The Son Seduction Trap
Copyright© 2025 by Chris X
Chapter 2
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 2 - 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 sharp, metallic scrape of a key in the front door lock is a bucket of ice water thrown over us.
Our bodies freeze, locked together in the humid heat of our sin.
Karen’s eyes, glazed with pleasure a second ago, fly open in pure, unadulterated terror. “Edward,” she breathes, the name a horrified whisper.
It’s a surge of pure adrenaline. We explode apart, a frantic scramble of tangled limbs and panic. She snatches her black chemise from the floor, yanking it over her head, her movements jerky and desperate. I lunge for the throw blanket on the back of the couch, pulling it over my lap just as my boxers tent obscenely. My heart is a jackhammer against my ribs, so loud I’m sure he can hear it.
The front door swings open. My father, Edward, stands in the doorway, his broad shoulders filling the frame. He looks tired, a gym bag slung over one shoulder, his dark, hairy forearms visible where he’s rolled up his shirtsleeves. He frowns, his gaze sweeping over the scene: the dim lights, the half-empty wine glass, me on the couch, and my mother now perched stiffly on the opposite end, her cheeks flushed a deep, guilty red.
“You’re home early,” Karen says, her voice pitched too high, too tight. She tries for a smile, but it’s a brittle, fragile thing.
“The conference ended early. The flight was moved up.” His eyes narrow slightly, lingering on her disheveled hair and the way her chest is still heaving. He looks at me, at the blanket clutched in my fists. “What’s going on in here?”
“Nothing,” we say in unison, our voices overlapping nervously.
His frown deepens. He drops his bag by the door with a heavy thud. “It’s late, Adam. Shouldn’t you be in bed?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I was just ... heading up.” I stand, keeping the blanket held strategically in front of me, the evidence of what we were doing still raging and obvious. I don’t dare look at my mother as I shuffle quickly out of the room, taking the stairs two at a time, my father’s suspicious gaze burning a hole in my back.
Safely in my room, I lock the door and lean against it, sucking in great gulps of air. My body is a symphony of conflicting sensations: the dizzying, euphoric high of touching her and tasting her, the terrifying crash of almost being caught, and the relentless, aching throb between my legs that hasn’t subsided in the slightest.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. Carlos.
My hands are shaking as I grab it.
Well? What happened? his message reads.
I type frantically, my fingers stumbling over the words, pouring out the entire humiliating, terrifying, thrilling sequence of events. My dad came home. He almost caught us. We were ... right in the middle of it. I send it, my chest tight.
The three dots appear immediately. Then his response comes, not with anger or worry, but with a dark, palpable thrill. Fuck. That’s hot.
I stare at the screen. Hot?
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