What Goes on in Munich...
My dad and I are like best friends. We play and watch sport together, go and have a drink at the pub together and even now work for the same company.
Our company is a multi national organisation, and as Sales reps, we are often sent overseas together for sales conventions and exhibitions, in order to drum up new business.
The highlight of all these conventions are the evenings, when the delegates invariably all meet up for a meal, let their hair down a little and drop their hairs and graces.
As this particular evening progresses and the drinks flow, we find ourselves talking to a couple of ladies from another, rival, European company. An English woman and her younger Italian colleague.
As we huddle around the table, my Dad, with his gift-of-the-gab Irish blarney, takes centre-stage, recounting tales of previous exhibitions and the various escapades he’s got up to on overseas visits over the years.
Heather, the older, redhead English woman is hanging on his every word, and mirroring his actions, quite clearly under his spell. And she has a reputation too. I watched her at a previous overseas conference happily sit on the knee of a wealthy, married, business owner, her arm wrapped round his neck, whilst he massaged her thigh. No doubt they consummated their budding relationship later that same evening...
And here she was now with Dad. Hanging on his every word, and hanging out of the red dress she’s wearing, giving my Dad, and me for that matter, quite an eyeful of the goods on offer.
As the evening progresses, I chat less flirtingly with my companion, Sophia, who is recently engaged and due to be married later in the year. I’ve no fucking chance truth be told…
It’s approaching midnight, when Sophia, who’s been glancing at her wrist watch periodically now for some time, says they should be getting back.
“Nonsense!” My dad exclaims, “the night is still young! Let’s get a cab back to our hotel, they’ve got a late bar…”
The two ladies look at each other with differing expressions, and after a brief discussion, it is quite clear that Heather is the keener of the two, and as the Senior, persuades Sophia to agree to accompany us.
When we get there, the Late Bar is more a ‘not-so-early’ bar, as it’s empty and closing…
“Look you’ve come all this way, we’ve got a mini bar in our room, shall we go?” My Dad, ever the optimist, suggests.
With a little hesitation they agree, though Sophia, only after a little persuasion from Heather.
As we go up the lift, I note Heather slips her arm inside my Dad’s and he gives her a little smile in recognition. Sophia is distinctly stand-offish towards me.
Opening the mini bar, Sophia and I sit in the 2 chairs in the room, which are separated by a shin-jarring coffee table, whilst my Dad and Heather sit on the bed, next to each other.
As the chatter continues, it’s quite clear that my father and his companion are getting on way better than me and my ‘date’. They’ve edged closer together perched as they are, on the edge of the double bed. My Dad now has his arm around her waist, hand resting on the side of her hip, she sits with her head on his shoulder, hand of occasionally straying on to his thigh, when she thinks neither of us are looking.
After what seems like a torturous half hour or so, my companion, Sophia, gets up and motions to Heather, to come with her to the restroom for a minute…
As they disappear I say to Dad, “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Oh just having a little fun” he says, “no harm in it is there?”
“What about mum…?” I protest, but before he can even try to answer, the ladies come back in the room.
With a shrug of my shoulders, I take Sophia downstairs for a cab and leave dad and Heather to it.
As the cab arrives, I go to give her a kiss, but she offers me just her cheek and we say goodbye.
I head despondently back upstairs to my room and lie on my bed, with my head against the wall.
It’s then that I notice the walls are paper thin, as I can hear the voices from next door, and it’s clearly my Dad and Heather still chatting away.
He’s making her laugh and she’s giggling like a little c***d, but I can’t make out the words. Their chatter continues for some time, and for a while I slowly stroke my cock, imagining what might be happening in their room, but I’ve little enthusiasm left for the evening, as tiredness takes over and I drift off to sleep…
—————————————————-
I’m woken from my restless slumber, by a dull rhythmic thud, and as the cloud of my thick head slowly clears, I realise it’s coming from the wall of the adjoining room.
I glance at the digital alarm on the bedside table and see that it’s 7:06 a.m. as my senses slowly sharpen and I hear their voices once more.
I can just hear my Dad’s voice and he is speaking indecipherable words in short phrases, urgent tone, but what is clearer is her voice - Heather’s. And she’s telling Dad in no uncertain terms what she wants him to do to her.
I’m both aroused and appalled in equal measure, as my cock twitches and then quickly forms a semi.
“Fuck me John. Fuck me!” I hear her encourage my Dad. For some reason I think immediately of my mother, who is right now, no doubt busying herself for the arrival back of her husband later today.
I can just about forgive a drunken fumble or fuck even, but in the cold sober light of dawn, when he knows exactly what he’s doing, seems a little more heartless.
But then again, if the whore he’s fucking again this morning, was offering it me on a plate would I be any different?
As I grab my cock in my left hand, I have my answer. I slowly start to stroke as I listen to Heather’s sighs’ and grunts’ and to the headboard rhythmically bumping against my wall, as my Dad thrusts into his little whore.
My strokes quicken as I hear her demand that he fucks her harder and I imagine her on her back, legs apart missionary, my Dad looking down on his prize as her tits dance to his thrusts.
And they were a nice pair of tits too, not too big, not too small, with a nice fullness, heaviness about them. He’s probably cupping them or sucking them right now.
The rhythmic pounding stops and I can hear the whore giggling as Dad says something before it starts up again. Presumably they’d just paused for a brief moment of intimacy, a kiss or a cuddle, before resuming.
And resume they do, but this time it’s faster. Jesus I think to myself, as I wank myself at top speed wishing to God I could be the other side of the wall, to watch Dad taking his red-headed whore. Watching him plough into her middle-aged snatch, as he pushes down on her body, or pecks urgently at her face, nibbles on her ear lobes – all the while driving his big fat cock inside her.
Heather is responding in kind, with incomprehensible murmuring now, clearly lost in the moment, before culminating in a shriek as my Dad takes her to orgasm.
It’s enough for me, and I feel my own surge and grab a handful of tissues from the bedside table before proceeding to cum heavily into them. For a moment I’m imagining I’m Dad, looking down on this beautiful but tainted woman, who has knowingly seduced and fucked a married man, taken his cum without any regard for the other woman in the love triangle. I pump my spunk into the clump of tissue, as I continue this train of thought. She will never even meet my mother and never want to. She simply wanted to borrow her man’s cock for the evening. Use him, hold him, fuck him, take his seed and discard him.
As I lay there exhausted and sweaty, I’m shocked as I now hear my Dad’s voice, a little more raised, more urgent. The headboard isn’t banging any more, but I can quite clearly hear him saying “That’s it, Heather! Suck it. Suck my cock. Suck my dick…”
Jesus, I thought they were finished - clearly not!
I then have to listen for a further few minutes as my father encourages his slut to suck him dry. Invariably she does, as I hear him shout and pronounce her name “Oh Heather!” emphatically several minutes later, as he presumably empties his sac into the dirty whore’s mouth.
—————————
“Not got your girlfriend in tow?” I ask sarcastically, glaring at my bleary-eyed Dad, as he joins me for breakfast, in the hotel restaurant.
“Oh you know, Mark, just a little harmless, drunken fun. What goes on in Munich, stays in Munich, you know, Son…” he says winking at me. Registering my disapproval he then adds, “Never mind all that...How about you? Did you do the deed with your dusky Italian? Little pocket rocket, eh that ‘un!”
And without waiting for an answer he gets up to go to the buffet counter.
And I’m left to contemplate…
In some ways he’s right. What mum doesn’t know won’t harm her and for many good reasons. If he’s going to be unfaithful, I’d prefer it if he had the occasional one-nighter overseas - a no-strings, uncomplicated, meaningless fuck, rather than a more deceitful, prolonged and potentially harmful affair on home soil…
Like the ones he’s had in the past - with Chrissy, or Catherine or Deborah. But they are different stories, for another time…
————————————————————
————————————————————
For context, I came across some photos of the evening in question recently, which was the catalyst for me tapping on the keyboard again…Heather was a renowned slut within our circles, who made a beeline for my father that particular night, and married or not, me in tow or not, he lapped it up. In reality, as the evening progressed I got well and truly wasted and left them to it. Sadly there was no adjoining room, just me left to imagine all these years on whether or not they consummated their relationship that night...What do you think...?!
Our company is a multi national organisation, and as Sales reps, we are often sent overseas together for sales conventions and exhibitions, in order to drum up new business.
The highlight of all these conventions are the evenings, when the delegates invariably all meet up for a meal, let their hair down a little and drop their hairs and graces.
As this particular evening progresses and the drinks flow, we find ourselves talking to a couple of ladies from another, rival, European company. An English woman and her younger Italian colleague.
As we huddle around the table, my Dad, with his gift-of-the-gab Irish blarney, takes centre-stage, recounting tales of previous exhibitions and the various escapades he’s got up to on overseas visits over the years.
Heather, the older, redhead English woman is hanging on his every word, and mirroring his actions, quite clearly under his spell. And she has a reputation too. I watched her at a previous overseas conference happily sit on the knee of a wealthy, married, business owner, her arm wrapped round his neck, whilst he massaged her thigh. No doubt they consummated their budding relationship later that same evening...
And here she was now with Dad. Hanging on his every word, and hanging out of the red dress she’s wearing, giving my Dad, and me for that matter, quite an eyeful of the goods on offer.
As the evening progresses, I chat less flirtingly with my companion, Sophia, who is recently engaged and due to be married later in the year. I’ve no fucking chance truth be told…
It’s approaching midnight, when Sophia, who’s been glancing at her wrist watch periodically now for some time, says they should be getting back.
“Nonsense!” My dad exclaims, “the night is still young! Let’s get a cab back to our hotel, they’ve got a late bar…”
The two ladies look at each other with differing expressions, and after a brief discussion, it is quite clear that Heather is the keener of the two, and as the Senior, persuades Sophia to agree to accompany us.
When we get there, the Late Bar is more a ‘not-so-early’ bar, as it’s empty and closing…
“Look you’ve come all this way, we’ve got a mini bar in our room, shall we go?” My Dad, ever the optimist, suggests.
With a little hesitation they agree, though Sophia, only after a little persuasion from Heather.
As we go up the lift, I note Heather slips her arm inside my Dad’s and he gives her a little smile in recognition. Sophia is distinctly stand-offish towards me.
Opening the mini bar, Sophia and I sit in the 2 chairs in the room, which are separated by a shin-jarring coffee table, whilst my Dad and Heather sit on the bed, next to each other.
As the chatter continues, it’s quite clear that my father and his companion are getting on way better than me and my ‘date’. They’ve edged closer together perched as they are, on the edge of the double bed. My Dad now has his arm around her waist, hand resting on the side of her hip, she sits with her head on his shoulder, hand of occasionally straying on to his thigh, when she thinks neither of us are looking.
After what seems like a torturous half hour or so, my companion, Sophia, gets up and motions to Heather, to come with her to the restroom for a minute…
As they disappear I say to Dad, “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Oh just having a little fun” he says, “no harm in it is there?”
“What about mum…?” I protest, but before he can even try to answer, the ladies come back in the room.
With a shrug of my shoulders, I take Sophia downstairs for a cab and leave dad and Heather to it.
As the cab arrives, I go to give her a kiss, but she offers me just her cheek and we say goodbye.
I head despondently back upstairs to my room and lie on my bed, with my head against the wall.
It’s then that I notice the walls are paper thin, as I can hear the voices from next door, and it’s clearly my Dad and Heather still chatting away.
He’s making her laugh and she’s giggling like a little c***d, but I can’t make out the words. Their chatter continues for some time, and for a while I slowly stroke my cock, imagining what might be happening in their room, but I’ve little enthusiasm left for the evening, as tiredness takes over and I drift off to sleep…
—————————————————-
I’m woken from my restless slumber, by a dull rhythmic thud, and as the cloud of my thick head slowly clears, I realise it’s coming from the wall of the adjoining room.
I glance at the digital alarm on the bedside table and see that it’s 7:06 a.m. as my senses slowly sharpen and I hear their voices once more.
I can just hear my Dad’s voice and he is speaking indecipherable words in short phrases, urgent tone, but what is clearer is her voice - Heather’s. And she’s telling Dad in no uncertain terms what she wants him to do to her.
I’m both aroused and appalled in equal measure, as my cock twitches and then quickly forms a semi.
“Fuck me John. Fuck me!” I hear her encourage my Dad. For some reason I think immediately of my mother, who is right now, no doubt busying herself for the arrival back of her husband later today.
I can just about forgive a drunken fumble or fuck even, but in the cold sober light of dawn, when he knows exactly what he’s doing, seems a little more heartless.
But then again, if the whore he’s fucking again this morning, was offering it me on a plate would I be any different?
As I grab my cock in my left hand, I have my answer. I slowly start to stroke as I listen to Heather’s sighs’ and grunts’ and to the headboard rhythmically bumping against my wall, as my Dad thrusts into his little whore.
My strokes quicken as I hear her demand that he fucks her harder and I imagine her on her back, legs apart missionary, my Dad looking down on his prize as her tits dance to his thrusts.
And they were a nice pair of tits too, not too big, not too small, with a nice fullness, heaviness about them. He’s probably cupping them or sucking them right now.
The rhythmic pounding stops and I can hear the whore giggling as Dad says something before it starts up again. Presumably they’d just paused for a brief moment of intimacy, a kiss or a cuddle, before resuming.
And resume they do, but this time it’s faster. Jesus I think to myself, as I wank myself at top speed wishing to God I could be the other side of the wall, to watch Dad taking his red-headed whore. Watching him plough into her middle-aged snatch, as he pushes down on her body, or pecks urgently at her face, nibbles on her ear lobes – all the while driving his big fat cock inside her.
Heather is responding in kind, with incomprehensible murmuring now, clearly lost in the moment, before culminating in a shriek as my Dad takes her to orgasm.
It’s enough for me, and I feel my own surge and grab a handful of tissues from the bedside table before proceeding to cum heavily into them. For a moment I’m imagining I’m Dad, looking down on this beautiful but tainted woman, who has knowingly seduced and fucked a married man, taken his cum without any regard for the other woman in the love triangle. I pump my spunk into the clump of tissue, as I continue this train of thought. She will never even meet my mother and never want to. She simply wanted to borrow her man’s cock for the evening. Use him, hold him, fuck him, take his seed and discard him.
As I lay there exhausted and sweaty, I’m shocked as I now hear my Dad’s voice, a little more raised, more urgent. The headboard isn’t banging any more, but I can quite clearly hear him saying “That’s it, Heather! Suck it. Suck my cock. Suck my dick…”
Jesus, I thought they were finished - clearly not!
I then have to listen for a further few minutes as my father encourages his slut to suck him dry. Invariably she does, as I hear him shout and pronounce her name “Oh Heather!” emphatically several minutes later, as he presumably empties his sac into the dirty whore’s mouth.
—————————
“Not got your girlfriend in tow?” I ask sarcastically, glaring at my bleary-eyed Dad, as he joins me for breakfast, in the hotel restaurant.
“Oh you know, Mark, just a little harmless, drunken fun. What goes on in Munich, stays in Munich, you know, Son…” he says winking at me. Registering my disapproval he then adds, “Never mind all that...How about you? Did you do the deed with your dusky Italian? Little pocket rocket, eh that ‘un!”
And without waiting for an answer he gets up to go to the buffet counter.
And I’m left to contemplate…
In some ways he’s right. What mum doesn’t know won’t harm her and for many good reasons. If he’s going to be unfaithful, I’d prefer it if he had the occasional one-nighter overseas - a no-strings, uncomplicated, meaningless fuck, rather than a more deceitful, prolonged and potentially harmful affair on home soil…
Like the ones he’s had in the past - with Chrissy, or Catherine or Deborah. But they are different stories, for another time…
————————————————————
————————————————————
For context, I came across some photos of the evening in question recently, which was the catalyst for me tapping on the keyboard again…Heather was a renowned slut within our circles, who made a beeline for my father that particular night, and married or not, me in tow or not, he lapped it up. In reality, as the evening progressed I got well and truly wasted and left them to it. Sadly there was no adjoining room, just me left to imagine all these years on whether or not they consummated their relationship that night...What do you think...?!
vor 2 Jahren