( NOT MY STORY )
1.) The Metropolitan Motel (if you could currently call it that, as its name changed five times in just the past fifteen years or so as the place used up as many owners) was a shithole. The structure itself was crooked and the stucco exterior was cracked like the sidewalk out front. This close to the lake, it was a wonder that investors hadn't bought the old building up for future development. As always, the neon sign burned in the office window: VACANCY. Out front was an illuminated signpost that would have looked new in 1960, but was painfully dated now, peeling and neglected.
I liked the place more or less. Since I'd left my wife, I'd stayed here at the weekly rate and if it wasn't luxurious, at least it was affordable. This was week three. I missed my son and daughter very much, and looked forward to a visitation with them soon, but I wasn't suffering from the absence of my lawfully-wed wife, that useless tit, Jessica.
With her, there was always drama and mischief. Whether she was ordering "rent-to-own" high-end appliances and furniture behind my back or rear-ending my car in our own driveway, there was always something bad happening. She ran up our credit when I wasn't looking and now I was on the hook for paying off her frivolous expenses, a position which had me hovering close to bankruptcy. Adding insult to injury, it turned out I was paying for her "girl weekends" which were actually boy weekends, if you know what I mean; Jessica had taken on a bit on the side: she was fucking her boss. That was the last straw. I packed everything I had in the house, put it in a storage lock-up and moved myself into the Metropolitan.
I worried about my legal and financial problems in the company of a favourite, time-honoured comrade named Jack Daniel's Tennessee Whiskey.
It was Saturday afternoon and I was off for the weekend. Truth be told, I was a little pickled in booze and self-pity before three in the afternoon, when an unexpected visitor came calling. The knock at my door was a surprise; not very many people knew I was here: basically, Jessica and the lawyer I hired to sort out our separation and visitation agreement. Being Saturday, it was unlikely that the lawyer was stopping by. I dreaded another bitch session from Jess; she'd already stopped by twice in two weeks alternately trying to convince me to come home (she was having trouble managing with the kids alone) or explaining why everything was my fault.
Fuck that. I wasn't going to try to stand in the doorway and reason with the crazy bitch. She could knock until she was blue in the face; I didn't have to answer and I wouldn't.
"Dean, are you in there?"
A man's voice. I was at a loss at first. It was definitely not the lawyer; the voice was too husky and cracked, but with just a hint of the whine Jessica used when talking. Of course. It had to be her father.
Wallace was about sixty. He'd been married to Jessica's mother, Gayle, for thirty-seven years before she died. That was one of the kindest things she ever did for her husband. For nearly forty years, she led the man around by his dick, ordering him about like an unloved dog, and cheating on him with door-to-door salesmen, postmen, insurance agents, Jehovah's Witnesses and Mormons. She mothered three daughters and two sons and I'd say there's room for doubt that Wallace fathered any of them, but he took them in as his own and loved them as much as any father ever dared. He was a weak-willed man, but we had always gotten along alright.
I opened the door, relieved to see that Wallace was alone. In my current condition, I wasn't sure I could have stood the shrill shriek of his daughter. I recognized him easily even though he wore a cloth mask to prevent the spread of COVID-19. I had seen him just a few weeks before wearing the same mask when he came to visit Jessica and I at the house.
"Come on in, Wallace," I said.
He nodded gratefully and scooted in. He licked his lips when he saw the open alcohol on the. Given his life, it was no surprise the old boy liked a drink. I poured him one and apologized for not having ice. He didn't seem to mind, downing his drink in a single shot. I frowned. I was a sipper; we'd get through a lot of my alcohol at his drinking pace.
Wallace talked about everything except what he came to say. As drink followed drink, we discussed the news, the American election, the COVID-19 crisis and we reviewed what little was new in the world of sports and entertainment. By the time, he'd put down a sixth strong drink, I decided to pin him down.
"What brings you here, Wallace? You didn't come to talk about the headlines."
"No. It's, uh, Jessica. She wants you back."
I gave a harsh bark of laughter.
"That's what she decided, did she? Well, I'm not going back. She may be good in the sack, but I'm the only one who ought to know it. She spread the love around a little too much for my liking."
Wallace seized an opportunity. "Oh, she's not... with him anymore. Her boss."
"Oh?" I was genuinely curious. "What happened?"
"She dumped him," Wallace said quickly, and I intuited that he was lying. I gave him a serious stare and he broke. "Well, actually, I guess he dumped her."
"Right. Now she wants the bank of hubby back."
Wallace was sweating. The conversation made him uncomfortable. He took his coat off and hung it up on a hook by the door. Here he was, doing his best by his daughter, and it was looking like an uphill battle.
"The kids need you," Wallace said.
"She can turn over full custody to me and I'll take care of them," I replied. "Otherwise, we'll see what kind of liberal access I can get in family court. I won't let my kids down."
"She's... she's changed while you've been gone. She was working long hours—"
I laughed. Long hours with her boss.
"No," Wallace said. "At a new job."
"Her boss fired her?"
Wallace nodded.
As a full-time employee, I was liking my odds at winning full parental custody better and better. She might have possession of the kids, de facto, but the court might not let her keep them if she wasn't able to support her household. She couldn't use me as an excuse; I was already paying full child support. She might try to ding me for spousal support, but my lawyer said we could make a good defence if she tried that.
"She needs you," Wallace said.
He looked at me imploringly. I don't know if it was the drink influencing me, or a latent attraction, but as he looked at me with begging eyes, I felt a twinge of arousal.
As a side note, I have always known I was bi-sexual. In college, I made it with a few guys I picked up in lecture halls and pubs. My lovers were occasionally much older than me... men like Wallace.
Wallace stood a couple inches short of six feet. His build was slim and bony and his clothes hung on him like a scarecrow's. His belly was not large, but it was soft and hung over his belt. He was silver-haired and slightly balding. He had a handsome face, partly hidden by thick-rimmed eyeglasses, and small hands and feet. He still wore his wedding ring in memory of his dead, faithless wife. He was retired and he dressed accordingly, wearing jeans and a light sweater.
Since I hadn't expected company, I had not really dressed. I was wearing a housecoat and a pair of boxers and that was all. I hadn't bothered to tie off the sash, so my trim physique and hairy chest were on full display along with my athletic legs.
"Well, if she needs me, that's her own damn fault. She made her bed and she can lie in it. What do you think you can say to change my mind?"
"What actually would change your mind?"
I was slightly drunk and feeling bold. "Well, one of Jess' extra-special, all-in, super-duper blowjobs would likely make me turn over a new leaf, but since she's not here..."
I watched the emotions flicker across my father-in-law's face as he evaluated how to respond to what I said. Any full-blooded man would have thought the conversation was over, but Wallace was a strange combination: he was as easy a sissy, used to abuse, as he was a good father willing to do anything for his daughter's best interest. His eyes met mine for an instant before he turned away, peering into his drink.
"I would do anything to bring you two back together, for your sake and for the children."
"Well, there's nothing you can do, is there, Wallace?"
The man socked back another drink.
"Maybe..."
Wallace looked me over long and hard, and I was astonished to realize he was taking the subtle hint. What would I do if he yielded to my desire? He looked at me with a strange mix of duty and yearning. We sat that way a long time and nothing was going to happen at that rate.
"So maybe what, Wallace?"
The older man poured himself yet another drink before he stood up, bolted the whiskey down his neck, slammed the glass on the table and walked over to stand in front of me. He had a small bulge in his crotch; the denim didn't easily take the shape of an erection, but I noticed it. If he thought I was going to suck him, he had another think in mind.
Meanwhile, with my wits slightly blown by the steady stream of alcohol I'd been consuming since late morning, I failed to notice I had a less intellectual response to Wallace's proximity. I followed his gaze down from my face to my crotch. Sure enough, my skin soldier was standing at full attention in my boxers.
"If I... If I do this... will you...?"
"There's only one way to find out. And why say 'if' when you know as well as I do that you can't wait to get your little pussy lips on my cock?"
Wallace licked his lips. His mouth was watering like the juicy cunt I had just compared it to. I couldn't believe my luck. It looked like I was going to get blown by my cheating wife's father. Talk about an interesting revenge...
"I can't do this... not if you don't promise..."
"Wallace, don't say that again. I make it a rule in life not to promise anything while my cock is hard. You know you want it. I'm giving you permission to take my cock out and suck me off. Then, we'll see."
Wallace was not in denial about his own desire. He knelt before me, his knees sinking into the dated plush carpet, and he set his hands on my hairy thighs. He reached forward and seized my boxers by the waistband. I lifted my ass off the chair and let him wriggle the shorts down my legs and off my feet. While he was down there, I raised my right foot and caressed the side of his face with it. The skin on the side of my foot was tender and soft and I felt the roughness of his shaved cheek. I was in a mood to slow things down and tease him a little.
"Suck my toes, bitch" I commanded.
There was no verbal response; Wallace obeyed and what a sight he made: he knelt before me with both hands on my foot as he slipped my big toe into his mouth. The inside of his mouth was hot and wet, and it absorbed each toe in its turn while his tongue lapped at the phalanges. When each toe had been pampered, he turned his attention to the sole of my foot licking and kissing the weathered skin on the bottom. He nipped and nibbled at the hard skin around the heel. With one foot satisfied, he turned to tantalize the other in the same way.
I wasn't immune to this sensual offensive. I felt good; my feet were always a weakness of mine. I found myself involuntarily considering his request that I return to his daughter, my lawfully-wedded bride...
When both of my feet had been properly treated, I set them flat on the floor and opened my legs, arranging the housecoat so that it's folds fell to each side, exposing my erect penis.
Again, he unconsciously licked his lips and his lust showed in his eyes. They weren't the eyes of a stranger for this task; I always wondered if Wallace had a bi side, and now I knew he did. I wondered how often he'd fed his lust during his marriage; could he have been as unfaithful as his whorish wife? If so, I reasoned that I would be the beneficiary of his experience.
Wallace was about to lean in toward my cock but I clucked and told him to tongue-bathe his way up my legs. He set about the task eagerly, dropping to all fours so that he could reach my Achilles tendon, then up the inside of my hairy calf, lapping at it eagerly until he reached my knee. He switched legs and repeated the process. He caressed my knees in both hands as he licked the inside of my thighs, matting the hair as he went.
Eventually, he ran out of legs.
His nose was in my crotch, between my balls and my asshole, inhaling my most personal odour. I asked myself when I took my last shower and realized it had been over twenty-four hours ago. He seemed to have an appreciation for my scent, so I decided to give him a treat. I reached back with my arms, letting the folds of my housecoat fall from my shoulders. I was completely naked now. As Wallace finished smelling under my privates and prepared to fall on my stiffy, I told him to wait on that and I was pleased to see his disappointment writ large on his face; he was eager to blow me now.
I put my hands behind my head so that my armpits were exposed. He took the hint, raised himself up and nose-dived into the thick, curling hair of my underarm. He inhaled its aroma and began lapping at the hairy armpit until the hair was flattened out. He did the same for the other side and when he stopped, I resumed a more comfortable posture, and he looked me in the eye from very nearby. I stared him down and he put his hands on my shoulders to steady himself. He continued to tongue-bathe me, running his hot lips and tongue over my chest hair and stopping to take special care of the nipples. Finally, he tipped his tongue into my navel and licked his way down the hairy trail to my pubic hair. I let him brush aside my erection while he nose-poked my hairy bush.
1.) The Metropolitan Motel (if you could currently call it that, as its name changed five times in just the past fifteen years or so as the place used up as many owners) was a shithole. The structure itself was crooked and the stucco exterior was cracked like the sidewalk out front. This close to the lake, it was a wonder that investors hadn't bought the old building up for future development. As always, the neon sign burned in the office window: VACANCY. Out front was an illuminated signpost that would have looked new in 1960, but was painfully dated now, peeling and neglected.
I liked the place more or less. Since I'd left my wife, I'd stayed here at the weekly rate and if it wasn't luxurious, at least it was affordable. This was week three. I missed my son and daughter very much, and looked forward to a visitation with them soon, but I wasn't suffering from the absence of my lawfully-wed wife, that useless tit, Jessica.
With her, there was always drama and mischief. Whether she was ordering "rent-to-own" high-end appliances and furniture behind my back or rear-ending my car in our own driveway, there was always something bad happening. She ran up our credit when I wasn't looking and now I was on the hook for paying off her frivolous expenses, a position which had me hovering close to bankruptcy. Adding insult to injury, it turned out I was paying for her "girl weekends" which were actually boy weekends, if you know what I mean; Jessica had taken on a bit on the side: she was fucking her boss. That was the last straw. I packed everything I had in the house, put it in a storage lock-up and moved myself into the Metropolitan.
I worried about my legal and financial problems in the company of a favourite, time-honoured comrade named Jack Daniel's Tennessee Whiskey.
It was Saturday afternoon and I was off for the weekend. Truth be told, I was a little pickled in booze and self-pity before three in the afternoon, when an unexpected visitor came calling. The knock at my door was a surprise; not very many people knew I was here: basically, Jessica and the lawyer I hired to sort out our separation and visitation agreement. Being Saturday, it was unlikely that the lawyer was stopping by. I dreaded another bitch session from Jess; she'd already stopped by twice in two weeks alternately trying to convince me to come home (she was having trouble managing with the kids alone) or explaining why everything was my fault.
Fuck that. I wasn't going to try to stand in the doorway and reason with the crazy bitch. She could knock until she was blue in the face; I didn't have to answer and I wouldn't.
"Dean, are you in there?"
A man's voice. I was at a loss at first. It was definitely not the lawyer; the voice was too husky and cracked, but with just a hint of the whine Jessica used when talking. Of course. It had to be her father.
Wallace was about sixty. He'd been married to Jessica's mother, Gayle, for thirty-seven years before she died. That was one of the kindest things she ever did for her husband. For nearly forty years, she led the man around by his dick, ordering him about like an unloved dog, and cheating on him with door-to-door salesmen, postmen, insurance agents, Jehovah's Witnesses and Mormons. She mothered three daughters and two sons and I'd say there's room for doubt that Wallace fathered any of them, but he took them in as his own and loved them as much as any father ever dared. He was a weak-willed man, but we had always gotten along alright.
I opened the door, relieved to see that Wallace was alone. In my current condition, I wasn't sure I could have stood the shrill shriek of his daughter. I recognized him easily even though he wore a cloth mask to prevent the spread of COVID-19. I had seen him just a few weeks before wearing the same mask when he came to visit Jessica and I at the house.
"Come on in, Wallace," I said.
He nodded gratefully and scooted in. He licked his lips when he saw the open alcohol on the. Given his life, it was no surprise the old boy liked a drink. I poured him one and apologized for not having ice. He didn't seem to mind, downing his drink in a single shot. I frowned. I was a sipper; we'd get through a lot of my alcohol at his drinking pace.
Wallace talked about everything except what he came to say. As drink followed drink, we discussed the news, the American election, the COVID-19 crisis and we reviewed what little was new in the world of sports and entertainment. By the time, he'd put down a sixth strong drink, I decided to pin him down.
"What brings you here, Wallace? You didn't come to talk about the headlines."
"No. It's, uh, Jessica. She wants you back."
I gave a harsh bark of laughter.
"That's what she decided, did she? Well, I'm not going back. She may be good in the sack, but I'm the only one who ought to know it. She spread the love around a little too much for my liking."
Wallace seized an opportunity. "Oh, she's not... with him anymore. Her boss."
"Oh?" I was genuinely curious. "What happened?"
"She dumped him," Wallace said quickly, and I intuited that he was lying. I gave him a serious stare and he broke. "Well, actually, I guess he dumped her."
"Right. Now she wants the bank of hubby back."
Wallace was sweating. The conversation made him uncomfortable. He took his coat off and hung it up on a hook by the door. Here he was, doing his best by his daughter, and it was looking like an uphill battle.
"The kids need you," Wallace said.
"She can turn over full custody to me and I'll take care of them," I replied. "Otherwise, we'll see what kind of liberal access I can get in family court. I won't let my kids down."
"She's... she's changed while you've been gone. She was working long hours—"
I laughed. Long hours with her boss.
"No," Wallace said. "At a new job."
"Her boss fired her?"
Wallace nodded.
As a full-time employee, I was liking my odds at winning full parental custody better and better. She might have possession of the kids, de facto, but the court might not let her keep them if she wasn't able to support her household. She couldn't use me as an excuse; I was already paying full child support. She might try to ding me for spousal support, but my lawyer said we could make a good defence if she tried that.
"She needs you," Wallace said.
He looked at me imploringly. I don't know if it was the drink influencing me, or a latent attraction, but as he looked at me with begging eyes, I felt a twinge of arousal.
As a side note, I have always known I was bi-sexual. In college, I made it with a few guys I picked up in lecture halls and pubs. My lovers were occasionally much older than me... men like Wallace.
Wallace stood a couple inches short of six feet. His build was slim and bony and his clothes hung on him like a scarecrow's. His belly was not large, but it was soft and hung over his belt. He was silver-haired and slightly balding. He had a handsome face, partly hidden by thick-rimmed eyeglasses, and small hands and feet. He still wore his wedding ring in memory of his dead, faithless wife. He was retired and he dressed accordingly, wearing jeans and a light sweater.
Since I hadn't expected company, I had not really dressed. I was wearing a housecoat and a pair of boxers and that was all. I hadn't bothered to tie off the sash, so my trim physique and hairy chest were on full display along with my athletic legs.
"Well, if she needs me, that's her own damn fault. She made her bed and she can lie in it. What do you think you can say to change my mind?"
"What actually would change your mind?"
I was slightly drunk and feeling bold. "Well, one of Jess' extra-special, all-in, super-duper blowjobs would likely make me turn over a new leaf, but since she's not here..."
I watched the emotions flicker across my father-in-law's face as he evaluated how to respond to what I said. Any full-blooded man would have thought the conversation was over, but Wallace was a strange combination: he was as easy a sissy, used to abuse, as he was a good father willing to do anything for his daughter's best interest. His eyes met mine for an instant before he turned away, peering into his drink.
"I would do anything to bring you two back together, for your sake and for the children."
"Well, there's nothing you can do, is there, Wallace?"
The man socked back another drink.
"Maybe..."
Wallace looked me over long and hard, and I was astonished to realize he was taking the subtle hint. What would I do if he yielded to my desire? He looked at me with a strange mix of duty and yearning. We sat that way a long time and nothing was going to happen at that rate.
"So maybe what, Wallace?"
The older man poured himself yet another drink before he stood up, bolted the whiskey down his neck, slammed the glass on the table and walked over to stand in front of me. He had a small bulge in his crotch; the denim didn't easily take the shape of an erection, but I noticed it. If he thought I was going to suck him, he had another think in mind.
Meanwhile, with my wits slightly blown by the steady stream of alcohol I'd been consuming since late morning, I failed to notice I had a less intellectual response to Wallace's proximity. I followed his gaze down from my face to my crotch. Sure enough, my skin soldier was standing at full attention in my boxers.
"If I... If I do this... will you...?"
"There's only one way to find out. And why say 'if' when you know as well as I do that you can't wait to get your little pussy lips on my cock?"
Wallace licked his lips. His mouth was watering like the juicy cunt I had just compared it to. I couldn't believe my luck. It looked like I was going to get blown by my cheating wife's father. Talk about an interesting revenge...
"I can't do this... not if you don't promise..."
"Wallace, don't say that again. I make it a rule in life not to promise anything while my cock is hard. You know you want it. I'm giving you permission to take my cock out and suck me off. Then, we'll see."
Wallace was not in denial about his own desire. He knelt before me, his knees sinking into the dated plush carpet, and he set his hands on my hairy thighs. He reached forward and seized my boxers by the waistband. I lifted my ass off the chair and let him wriggle the shorts down my legs and off my feet. While he was down there, I raised my right foot and caressed the side of his face with it. The skin on the side of my foot was tender and soft and I felt the roughness of his shaved cheek. I was in a mood to slow things down and tease him a little.
"Suck my toes, bitch" I commanded.
There was no verbal response; Wallace obeyed and what a sight he made: he knelt before me with both hands on my foot as he slipped my big toe into his mouth. The inside of his mouth was hot and wet, and it absorbed each toe in its turn while his tongue lapped at the phalanges. When each toe had been pampered, he turned his attention to the sole of my foot licking and kissing the weathered skin on the bottom. He nipped and nibbled at the hard skin around the heel. With one foot satisfied, he turned to tantalize the other in the same way.
I wasn't immune to this sensual offensive. I felt good; my feet were always a weakness of mine. I found myself involuntarily considering his request that I return to his daughter, my lawfully-wedded bride...
When both of my feet had been properly treated, I set them flat on the floor and opened my legs, arranging the housecoat so that it's folds fell to each side, exposing my erect penis.
Again, he unconsciously licked his lips and his lust showed in his eyes. They weren't the eyes of a stranger for this task; I always wondered if Wallace had a bi side, and now I knew he did. I wondered how often he'd fed his lust during his marriage; could he have been as unfaithful as his whorish wife? If so, I reasoned that I would be the beneficiary of his experience.
Wallace was about to lean in toward my cock but I clucked and told him to tongue-bathe his way up my legs. He set about the task eagerly, dropping to all fours so that he could reach my Achilles tendon, then up the inside of my hairy calf, lapping at it eagerly until he reached my knee. He switched legs and repeated the process. He caressed my knees in both hands as he licked the inside of my thighs, matting the hair as he went.
Eventually, he ran out of legs.
His nose was in my crotch, between my balls and my asshole, inhaling my most personal odour. I asked myself when I took my last shower and realized it had been over twenty-four hours ago. He seemed to have an appreciation for my scent, so I decided to give him a treat. I reached back with my arms, letting the folds of my housecoat fall from my shoulders. I was completely naked now. As Wallace finished smelling under my privates and prepared to fall on my stiffy, I told him to wait on that and I was pleased to see his disappointment writ large on his face; he was eager to blow me now.
I put my hands behind my head so that my armpits were exposed. He took the hint, raised himself up and nose-dived into the thick, curling hair of my underarm. He inhaled its aroma and began lapping at the hairy armpit until the hair was flattened out. He did the same for the other side and when he stopped, I resumed a more comfortable posture, and he looked me in the eye from very nearby. I stared him down and he put his hands on my shoulders to steady himself. He continued to tongue-bathe me, running his hot lips and tongue over my chest hair and stopping to take special care of the nipples. Finally, he tipped his tongue into my navel and licked his way down the hairy trail to my pubic hair. I let him brush aside my erection while he nose-poked my hairy bush.
