It is the holidays. The house is wonderfully quiet—you have gone out to run some errands, and the kids are out for the day, leaving me completely to myself. Deciding to wash off the morning, I head down the hall to our bathroom and turn the shower on, letting the water build up until the room fills with a warm, rising steam.
While I wait, I catch my reflection in the mirror. There stands a man who isn’t quite as fit or trim as he was back in his twenties. I make a quiet mental note to work on myself these holidays before stepping through the glass door.
The hot water cascades down my frame, immediately soothing my aching shoulders. I groan in appreciation, letting the heat bake into my muscles. As I pick up the loofah and begin washing, my mind wanders. I start thinking of you, imagining your hands taking over, giving my body that kind of attentive focus. I picture you dropping to your knees, washing me down with the playful excuse that you have to make sure I am clean. Just playing the scene through my head makes my pulse spike, and my body reacts beneath the stream.
I stroke slowly, completely lost in the fantasy.
Unbeknownst to me, you have returned early. You walk into the bedroom and quietly slip into the ensuite, your eyes locking onto my form through the frosted glass. Seeing me lost in self-pleasure stirs something wicked in you, you linger for a moment before a slow smile touches your lips. Right there outside the shower, you strip off your clothes, letting them drop to the floor until you are bare. Your hands drift over your own skin, touching yourself as tension builds and your nipples harden with anticipation. With absolute stealth, you slide the glass door open and step into the shower right behind me.
The sudden shift in air pressure makes me spin around, my eyes widening in surprise.
“You’re home early,” I exclaim, instinctively dropping a hand to cover myself.
A wicked, knowing smile plays on your lips as you gently brush my hand away. “Don’t stop on my account,” you purr, your voice low and dripping with mischief. “I just thought you looked like you could use some help getting properly cleaned up.”
Before I can form a reply, you drop gracefully to your knees as the warm water streams over your shoulders. You take me in your hand, giving a firm, deliberate stroke as you look up through wet hair.
“Such a dirty boy,” you tease softly. “Let me help you with this.”
Your mouth closes over the tip, and a ragged groan tears from my chest, my hands instantly tangling in your wet hair. You take me deeper, your tongue swirling expertly around the shaft while your free hand cups and massages my balls. You work me with a practiced rhythm, teasing me right to the edge again and again, only to pull back right before I can release.
“Please,” I beg, my voice cracking with need. “I need to cum.”
“Not yet, Daddy,” you murmur against me with a glint of mischief. “First, it’s my turn.”
You stand up, breathless from the heat of the steam, and push me back against the cool, tiled wall. I drop to my knees eagerly before you, our eyes locked in a heavy, charged gaze. I part your folds, teasing your sensitive flesh before pressing my face between your thighs.
My lips wrap around your sensitive bud, and I suck hard, pulling it gently as my tongue begins to trace slow, deliberate circles over you. You gasp, your head falling back against the wall and your spine arching as you grind instinctively against my mouth.
“Keep going,” you whisper, your fingers tangling in my hair.
I slide two fingers deep inside you, curling them upward, finding that familiar spot that never fails to undo you. I begin to move my fingers with a slow, deliberate rhythm, matching the suction of my mouth.
“God, yes,” you moan, your hands braced flat against the tiled wall as I work you, building the pace steadily. “Right there, Daddy, right there!”
Your thighs begin to tremble as the pleasure swells through your core. Hearing how close you are, I double my efforts, sucking harder and deepening the rhythm of my fingers. The friction and heat become overwhelming, and with a sharp, breathless cry, you shatter completely. Your warm juices flood my mouth as your entire body shudders, locking around my fingers in wave after wave of intense pleasure.
I stand up, my body throbbing for relief.
“My turn,” I growl.
Lifting you effortlessly, I press your back against the wall. You wrap your legs tightly around my waist, and I thrust forward, burying myself to the hilt in one smooth motion.
We fall into a primal, driving rhythm beneath the drumming water, chasing our release together. The shower stall fills with the heavy sound of our breathing and skin slapping against skin. You meet every thrust with equal fervour, your nails biting deep into my shoulders as I pound into your heat.
“You’re my cumslut,” I pant against your neck, the words raw over the cascade of water. “My dirty little cumslut.”
“Yes, Daddy,” you cry out, breathless and desperate, clutching me tighter as the friction builds to a blinding peak. “I’m your cumslut! Fill me up!”
With a final, powerful thrust, I bury myself to the absolute hilt and explode inside you, a hot rush that triggers another rolling wave of pleasure through your trembling body. We cling to each other, chest to chest, our foreheads pressed together as we pant and ride out the aftershocks under the warm water.
After a long moment, we rinse off quickly and step out of the shower, grabbing our towels with a mutual urgency. There is no need for words; we both know this isn’t finished.
We practically race to the bedroom, tumbling onto the bed in a tangled heap of limbs. Before I can take the lead, you push me onto my back with a playful grin, straddling my legs. You look down at me, your eyes full of intent, and take my softening length in your hand. With slow, expert strokes, you coax it back to full hardness before leaning down and taking me deep into your warm mouth, swirling your tongue around the shaft until I groan and grip the sheets in anticipation.
Satisfied, you position yourself onto your stomach, looking behind you, daring me to enter you. I move around between your legs and place the head of my cock on your lips.
“Please fuck your little cumslut,” you moan.
I enter you from behind, setting a fast, punishing pace as you push back against me with eager friction. I grab your hips firmly, watching myself disappear into your wet heat. The sight of your body moving against mine drives me wild, and I raise my hand, bringing it down in a sharp, stinging slap against your cheek.
You cry out in a mix of pain and intense pleasure, pushing back harder. “Again, Daddy!”
I oblige, striking the other side with equal force, alternating between deep, heavy thrusts and sharp spanks until your skin is flushed and glowing.
“Yes, Daddy, fuck your little cumslut,” you plead. “I want to feel every inch of you.”
After pushing us both right up to the edge, I suddenly pull out and lay back on the bed.
You immediately straddle my hips, sinking down onto my hard length with a long, satisfied sigh. This time, the pace slows into a fluid, languid rhythm. I reach up to cup your breasts, my thumbs rolling and pinching your hardened nipples as you ride me with deliberate grace.
“Oh, you’re so deep,” you whisper, closing your eyes and tossing your head back. You lean slightly backward, shifting the angle so every downward slide hits deep against your G-spot. With one hand still on your breast, I slide the other down between us, pressing my fingers in tight circles against your clit as you bounce.
Your movements grow more erratic as the pressure builds. “I’m close, Daddy,” you gasp, your voice tight. “So close.”
I increase the pressure, feeling your muscles lock around me. With a sharp cry, you throw your head back, your body clamping down in intense spasms as a rush of wetness washes over us.
“Fuck, yes,” I growl, watching you tremble. “That’s it, cumslut. Make a mess for Daddy.”
You collapse softly onto my chest, our breathing ragged and our skin slick with sweat. We lock lips in a deep, lingering kiss, tasting the salt and heat of our exhaustion. But as my fingers trace the curve of your waist, I realise I am far from done with you yet.
A wicked grin flashes across my face. I roll us over, positioning you flat on your back at the edge of the bed. I kneel between your legs, lifting them up and resting them comfortably over my shoulders, opening you up completely to my gaze. My hands slide up your thighs, gripping your hips as I line myself back up with your wet, swollen entrance.
When I push inside you at this angle, the fit is so tight that a sharp gasp escapes your lips. It hits an entirely different depth, driving straight into your core. I start slowly, letting you feel the sheer stretch and fullness of me, before letting go of restraint and pounding into you with a wild, escalating intensity.
Our bodies slap together in a frantic, driving rhythm, the friction building an electric heat. You grip my shoulders tightly, your fingers digging into my skin as you meet my thrusts hip for hip, your breathless moans filling the room. The urgency mounts with every stroke, the pressure building behind our eyes until neither of us can hold back another second. I can feel my body tighten and let go of every restraint.
With one final, heavy thrust, I bury myself deep and spill inside you, your body milking every drop as you cry out in a secondary release.
We collapse side by side onto the bed, chests heaving, coming down slowly from the rush. I stay close, our bodies tangled in a sweaty, exhausted heap. We lie there, looking deep into each other’s eyes.
“Fuck, I needed that,” I murmur between breaths.
You smile softly, your fingers gently tracing the line of my jaw. “Glad to be of service.”
We chuckle quietly, a warm, grounded comfort settling between us—reminding us that beneath the heat, this is just us.
Suddenly, the front door clicks open, followed by the familiar sound of our teenagers’ voices echoing down the hallway.
“We’re home!” they call out.
We share a quick, knowing look, neither of us feeling an ounce of panic. With a hurried kiss, I slide out of bed and we scramble into our clothes just as footsteps approach our door.
As we step out into the hallway, looking slightly dishevelled but trying to play it cool, our daughter stops and raises an eyebrow, looking us up and down. “You two look… flushed.”
“Oh, we were just… cleaning up our bedroom,” I respond, a smirk pulling at the corner of my mouth. I glance over at you; you have the exact same look on your face.
Our daughter narrows her eyes for a second, says a flat “OK,” and walks off toward the kitchen.
I wrap my arm around your waist, pulling you tightly against my side. “Well,” I grin, “we timed that perfectly.”
