Your Dad

As you peek into the corridor, you fall face to face with your father walking to the shower, in all his naked glory, and with a raging morning wood. You’d usually whine and bemoan the lack of propriety of your respected elder (something that you and the females of the family have in common, while your brother seems to not care at all).

You suddenly remember that your Dad texted the day before that with the war breaking out in some far away European country, like Poland or Italy or something similar, energy prices were skyrocketing and his company had cancelled all vacations to respond to the situation. Your mom and sisters would have to enjoy themselves alone. Your brother had quickly jumped on the occasion and paid the small fee to have the tickets rebooked to him, though, like the slimy rat he was whenever profit was possible.

And right now, in a dress way too short and way too tight for your ample body, your boobs pushing out of your low-cut cleavage, your very naked and very hairy vagina wet instantly at the sight of a male, you’re frozen in place, your lips slightly parted, your eyes glued to the large swaying cock.