A DILF

He dressed like Sam's father when he went out for a business dinner: conservative, relaxed, with subtle signs of wealth. Dark blue polo shirt on top of khaki pants, black leather shoes. A bodybuilder's shoulders and chest, greying hair in a crew-cut, strong jaw covered with a five o'clock shadow. The watch on his left wrist was a diver's watch, and there were faded blue-black tattoos along one tanned hairy arm, that was corded with muscle. No middle-age spread in his gut, at least not yet, and no wedding band on the left hand. There was something wrong with the hang of his pants, but other than that he looked...doable.

Sam opened the door.

No hellos, not immediately. They looked each other up and down. He was a full head taller than Sam, broader at the shoulder, and maybe trimmer at the waist. The musky scent of Old Spice wafted off of him toward her, mixed with the smell of bourbon.

Brown eyes looked her up and down appraisingly.

"I haven't had time to get dressed yet," Sam said apologetically.

"No need, is there?" He said in a pleasant baritone. His face tried on a smile, which highlighted some old scars, then dropped it. "What should I call you?"

"Sam," Sam said, and then cursed herself for not thinking of a pseudonym.

"You can call me Daddy," he said as he stepped in and past her.

Oh, so he's going to be like that, Sam thought as she shut the door behind him. Well, I'm just here to fuck him, I can put up with his macho bullshit for long enough to have an orgasm or two, then kick his ass out.

'Daddy' surveyed the house, identified the bedroom, and headed in there. He nodded approvingly at the clean sheets, the lack of clutter. Eyes checked for extra entrances and exits, to see if anyone else was here.

"Well now," he said, hands at his belt as he turned to face her, trying on another smile. "Why don't we see what we have to work with?"

Shoes off. Pants dropped...and Sam nearly choked. He was wearing boxers...but the head of his cock was hanging out of the bottom of them, along his left leg.

"I hope this isn't a problem, Sam," he said, a twinkle in his brown eyes as he pulled off his shirt, to reveal a triangle of silver-black hair across a massively muscled chest, the hint of abs, and more tattoos. "But I'm allergic to latex and don't have any condoms. You have other forms of birth control?"

"No," Sam blurted. She couldn't take her eyes off the head of his dick. The purple tip was bigger than a crab apple. Bigger than anything Sam had ever had inside her before, and it wasn't even hard yet. Desperately, she tried to offer alternatives. "I mean, we...we can do other things. Oral...maybe...um...I could give you a pussy job?"

His eyes narrowed. "No, I want to cum in a cunt tonight, and you're it. We'll just have to improvise, adapt, and overcome."

The last four words were said with a note of genuine enthusiasm. Sam got the impression he'd said them a lot over the years...and meant every one of them. The young woman bit her lower lip. Not getting laid was not an option. She'd come this far to cum...so if that meant she had to jury rig some protection from Daddy's creampie, then that is what she would do.