Father's Erotic Odyssey
Copyright© 2025 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 1
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 1 - When Mom left for a business trip, Dad’s mask of fidelity crumbled. Drawn into temptation by the neighbor’s allure and secret late-night indulgences, he spiraled into betrayal and desire. I was the only witness—capturing every forbidden moment in my hidden diary of lust and secrets.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Coercion Consensual NonConsensual Reluctant Fiction Cheating Father Gang Bang Anal Sex Analingus Massage Masturbation Oral Sex Petting Pregnancy Squirting Tit-Fucking Big Breasts Doctor/Nurse 2nd POV
During dinner, we got word that Mom was heading to Los Angeles on a business trip soon.
I sat with my chin in my hand, pushing my food around the plate while listening to her murmur softly.
She seemed uneasy about the trip, constantly reminding Dad of all sorts of things.
Dad stayed quiet, nodding now and then or giving a brief reply to show he was paying attention.
“Even though it’s only for two weeks,” she said, “I’m still worried about everything at home.” With that, she turned her gaze toward me.
I avoided her eyes, glancing up briefly before looking back down to push my food around my plate.
Ever since I could remember, Mom and I hadn’t been close, mostly because of her strict way of raising me.
In her mind, boys needed to build toughness from a young age, facing challenges head-on without tears, but I often let her down.
Unlike what she expected, I was naturally introverted, prone to crying and fussing as a kid, and even now, though I’d outgrown the tantrums, I was still far from the strong man she envisioned.
This frustrated her, so she blamed it on my upbringing and started disciplining me harshly early on, which made me fear her over time, leading me to keep my distance.
When she saw I wasn’t responding, she added, “What worries me most is Ryan’s schoolwork.”
In my head, I thought, here we go again, getting scolded right before she leaves.
Looking at Dad, she continued, “While I’m in Los Angeles, keep an eye on him. Don’t let him run around playing all the time and fall behind on his studies, or he’ll lag even further behind the other kids.”
Dad speared a small piece of steak from his plate and popped it into his mouth, chewing as he replied, “Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of Ryan.” Then he shot me a quick glance.
Though Mom and I weren’t close, my relationship with Dad wasn’t much better.
His job kept him away a lot, so growing up, we rarely spent time alone.
He worked at the local power bureau, heading out before dawn and coming back late every day.
Unlike my classmates’ dads who sat in offices chatting over tea, mine was out in the sun and rain fixing cables, which left his skin deeply tanned in my memories.
But that tan wasn’t lifeless like charcoal; it had a bronze-like sheen that always puzzled me.
Once, when he picked me up from school, some kids saw us playing outside the gate. The next day, they crowded around asking, “Ryan, was that uncle your dad?” I nodded.
A girl nearby chimed in, “Your dad’s so dark and strong, not like mine who’s pale and chubby.”
I felt embarrassed, unsure if they were mocking or admiring him, but later I realized they were envious.
Mom’s trip might give me a chance to spend time alone with Dad, something I’d wanted for ages, yet now that it was here, I felt lost on how to handle this familiar yet distant man.
In the neighborhood, my parents were seen as the perfect couple, together lovingly for years with hardly any arguments, even from what I saw living with them.
Most times, Dad would give in to Mom.
She’d complain about my grades or his job, and he’d comfort her, sometimes steering the conversation away from me.
Mom held a high position at a listed company in town, while Dad was just a junior staffer at the power bureau. Late at night, I’d hear her gripe, “You’ve been there so long, why still just a low-level job? Don’t your bosses think about promoting you?”
He’d smile and say, “Being junior’s fine; bosses have their own headaches. You worry plenty about your team, right?”
She’d brush it off, adding, “Being in charge is better, at least the pay would beat what you get now.”
Dad knew it wasn’t about money; she felt his long hours weren’t worth it.
He’d reassure her, “It’s okay like this.”
And it was okay.
Though just a junior, others saw him as a great husband and father.
I seldom visited his workplace, usually to pick mangoes from their courtyard or catch fish in the pond. Whenever he took me, we’d run into his colleagues.
Men and women, mostly older folks with kind faces, greeting him warmly.
Sometimes they’d bend down to play with me, but I didn’t like the attention, so I’d hide behind him.
Then they’d ask, “Charles, is this your son?”
He’d say yes, and they’d add, “He’s adorable, but so shy.”
They’d try to hug me, but I’d refuse.
Not giving up, one might pull candy from a bag, saying, “Want some?”
The colorful wrapper tempted me, so I’d shyly accept.
Dad would laugh, “Kids and their sweet tooth.”
The person would smile back, “No harm.”
Throughout dinner, Mom kept listing reminders, and Dad agreed to each one, telling her to relax.
Just then, the doorbell rang.
She set down her chopsticks and hurried to answer it.
It was a woman visitor. Since Mom only cracked the door about a foot wide, I couldn’t see who, but her high-pitched voice gave it away; it had to be Aunt Susan from the hair salon outside the complex.
Aunt Susan was the grateful type.
I remembered Mom knowing her since my kindergarten days.
Back then, Mom helped Grandma lease a small convenience store on the neighborhood’s edge for a little business. The walls around the complex had been turned into shops by developers, which gave Mom the idea.
Mom visited the store often, and Aunt Susan rented a double-unit spot five doors down for her salon.
Aunt Susan would drop by Grandma’s store to chat. Sometimes, with Grandma’s mobility issues, our family ate there, and Aunt Susan would join in lively.
Mom loved the company and talked freely with her, while Dad stayed quiet, sometimes heading home early when she arrived.
Over time, through these visits, Mom and Aunt Susan grew close.
Mom seemed surprised by the late call, asking, “What brings you here so late? Isn’t the shop busy?”
Aunt Susan smiled, “It is, but I got some fresh lychees from back home and wanted to share while they’re good.”
Mom replied, “You shouldn’t; you always bring things...”
Before she finished, Aunt Susan cut in, “We’ve been friends for years; no need for that.”
As usual, Aunt Susan came in to sit, and this time was no different.
She walked into the living room uninvited, spotting the table full of food, and exclaimed, “Dinner looks amazing tonight.”
Dad politely offered, “Join us. Ryan, invite Aunt Susan to eat.”
I echoed mechanically, “Aunt Susan, eat with us.”
She laughed and waved it off, “No thanks, I’ve already eaten; I appreciate the thought.” After declining, she admired the spread again, “You all are so lucky; my meals are simple, just basic stuff shared with the girls at the shop.”
Mom sat back down and said, “Not really; it’s because I’m leaving on a trip tomorrow, so these two are seeing me off.”
Aunt Susan looked shocked, “Sophia, you’re traveling tomorrow? Where to?”
Mom casually replied, “Los Angeles, for two weeks. I’m worried about leaving everyone behind. I was just going over everything with them before you arrived.”
Aunt Susan smiled, “Relax; these two can handle themselves.”
Dad listened with a slight grin. Mom added, “Better to cover all the bases.” Her eyes landed on me, and she continued, “Oh, Ryan, I almost forgot. Your hair’s gotten long; you look messy. Go to Aunt Susan’s shop and get it cut soon.”
I mumbled an “oh” absentmindedly. Aunt Susan teased, “Even with longer hair, Ryan’s still handsome.”
Mom scolded me lightly, but you could tell she enjoyed the compliment.
After a bit more chatting, Aunt Susan left.
With Mom gone to Los Angeles, the house felt empty with just Dad and me, lacking her usual sharp lectures that somehow made it feel like home.
We spent more time together, but conversations were rare beyond basic greetings; it was just habit, neither good nor bad, and talking more felt awkward.
One day, I came home to find Dad in the living room.
He was shirtless and sweaty, probably from the heat, something I’d never seen him do before; it seemed out of character.
This was my first real look at his body: tall and sturdy from work, with defined muscles, not like a bodybuilder but still impressive.
Up close, I realized the shine wasn’t sweat but some kind of medicated oil.
That explained the herbal smell in the air, I thought.
Glancing over, I asked, “Dad, what’s wrong? Why’s your skin all red?”
He said, “Nothing; I fell at work, but it’s fine now.”
Though he downplayed it, I could tell he was in pain, his voice strained.
“Should we go to the hospital?” I suggested.
“No need; it’ll pass with rest.” Seeing him insistent, I dropped it.
The next morning, as he dropped me at school, we ran into Ms. Miller from the neighborhood.
She was a distant relative who’d moved in a couple years ago.
Noticing his odd walk, she asked casually, “Hey, Charles, did you twist your back?”
He admitted sheepishly, “Yeah, happened at work.”
“No wonder; I looked like that when I did mine. Didn’t Sophia rub some ointment on it?”
“Sophia’s on a trip these days, but I applied some last night; should be okay.”
She looked surprised, “That won’t do; twists need proper massage.”
“I’m swamped at work; no time for the hospital.”
“No hospital needed; last time I hurt mine, someone recommended a place outside the complex that’s great. The owner’s skilled; it won’t take long.”
He brushed it off, “I think I’ll pass; it’s already better, probably healed by tonight.”
She couldn’t convince him and let it go.
After school, I always took the bus home alone, since both parents worked late; I’d gotten used to it young.
That day was no different: the bus was packed like bees to a hive, people pouring in at stops but rarely getting off.
I got squished in the back, barely able to breathe.
Back then, not all city buses had AC, so it was stifling, especially around summer solstice, with everyone irritable.
By the time I got off, I was drenched in sweat.
Walking home, my bangs stuck to my forehead from the sweat, blocking my view and feeling sticky and hot.
That’s when I remembered Mom’s reminder to get a haircut at Aunt Susan’s.
The salon was crowded, even the waiting couch overflowing.
I didn’t see Aunt Susan; just four young women busy washing and cutting hair.
They looked in their early twenties, some with ponytails, others with buns, clearly young.
One spotted me and said, “Sit on the couch and wait a bit.”
She didn’t recognize me.
Her name was Ellie; I knew her, but if she knew me, she’d know Mom and Aunt Susan were friends and wouldn’t make me wait like this.
I looked around for Aunt Susan but couldn’t spot her, so I sat quietly.
The salon was a double-unit space, small but well-equipped, with customers of all ages.
Everyone was busy, so no one noticed me wandering as a kid.
Deeper in was a screen wall; the AC didn’t reach there, so it was empty.
I slipped behind it unnoticed and found a staircase.
Since the upper floors were residential for owners, I was surprised the salon connected upstairs, sparking my curiosity to explore.
I tiptoed up to the second floor.
It was quieter up there, no chatter, just silence.
At the landing, three closed doors faced me. I pushed lightly: two were locked, but one was ajar, releasing a floral scent as it opened.
Peeking in, I saw beds and a table by the window piled with cosmetics; probably the staff’s dorm, where the young women lived.
The stairs continued to the third floor, similar layout.
Curious, I tried the doors; all were unlocked.
I picked one, entered, and locked it quietly, thinking with the crowd downstairs, I could nap here unnoticed while they handled customers.
With that, I lay on the bed and dozed off.
I woke to footsteps on the stairs, light at first but with sharp heel clicks on the tile, a woman’s high heels.
Accompanying them was a man’s heavier steps, thudding like work boots.
I sat up quickly, scared of being caught, and looked for a hiding spot, but the room had none. Luckily, they went to the next room instead.
Hearing their door close, I relaxed.
Only a wall separated us, hung with thick curtains like exotic rugs in deep colors and mysterious patterns that caught my eye.
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.