The Son Seduction Trap
Copyright© 2025 by Chris X
Chapter 8
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 8 - 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 silence in my room is thick with conspiracy and the smell of our sex. Karen’s suggestion hangs in the air, a dangerous, thrilling next step. Go through my father’s things. My heart is still hammering from Carlos’s call, from the feel of her climax around me. Her finger continues its lazy trail through my pubic hair, a possessive, soothing gesture that feels anything but.
Before I can even form a response, my phone buzzes again. A text. Karen’s eyes flash with anticipation.
Carlos: You alone, baby?
The pet name sends a confusing, electric jolt through me. It’s not for her. It’s for me. I feel a flush creep up my neck.
Me: Yeah. She went to her room to shower.
Carlos: Good boy. Now listen, baby. I’ve been thinking. Your dad ... I want to know what makes him tick. All of it. I’m going to befriend him. Get close. Just have to check him out, you know? See what we’re really working with.
I read the text aloud to Karen, my voice hushed. Her eyes widen, not with fear, but with a dark, gleeful fascination. She sits up, pulling the sheet over her breasts, her entire posture shifting to that of a co-conspirator.
“A cop befriending a respected doctor,” she murmurs, a sly smile playing on her lips. “It’s perfect. Edward would love that. The validation.” The way she says his name—Edward—is so cold, so detached. He’s not my father to her in this moment. He’s an obstacle. A variable.
My phone buzzes again.
Carlos: I want you to meet me. Tonight. At the Luxe Inn. Room 114 again. We’ll spend the night. We need to talk about this. Get our story straight. We have to be firm. Secure.
Firm. Secure. The words feel like a physical touch. Karen is watching me, her gaze intense. She reads the unspoken questions on my face.
“Go,” she says, her voice firm. It’s no longer a suggestion. It’s an order. “You need to see him. You need to ... solidify this.” Her hand drifts back under the sheet, her fingers wrapping around my semi-hard cock, already stirring back to life at the mere idea of seeing Carlos. She’s right. I need to.
Me: What time?
Carlos: 11. And Adam ... pack a bag. This isn’t a quick visit.
The rest of the day is an agony of waiting. Every sound in the house is amplified. The groan of the pipes when Karen showers. The distant hum of the garage door opening, signaling my father’s return home for a brief lunch. I watch him from the top of the stairs, seeing him not as my dad, but as a subject. Notice his routines. He moves with a tired, efficient grace, barely glancing up from his phone. He doesn’t call out for anyone. He just gets a glass of water and leaves again. Distant. Absent. Karen’s words echo. He’s a ghost in his own home, and we are the poltergeists planning his undoing.
By 10:30 PM, the house is silent. I’ve told Karen I’m staying at a friend’s house to game all night. She’d just nodded, that knowing glint in her eye, and kissed me deeply, her tongue pushing a single, blessed sleeping pill into my mouth. “In case he comes home early and checks on you,” she’d whispered. “So you’ll be asleep.” The deception is seamless.
I slip out and drive to the motel, my duffel bag on the passenger seat. My stomach is a tight knot of nerves and anticipation. This is different. A whole night.
Room 114. I knock softly. The door swings open immediately.
Carlos is there, leaning against the doorframe. He’s not in his tight tee and jeans. He’s wearing loose grey sweatpants and a white tank top that shows off the powerful, tattooed muscles of his arms and shoulders. He looks softer. More approachable. But his eyes are the same: dark, intense, and knowing.
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