didn't matter. She was making those gasping moans with each thrust now, her pitch rising, and he could tell she was starting to cum. And as soon as he felt the now-familiar rhythmic pulsing of her vagina around his tool, he let himself respond in kind, slamming up into her one final time and then holding her there on her tiptoes as he emptied himself inside her.

He leaned into her, panting, as she slowly let her arms down to shoulder height again and eventually gently pushed back, off the wall. He felt her lowering herself down off of her toes. Neither his legs nor his cock were now strong or rigid enough to keep her suspended. He felt and heard his deflating organ slip out of her.

"Water?" she suggested. He just nodded.

While Michelle was in the kitchen, John looked down at himself and shook his head. He was still wearing his dress shirt, but he was naked from there to his ankles. He kicked off his shoes and stepped out of the trousers, but managed to pull his boxer shorts back up, covering his lewd, sodden genitals. He took a seat on his sofa.

His daughter-in-law came back into the room and handed him a tumblr of tap water, and set her own down on the coffee table. He took a long draw from his glass and watched as she kicked off her blue satin pumps, and then pulled her dress up over her head and dropped it on the floor... not a slow strip tease, just a woman getting comfortable. Which meant the bra came off next. And then she was standing before him, casually, wearing nothing but an ivory colored garter belt and a pair of badly-laddered flesh-tone silk stockings. And that tiny chain around her waist.

Only then did she pick up her glass and take a drink, and then take a dish towel that she had also brought in, and spread it on the sofa. John gulped as he took note of the simple but practiced gesture, reminded that she had done this before.

She took a seat on it beside him, turned to face him, one leg on the floor, one leg tucked under her, her rose-hued labia on display, his semen trickling out and onto her ankle.

"Well, that was hot," she said.

"That was... something else," John replied, a bit relieved. He had been feeling guilty for how aggressive he had been. "I... I'm not sure what that was."

"You grudge-fucking me?" Michelle offered. "Punishing me for flirting with your friends?"

"Hmmm," John considered. She didn't seem to be mad about it.

"Does Ryan grudge-fuck you?"

"Sometimes," she replied. Then, after a pause, "Not as well as that."

John smiled at the apparent compliment.

"You like making men jealous," he stated.

"I do," she admitted. "You're all so much fun to play with. But... you all respond differently."

"Ryan likes being jealous," John observed. "I... I don't think I do."

Michelle brushed her hair off her forehead and gave him a sympathetic smile. "That's okay. I like the way you respond, too."

He scooted closer to her, put his arm on the back of the sofa, and encouraged her to lean into his chest. He could feel the flesh of her bare breasts, still moist from exertion, through the fabric of his shirt. He could smell her now... perfume, moisturizer, perspiration. Their combined bodily fluids leaking out of her.

"I do like the dirty talk," he said.

"I could tell."

"I'm not very good at it myself."

She leaned closer to him, tilted her face toward his, and kissed him. Gently.

"That's okay. You'll get better at it. We have all day tomorrow to practice."