Ex-Stepfather

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#38 of Writing Group Challenge

This is for a writing challenge in a Telegram group I joined (link here if you're interested: https://t.me/joinchat/TXMB1RU1ETeKOakg). At just over a thousand words, we would write a short story fitting a chosen theme. The new theme for this week is, "It's called a step-boy/girlfriend".

Another look at the infamous Motel (6)9 in Crossroads City! This time, the room guests have a taboo secret that might no longer be taboo. Everyone is 18+ btw.


Even after the divorce had been finalized, I still insisted on letting us meet in motels.

This time, I booked ourselves into the Motel 9, a seedy yet affordable and semi-decent establishment far enough from where we lived. Although Crossroads City didn't consist of one neighborhood, neither of us wanted to take the chance of seeing any familiar faces. I didn't want to run into family friends, coworkers from the office, or even God forbid some extended relatives. Meanwhile, the last thing Bobby needed was an old classmate from high school or a current classmate from the university finding out he was hooking up with his stepfather. Well, ex-stepfather to be precise.

We checked into the room--itself a time capsule to the mid-2000s, complete with a boxed TV in the corner, a single bed with a ten-year-old landline phone on the nightstand, plus a large plastic plaque offering priced Wi-Fi. Yet my attention immediately fell on Bobby, who had already tossed his backpack against the coatrack before immediately turning to me.

"So..." he smirked with a mischievous glint in his beautiful cerulean eyes, and flashing his white fangs against that beautiful mocha-furred snout, "how's it fell to me a single man again, Mr. Smith?"

My graying muzzle formed a lecherous grin as I said, "It feels liberating, but I'd hardly call myself single now, would I?"

"Oh?" He cocked his head quasi-innocently. "Did you find someone?"

"Sure did," I chuckled. "But he might be a little too young for me. He's also quite the little brat when he's not studying as often as he should be."

"Well, can you blame him?" Bobby asked, then slowly peeled off his t-shirt to reveal The toned body of someone still dedicated to track and field. "God, I've been looking forward to this, Dad."

I almost winced, but instead told him, "Please, can you call me Robert?" I asked, to which he nodded vigorously as I unbuttoned my work shirt. "Now come here, boy."

Our short tails wagged together as I closed the distance. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, admiring the younger Doberman's biceps and muscular back as he in turn peeled my clothes off. Our noses buried themselves into our necks and shoulders as we smelled each other, his cold black nostril sending tickling shivers down my spine. He found my aroma musky and addicting. I found his scent perfectly male, belonging to him. However, what really started to make me hard enough quickly was when Bobby's impatient paw ripped my zipper down and they felt through the front flap of my boxers, and he pulled down my work jeans without letting go of my shaft, even as it grew larger and tented within the dark blue fabric. What then sent pre leaking from my cock slit and between his velvet fingers was when he kissed me. He kissed the same older canine who raised him. The entire time, we locked eyes. He trusted me, still found me exciting, even after a few years of college.

We were degenerates. What we had didn't count as illegal, but it sure is still due to feel that way. It wasn't like Bobby a different species though, but a Doberman like me and his mother, which greatly surprised people when I said he and I weren't related.

Bobby gave his virginity to me--more like offered it on a silver platter--a month or so after his eighteenth birthday. That had been around the time when the lad's subtle flirtations became more fervent. It was also around the same time when I discovered Roxanne's text messages from her boss, not too long after her cold lecture to me about finding gay pornography on my laptop. The tensions between everyone were increasing, but with Bobby and I, it soon could be cut with a dull butter knife. He'd also discovered my secret too, it turned out.

Eventually, he successfully seduced me one lonely night. It had been a bad day at work, I'd gotten a parking fine, the boss wanted me to work the weekend, plus Roxanne had suddenly decided to go visit her parents on our anniversary. Yet there he stood in the doorway of my bedroom, waiting for me. He let me rant in front of him and I'll let him comfort me about the frustrations of my failing marriage, before I fell to Bobby's sweet, tempting and electrifying kiss. It made me feel young again, like a bashful teenager his own age.

I remembered how intimate and gently we made love in his bedroom inside that empty house. It reignited something passionate inside of me, something bright and hungry enough that we were tired out after three times in a row.

With the divorce literally official, Bobby had boasted about breaking our record.

We literally stained every inch of that mattress. Plus each other, in an enduring sparring match for dominance between us. I let him orally worship my dogcock like a bitch in heart until his lower jaw hurt, then positioned us so we could suck each other off while also use our cold noses to sniff/tickle our balls and taints, before finally our quivering tail holes. Bobby especially loved it when I used my tongue to brush his prostate, before eventually replacing it with my throbbing dick.

Honestly, I still didn't feel ready to be out with Bobby. Neither did he. The rest of our family and friends still saw me as his father figure, even without the divorce, him being above the age of consent, being mentally sound and being unrelated to his former stepparent. It all didn't matter what I happened to be the one who raised him into a wonderful young man.

For now, we were in our own protective little bubble. I reveled in the noises we made together. His muffled squeals, my haggard thrusts, our high-pitched whines as I pounded in ecstasy against his prostate, all of it became too much.

After a heart-pounding orgasm, I collapsed beside him as we lay together in a panting heap, his own cock deflated and spent with a mild layer of cum surrounding his crotch. We laughed and leaned forward for a heartfelt kiss again.

"I love you, Robert."

"I love you too, Bobby."

The future never looked brighter for us. Hopefully, in time, either he would be brave enough to go search for a boyfriend his own age, or I'd be brave enough to go search for a ring. Actually, two golden rings.