The Son Seduction Trap
Copyright© 2025 by Chris X
Chapter 19
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 19 - Attend curiosity leads to adult websites which causes a moral dilemma for himself an online friend turns into more sexual boundaries are pushed the under limits. A journey into knowing oneself.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa mt Drunk/Drugged Rape BiSexual Heterosexual Fiction Cheating Cuckold Sharing Slut Wife Wife Watching Incest Mother Son Father DomSub Humiliation Rough Interracial White Male White Female Hispanic Male Indian Male Anal Sex Cream Pie Exhibitionism First Facial Masturbation Oral Sex Voyeurism Hairy Revenge Violence AI Generated
The warm spray of the shower is a welcome shock, washing away the sticky evidence of our night. Edward’s hands are firm and purposeful. The warm spray of the shower is a welcome shock, washing away the sticky evidence of our night. Edward’s hands are firm and purposeful as he guides me under the water. He reaches for a bottle of his expensive, sandalwood-scented body wash, and the rich, masculine aroma immediately fills the steamy enclosure.
As Adam entered the bathroom, the air was thick with Edward’s musky scent, a potent mixture of sweat from his morning gym session, the faint tang of his cologne, and the unmistakable aroma of their earlier encounter. The steam from the shower carried the traces of his father’s day—his salty skin, the musk of his ass, and the lingering sweetness of their intimate moment. Adam inhaled deeply, letting the scent envelop him. This wasn’t just any smell; it was Edward’s essence, raw and unfiltered. It clung to every surface, every breath Adam took, and he couldn’t help but feel a twisted sense of pride. He had made this man his, and now even the air bore the evidence of his conquest.
He lathers the soap between his palms, the sound soft and intimate. His eyes never leave mine as his hands come to my shoulders, kneading the tense muscles there. “So much tension,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble beneath the drumming water. “You carry the weight of the world, don’t you?”
I can only nod, my throat tight. His touch is methodical, exploring. He washes my chest, his thumbs brushing over my nipples, making me gasp. He doesn’t linger, just continues his journey downward, soaping my stomach and my hips. He kneels before me on the tiled floor, his powerful frame suddenly lower, subservient, yet still radiating complete control.
He lifts one of my feet, washing it with a care that feels reverent, then the other. His hands slide up my calves and my thighs, the rough hair on his arms a delicious scratch against my sensitive skin. He’s thorough, leaving no part of me untouched, unclaimed. When his soapy hands slide between my legs, cupping and washing my balls, then stroking my slowly stirring cock, a broken sigh escapes me.
He looks up, water cascading over his dark hair and down his handsome, stubbled face. “Just getting you clean, son,” he says, but the dark, hungry glint in his eyes says something else entirely. I am learning you. I am claiming every inch.
He rises, his body water-slicked and magnificent. He turns me gently, pushing me against the cool, wet tiles. The contrast of the cold on my back and the heat of his body pressed against my front is dizzying. He cages me in with his arms, his chest hair a rough, wonderful friction against my skin.
“Now me,” he commands softly, handing me the soap.
My hands tremble as I pour the liquid into my palm. I mimic his actions, starting with his broad, powerful shoulders. I work the lather over the dense, hairy planes of his chest, feeling the solid muscle and the steady, strong beat of his heart beneath my palms. I’m worshipping him. This is a prayer.
When I kneel, the hot water pounding my back, I wash his strong legs, his feet. I look up the length of his body. He’s fully erect again, thick and imposing. I meet his gaze as my soapy hands carefully, slowly, wash him there. I stroke his length, feeling the iron hardness beneath the silken skin. His eyes flutter closed, a low groan torn from his lips. Yes.
He quickly shuts off the water. The sudden silence is deafening, filled only with our ragged breathing and the drip-drip-drip from the showerhead. He doesn’t reach for a towel. He just pushes me back against the tiles, his body pinning me, and crashes his mouth down onto mine.
The kiss is hungry, desperate, and all-consuming. His tongue invades my mouth, tasting of mint and himself. His hands grip my hips, grinding his hard cock against mine. The friction is electric, maddening. My head spins from the lack of air and the overwhelming sensation. I am his. Completely.
When he finally breaks the kiss, we’re both panting. He doesn’t speak. He just takes my hand and leads me, dripping wet, back to his bedroom. The king-sized bed, usually so imposing, now feels like a sanctuary. He pulls back the covers, and we slide in, the cool sheets a shock against our heated skin. He pulls me into his arms, my back to his front, just like before, and within minutes, his breathing evens out into the deep, steady rhythm of sleep.
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