I'm Adam, and 24 years old. I recently finished college, and then I moved in with my dad and stepdad. My dad came out as gay when I was a teenager, and I was always supportive of his decision. Last year, he got married to an Arab man, Malik, and now he is my stepdad. My dad is 48 years old but looks much younger than his age. Malik is only 38 years old. He is 10 years younger than my dad. Malik and I have a good bond—friends like a bond. We always joke around, cook dinners together, and watch movies and sports. The term "stepdad" might feel too formal or conventional for the bond we share, especially considering our ages. So, I always call him by his name.
Malik's physique is a testament to years of dedication to bodybuilding. He is 6 foot tall. His body is an impressive sculpture of muscle, with broad, powerful shoulders and chest covered in a thick mat of dark chest hair that contrasts beautifully with his skin. His biceps are like boulders, round and hard, bulging when he flexes. His six-pack is well-defined, leading down to a narrow waist. His legs are equally formidable, with thick, muscular thighs and calves that speak of countless squats and deadlifts. He told me he had competed in bodybuilding competitions in the past. Even though he no longer competes, his love for the gym has maintained his physique in peak condition, making him a living monument to strength and fitness.
My dad and Malik's love story began in the sweaty, steel-clad atmosphere of a gym. While my dad only visited occasionally, just enough to keep in shape, Malik was a regular, his life revolving around the weights and machines. Despite their different levels of commitment to fitness, their mutual attraction grew over time, eventually blossoming into a deep loving relationship.
During my time at college, I had the opportunity to explore my sexuality with both girls and guys. Each experience was a new chapter in understanding myself. With girls, there were moments of fun and connection, but something always felt off. However, when I was with guys, there was an undeniable thrill, an electric charge that made my heart race and my body respond in ways it never did with girls. The physical pleasure was intense, but more than that, there was a deep, emotional resonance that I couldn't ignore. It was in these moments, feeling more at ease, more excited, and truly myself, that I knew I was gay.
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One night in the summer, my dad was out for the night, visiting an old friend, leaving just the two of us alone in the house. I sat on the couch, my hands nervously fidgeting with the hem of my shirt, while Malik—my stepdad—leaned against the kitchen counter, his massive frame towering over the room like a statue carved from obsidian. His biceps flexed as he poured himself a glass of water, and I couldn’t help but notice how his tank top clung to his chest, revealing every groove of his muscular physique. The air felt thicker than usual, charged with something unspoken.
“You good, Adam?” Malik’s deep voice broke the silence, snapping me out of my trance. He smirked, clearly noticing where my gaze had been lingering.
“Yeah, yeah,” I stammered, looking away quickly. “Just… warm.”
He chuckled lowly, the sound vibrating through me like a bass note. “Uh-huh. Warm.” He took a sip of water, his eyes never leaving mine. There was a glint there—something playful, maybe even daring. It made my stomach twist in the best kind of way.
I cleared my throat, trying to break the tension. “So, uh… how’s work been?”
Malik shrugged, setting the glass down on the counter. “Same ol’, same ol’. You know how it is.” He walked over to the couch, his movements slow and deliberate, like a predator circling its prey. I felt my breath hitch as he sank into the seat beside me, the cushion dipping under his weight. His thigh brushed against mine, sending a jolt of electricity up my spine.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. The silence stretched between us, heavy and loaded. I could hear my heart pounding in my ears and felt the warmth of his body so close to mine. My mind raced, torn between wanting to pull away and wanting to lean in closer. This is your stepdad, a voice in my head reminded me. This is wrong. But another voice, louder and more insistent, whispered: But what if it isn’t?
Malik turned to me, his dark eyes searching my face. “You ever wonder why some things feel so… inevitable?” he asked, his voice dropping to a husky murmur.
I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry. “What do you mean?”
He raised an eyebrow, a sly smile playing on his lips. “You know what I mean.” His hand found my knee, fingers tracing small circles that sent shivers through me. “Sometimes, you can’t fight what’s meant to happen.”
My breath caught in my throat as his touch grew bolder, his hand sliding higher up my thigh. I should have stopped him. I should have stood up and walked away. But I didn’t. Instead, I leaned into him, our faces inches apart now. His scent—musky and masculine—filled my nostrils, making my head swim.
“Malik…” I whispered, my voice trembling. “We shouldn’t…”
“Why not?” His other hand cupped my cheek, his thumb brushing over my bottom lip. “Your dad’s not here. No one has to know.”
I hesitated, torn between guilt and desire. But then his lips crashed into mine, and all rational thought flew out the window. His kiss was fierce, demanding, and I melted into it, my hands fisting in his shirt to pull him closer. He groaned into my mouth, his tongue sliding against mine, and I realized just how far we were about to go.
Clothes came off in a feverish rush, fabric pooling at our feet as we stumbled toward the bedroom. Malik’s body was a work of art, every muscle defined and gleaming under the dim light. I couldn’t believe this was happening, that I was about to cross a line I never thought I’d cross. But as he pushed me down onto the bed, his hands roaming over my body, I stopped caring about lines. All I cared about was the way he made me feel.
He kissed his way down my chest, pausing to tease a nipple with his tongue before moving lower. When he reached my waistband, he pulled back, his eyes locking with mine. “You sure about this?” he asked, his voice thick with need.
I nodded, barely able to speak. “Yes.”
That was all the permission he needed. His mouth closed around me, and I gasped, digging my fingers into the sheets. He worked me expertly, alternating between sucking and licking until I was trembling beneath him.
He pushed me back onto the bed, his body covering mine, our erections rubbing against each other, creating a friction that was both maddening and delightful. His mouth found my nipples, licking and sucking, while his hand wrapped around my cock, stroking in a rhythm that matched our breathing.
I reached down, my fingers exploring him, feeling his length and girth, marvelling at how it felt in my hand. Then we shifted, and soon I was taking his dick into my mouth, the taste of him salty and musky, his moans encouraging me to go deeper, to explore more. Malik's cock is a fucking masterpiece, more than 7 glorious inches of hard, throbbing manhood. It's thick and veiny, just begging to be worshipped. And let's not forget the crown of dark pubes around it, framing that monster like a sexy mane, making you want to dive in and lose yourself in that manly bush.
Malik then turned into 69 position and paid attention to my dick and hole, his lips and tongue working magic, taking my dick into his mouth with a skill that left me gasping. His fingers found their way to my ass, gently probing, preparing me with care.
We moved together, him behind me, his strong arms guiding my body as he entered my ass slowly, both of us adjusting to the sensation. The fullness, the stretch, it was intense, but the pleasure soon overshadowed any discomfort. His thrusts were measured at first, but as our pleasure built, they became more urgent, more demanding. Our bodies moved in synchronicity, the sounds of our pleasure filling the room, the smell of sex heavy in the air. I felt him deep within me, hitting spots inside my hole that made my vision blur with pleasure. When I couldn't hold back anymore, I came with him still inside me, my orgasm triggering his own, his body tensing as he released, his breath hot against my neck.
We collapsed together, sweaty and satisfied, our bodies still intertwined, basking in the afterglow. We locked our lips together in a deep lustful kiss. This wasn't just about sex; it was about connecting on a deeper level with Malik, understanding each other in a new light, and affirming the bond we had already formed. Every touch was an acknowledgment of our mutual respect and affection, making the night memorable not for what was done, but for how it was felt.
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Weeks passed, and somehow, we managed to keep our secret. The sneaking around, the stolen moments—it added a thrill to every encounter. But secrets have a way of coming out, and soon enough, my dad found out. I expected anger, betrayal, maybe even a demand that I move out. What I didn’t expect was the calm acceptance in his eyes when he confronted us.
“So,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest, “you two have been having fun without me, huh?”
Malik and I exchanged nervous glances, unsure of how to respond. But then my dad smiled—a mischievous, knowing smile—and all the tension evaporated. “Relax,” he said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “I’m not mad. In fact… I’ve been thinking about joining you guys.” Dad's words gave a lustful smile on Malik's face.
The three of us stood in the living room, the atmosphere electric. My dad’s hands roamed over Malik’s shoulders, squeezing the muscles there, while I watched, transfixed. It was surreal, seeing them together like this, knowing that soon, I’d be part of it too.
My dad turned to me, his expression softening. “You okay with this, kiddo?”
I nodded, my pulse racing. “More than okay dad.”
He smiled, stepping closer to cup my face in his hands. His lips met mine in a tender kiss, gentle but full of promise. Behind me, I felt Malik’s presence, his hands sliding around my waist as he pressed against my back. The combination of their warmth and their touch was overwhelming in the best possible way.
“Let’s take this to the bedroom,” Malik suggested, his voice rough with desire.
As we moved, my mind raced with anticipation. This wasn’t just about sex anymore—it was about connection, trust, and exploring the boundaries of love and lust. When my dad’s lips found my neck and Malik’s hands gripped my hips, I knew there was no turning back. We were in this together, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
“You ready for this, kiddo?” my dad murmured, his breath hot against my skin.
I nodded, my voice barely above a whisper. “Fuck yes...”
