Silver Routine
Copyright© 2026 by Ring of Seed
Chapter 2
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 2 - Graham was Ian’s cousin. Salt-and-pepper, charming, properly hairy. The kind of older man who should have stayed safely in family photos. Instead he ended up on his knees in the hallway, mouth open, throat working, every morning. A quiet, permanent, irreversible routine. The older man who fell under charm never got up again. He simply grew older inside the shape made for him. Family to the end.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Ma Consensual Gay Fiction Anal Sex Oral Sex
A couple of weeks later the texts from Graham had become daily. Short, almost shy messages at odd hours: “Still feel it when I sit down.” “Woke up hard thinking about the taste.” “Can’t believe I let you do that to me.” Every one landed like a slow drip, reminding me how deeply the seed had taken. He was already changing, one quiet confession at a time.
Then he texted to say he was in the city centre for a meeting and asked, very politely, if he could drop by for a coffee on his way home. “If it’s not too much trouble,” he added, as if he hadn’t spent the last fortnight sending me late-night messages about how he still felt me inside him every time he sat down.
I told him to come round. Ian was home that afternoon; we’d planned a quiet Saturday. When Graham arrived he looked every inch the respectable older cousin: navy blazer, pressed trousers, that same salt-and-pepper hair neatly combed. He kissed Ian on both cheeks, asked after his work, complimented the flat. We sat in the sitting room with its big windows overlooking the Water of Leith, the river calm and grey under the winter sky. Graham sipped his coffee, made small talk about the council’s latest planning nonsense, laughed at Ian’s jokes. All perfectly normal.
Except that every time Ian looked away, Graham’s eyes flicked to me. Shy. Hungry. Guilty. I could almost see the ghost of my load shifting inside him with every small movement, the way he shifted in the chair, cheeks flushing just a fraction. He was carrying me right there in his cousin’s sitting room, and he knew it.
After about twenty minutes Ian stood up.
“I’ve run out of milk. I’ll nip to the wee shop on Raeburn Place. Won’t be long, half an hour at most.”
He grabbed his keys, gave me a quick kiss, ruffled Graham’s hair like he was still the older cousin who used to buy him pints.
“Don’t let him bore you with planning applications,” he told me, grinning, then headed out.
The front door clicked shut. We heard the car start, the low rumble as it reversed out of the garage and disappeared down the street.
Silence settled over the flat.
Graham set his coffee cup down carefully. His hands were shaking just a little. He looked at the spot where Ian had been sitting moments ago, then at me, eyes dark with that same mix of shame and need that had started in the hotel weeks before.
“I shouldn’t be here,” he said, voice low. “Not in his house. Not with ... still feeling you from last time.”
He didn’t move to leave.
I stood up slowly, walked over to him. He looked up at me, eyes wide, conflicted.
I cupped his jaw, thumb brushing the silver stubble.
“You came anyway.”
He swallowed.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about it. About you. About how it’s still inside me ... even now.”
A pause. Then, quieter: “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
I leaned down and kissed him. Soft at first, testing. He made a small, broken sound against my mouth and opened for me instantly. The kiss deepened fast; his hands clutched at my shirt like he was afraid I’d pull away.
I broke it just long enough to murmur:
“We’ve got thirty minutes. Let’s make them count.”
We didn’t make it far.
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