Father's Erotic Odyssey
Copyright© 2025 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 7
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 7 - 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
After school on Friday, Dylan and I headed together to the hills on the western edge of the city.
That back hill is the only small mountain around here, covered in lush trees with stunning views. From the top, you can look out over the entire cityscape.
Dylan is my closest friend in class, and he’d suggested the trip a couple of days earlier. I thought about it briefly and agreed without hesitation.
I don’t usually hang out anywhere after school. For one thing, time is always short in the evenings, since most people rush home before dark falls. For another, my parents keep a tight watch, never comfortable with kids our age roaming around at night.
Lately, though, Dad has been loosening up on me. He often gets home late, sometimes from work, as I can tell from the dirty clothes he leaves piled in the bathroom hamper the next morning, too rushed to change the night before. Other times, it’s for reasons I can’t quite pin down, and my curiosity has faded from its initial spark. Deep down, I already have a rough idea of what’s going on.
So when Dylan invited me to explore the hill, I said yes right away.
By the time we reached the summit, the sun in the west showed no sign of setting yet, still bright and intense, warming our skin in that typical southern winter way.
We followed a narrow winding path into the woods, where tall trees with thick canopies blocked out most of the sunlight. Unless you looked closely, you’d never spot signs of people in a place like this.
As I kept pace with Dylan, I asked, “What are we doing out here anyway?” At first, I’d assumed he just wanted to enjoy the view from the top and catch a beautiful city sunset, since that’s why most folks come up here.
But as we ventured deeper into the forest, it became clear he had something else in mind.
He stopped at my question, turning with a mysterious grin. I threw up my hands in confusion.
Then he pulled two small gadgets from his backpack and said, “Ryan, up for a little hunting?”
Looking closer at what he held, I realized they were slingshots.
Made from forked branches, they were rougher than store-bought ones, clearly handmade.
“Where’d you get these?” I asked.
“I made them myself,” he replied. “Not bad, huh?” With that, he tossed one to me.
I tested it in my hand and said, “Pretty sturdy. Nice work, Dylan, didn’t know you had the skills.”
He grinned at the compliment and kept heading deeper into the woods.
“Are you planning to shoot birds here?” I asked.
“Yeah, but not right here,” he said.
“Then where?”
“You’ll see soon enough.”
After about ten minutes of following him, he finally stopped.
Stepping up and peering over his shoulder, I saw a wide open clearing ahead.
This spot might be the hill’s best-kept secret, with lush grass and birds singing everywhere. Countless sparrows soared in the sky or nested in the undergrowth. A gentle breeze would reveal hidden nests bending the stalks, especially at this twilight hour, when the slanting sun cast a peaceful glow over everything.
“How’d you find this place?” I asked Dylan.
He motioned for me to keep my voice down and explained, “You know that news article a couple days ago about illegal poachers? It mentioned a group hunting birds up here, bagging a bunch, but they kept slipping away from the cops. I got curious about the spot they described and came to check it out. Turns out, we found it.”
“You found it,” I corrected. “Not me.”
He slapped my back and said, “Quit joking. I brought you for a reason.”
“Oh? What reason?”
He glanced over and said, “You forgot? You’re the class sharpshooter.”
“Sharpshooter?” I stared at him blankly.
“Remember the school carnival where you represented us in the throwing contest? You won first place, nailed every shot. Even Margaret praised you back then.”
The mention of Margaret soured my mood instantly, but I hid it from Dylan and said, “Can’t believe you remember that. But what’s it got to do with hunting? That was just tossing arrows into a basket. These birds are flying around; it’s totally different.”
He nudged me with his shoulder. “Stop being modest. We’ll find out soon enough.” He shook his slingshot at me, and I pulled out mine, eager to give it a try.
We gathered some pebbles from the ground and crouched in the nearby grass for cover, not far from the clearing.
Dylan couldn’t wait, loading a stone, pulling back the band, aiming, and releasing with a whoosh. It missed, startling a flock of egrets instead. They burst from the grass like confused flies, but soon settled nearby.
After several more misses, I watched patiently, hoping he’d hit something soon.
But Dylan lacked my patience. After his tenth shot flew wide, he threw the slingshot down in frustration, declaring he was done.
“It’s still early,” I reassured him. “You’ve only tried a few times.”
“My aim sucks,” he grumbled.
“No rush. We’re not pros like those hunters. Amateurs like us can’t expect miracles.”
“Then you try,” he said. “Show off a bit. Teach those birds a lesson.”
“You can’t be serious, Dylan. Hunting birds is illegal, right?”
“I know, but we’re just messing around, not like those guys in the news. Right?”
After thinking it over, I agreed, “Fair point. I’ll take a few shots then. If I hit, we’ll stop at two birds max. And if I miss, no laughing.”
“Sure, sure,” he said. “I’m already thinking about roasted bird.”
I shook my head helplessly and focused, raising the slingshot toward the targets ahead.
The birds frolicked carefree in the grass, oblivious to the danger lurking nearby.
I zeroed in on a plump one by the water’s edge, standing on bent stalks, pecking for food.
A sharp crack rang out, and the bird dropped instantly, no chance to flee.
Dylan looked at me excitedly, knowing I’d just released. The stone had flown true, striking the fat bird dead on.
I shot him a smug look. “Bullseye.”
He gave me a thumbs up, jumping up to grab our prize. I pulled him back. “Hold on. You’ll scare the rest. Let’s wait till we’re done and collect them together.”
He nodded, seeing the sense in it. Truthfully, that first hit had already spooked them; the birds scattered at their fallen companion, chirping chaos that alerted others nearby. The mess made aiming tough, so I suggested we let them settle down first before trying again.
By now, the sun tilted westward, with colorful clouds chasing its glow. Occasional birds skimmed the serene sky, adding a touch to the tranquil dusk.
We hunkered quietly in the grass, waiting about ten minutes until the birds returned to their calm routine.
I raised the slingshot again, locking on a new target.
With the stone notched, I drew the band taut, hearing it strain under the tension.
This time, I aimed at a snowy egret, pure white except for its black beak and legs, a protected species no one should hunt.
I pursed my lips, biding my time.
A sudden breeze swept from behind us, heading toward the flock. Seizing the moment, I let go cleanly.
Another crisp impact, and the egret fell, blood staining its pristine feathers red.
Dylan high-fived me, thrilled. “Ryan, you’re amazing. Total sharpshooter. Hundred percent hits, better than anyone.”
I played it cool, modest. “Enough flattery. I got your birds; we said just two.”
He nodded eagerly. “Plenty for us.”
“Whoa, I’m not eating wild game,” I protested. “Take them home yourself.”
“You sure? This is premium stuff, can’t buy it anywhere. Won’t even bring one for your dad?”
I shook my head firmly. “No thanks. Dad wouldn’t either.” I decided to let Dylan keep both.
With that settled, we headed into the grass to retrieve our catches. As we picked them up, a deafening boom shattered the air.
The bang jolted us both.
We scanned for the source, and suddenly Dylan shoved me down. Confused, I asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Look,” he whispered, pointing.
Through the swaying grass, I saw a group of men approaching from ahead.
“Who are they?” I asked.
“Gotta be those illegal hunters from the paper. See their guns? They’re bad news.”
Panicked, I said, “Let’s get out of here before they spot us.”
We crouched low and snuck away from the clearing.
On the way back, I couldn’t help remarking, “They looked pro, with real guns and everything.”
“The article said they’re city gangsters,” Dylan replied.
“Gangsters?”
He nodded. “The kind into shady stuff.” As he spoke, he carried the two birds, still barely alive, flapping weakly now and then, feathers scattering and sticking to his clothes.
The sun had fully set, the last traces of twilight fading. We parted at the bus stop; he waved from the shelter, and I waved back from the bus. Just before it pulled away, he gave me another thumbs up, still raving about my aim.
Opening the front door, Dad stepped out from his room.
Before I could even close it behind me, he asked, “Where were you? Back so late.”
I fibbed, “At a classmate’s doing homework.” Then I headed straight to my room. Passing him, I noticed he seemed about to say more, but by the time I shut my door, he hadn’t.
These days, Dad’s always out early and home late, yet today he was back early. It felt off.
At dinner, he finally spoke again. “Ryan, your teacher’s coming tomorrow like last week for tutoring. Don’t forget.”
I’d expected this reminder and shot back, “I already made plans with classmates to go out.”
He looked up. “Doing what?”
“School carnival’s next week. Teacher assigned us to make a class poster. We need to discuss how to do it.”
Feigning seriousness, I watched his skepticism. “Your homeroom teacher set this?”
“Art teacher,” I said.
“Art teacher’s say doesn’t carry as much weight as your homeroom’s. Listen to her.”
“But it’s for the whole class’s honor. Other classes have fancy posters; if ours looks lame, it’ll be embarrassing.”
“Then let the others handle it,” he countered. “Say you’re busy studying, no time.”
“Everyone’s studying. If I bail like that, they’ll talk behind my back.”
He paused, shoveling rice into his mouth, then asked, “When are you going?”
“First thing tomorrow,” I replied without thinking.
He sighed. “Fine, I’ll call your teacher and ask her to come in the afternoon.”
His words startled me, realizing he’d saved Margaret’s number privately. Mom always handled teacher contacts before; this shift hit me with a pang of sadness.
Before I could recover, he added, “Don’t just play around and waste her kindness. Not every kid in your class gets this treatment.”
Quickly, I suggested, “Dad, why not let me join the others at Ms. Hayes’s house for lessons?”
He paused without answering, then said, “Group sessions aren’t as effective. What’s the difference from regular class? One-on-one is better. She’ll keep coming here.”
Seeing no way out, I accepted his decision.
The food tasted bland and dry; as I chewed the flavorless meal, I plotted how to dodge tomorrow’s dreaded lesson.
Next morning, I slipped out before Dad woke.
It was a aimless solo outing. I hadn’t actually planned with anyone; last night’s story to Dad was just to skip the tutoring. From the moment I left, I vowed to stay out till evening, ignoring whatever Dad or Margaret thought.
I wasn’t worried about Dad scolding me later for disobeying. They might even use my absence for another tryst on that bed, perhaps thanking me silently for the alone time.
Right now, all I wanted was to escape the places and people I despised.
The winter dawn felt lifeless, offering no warmth at all.
Cold winds rustled through, snapping brittle branches and scattering dead leaves everywhere. Stepping on them produced a satisfying crunch.
Suddenly, I loved that sound, imagining it as crushing the bones of someone I loathed underfoot, their shattered cries a futile plea.
I lost track of time and place. When hungry, I bought snacks with Mom’s allowance. When my legs tired, I sat on a bench, watching people pass.
Maybe the biting winter chill or the overcast sky kept streets empty. A few young joggers appeared, focused on their runs, oblivious to me.
Like the leaves on the curb, I blended in, unnoticed and insignificant. One more or less changed nothing for the scene or the passersby, including Dad.
I drew my knees up, elbows on them, chin in hands, hunched over the view.
Everything looked pale, I thought moments later. The surroundings wore winter’s signature bleakness, my exhaled breath adding a misty white haze.
Someone called my name from the path. Looking up, I saw Mr. Rodriguez.
In casual workout gear, he jogged over and asked, “Ryan, what are you doing here alone?”
Flustered, I struggled for an answer, but he didn’t wait. “Fight with your parents?”
I lowered my head silently, admitting it.
He sat beside me. “Ran out because of the argument?”
I gave a helpless smile. He continued, “That’s a long walk from your place. You came on foot?”
His words hit me; I’d wandered far without realizing, nearly to his neighborhood.
“Yeah,” I murmured.
He wiped some sweat, apparently done running, and asked, “Had breakfast? Want to grab some together?”
I’d eaten a slice of bread and milk, I told him, but he insisted that didn’t count and urged me to join him for a real meal. Unable to refuse, I followed to a nearby spot.
During the meal, he teased lightly, “Your parents must trust you a lot, letting you out alone without worry.”
I smiled awkwardly, saying nothing.
After, he said, “I’ll call your mom to pick you up. Parents always fret when kids are out solo.”
I set down my spoon mid-stir in the oatmeal, sulking, “I don’t want to go back.”
He chuckled. “Kids and parents argue over little things most times. They’re just looking out for you; try to see their good intentions.”
I’d heard that line from countless adults, and it still turned my stomach.
“Mr. Rodriguez, no need to call Mom,” I said. “She’s out of town.”
“Really?” he asked, puzzled.