Adulting Is Hard for 02: Brent

This is an original work of fiction. All participants are over the age of 18. Enjoy!

***

It was turning out to be some week for Brent. His wife and daughter fighting at home, followed by some filing error at work that had blown his commission, and now his daughter texted him the four words no man ever wanted to see: "we need to talk". It was going to be a hell of a weekend.

Driving home, he momentarily considered passing his exit and just continuing on down the highway until he ran out of gas. Of course then he would just be 500 miles away, with a pissed-off wife and a daughter that still "needed to talk".

They really didn't magically quit needing you when they turned eighteen.

He entered the house with an overly-jovial cry of, "Daddy's home!" expecting crickets or, if he was lucky, scoffs. Instead Brent was shocked to be greeted by his hot wife Trixie, who was at the kitchen table wearing only a lacy pink apron and tall pink stiletto shoes, the ones he used to call her "fuck-me pumps".

"Mommy's not here, but Baby could use some rocking," Trixie cooed, and bent over the table.

Brent's dick responded even before his brain did, moving in his pants like a balloon animal being inflated. "Where's Marion?" he asked, his throat suddenly a little dry.

"She's at the movies, Brent. She's a big, big girl, now. We're all alone for another hour." Trixie slid over a kitchen chair and put her foot on it, causing her pussy lips to be completely visible between her widespread thighs. "So are you gonna fuck me or are we going to talk some more about your daughter? Because I'm kinda losing the mood, here."

His hands were on his wife's body before he even realized he had crossed the room. She had his pants down in a blink and lifted her legs with her ass on the table, steadying herself with a grip on his arm with one hand while she stroked his feverish prick with the other, guiding it toward her already open and glistening pussy. Brent slid in the first few inches with no effort whatsoever, moving in her slickness. Had she been preparing for him all day?

The thought made him feel like he could split granite with his cock, but he went gently, trying to prolong the experience for the both of them. Slowly, rocking his hips, he eased into Trixie's sopping folds until he met some resistance. Nearly all of his length penetrated into her hungry cunt now, and he gyrated a little, leaning into her.

Brent heard and felt the table groan under them, and froze. "Uh, we better relocate if we want to have a kitchen table when this is over," he said, and began withdrawing from the clutching depths of his wife's pussy.

"Don't you dare!" Trixie snapped, and in a flash her legs were around his waist, pulling him deeper. She jerked her head toward the window seat. "There." She linked her hands behind his head. "I'll ride you over there."

The act of staggering to the bench seat without tipping over or stumbling was a careful one, with Brent holding on to Trixie's ass as she settled the rest of the way down onto his cock. The jarring motion when he stepped off the riser that separated the kitchen from the rec room made her squeal as she bounced a little on his rod and juices drooled out where she was spitted, coating his tightening balls in sweet stickiness.

They half-sat, half-collapsed on the window seat, Brent reclining with Trixie straddling, and she went to work grinding her gash onto his pole, panting as she tried to get every bit of him inside her. He flexed his ass and held firm, letting her work out on his cock, getting herself closer to the brink, while he thought of things to keep himself from finishing too soon.

The friction and weight of her, pogoing on his straining dick and grunting softly, was getting Brent there faster than he had hoped, so he was relieved when Trixie slowed and climbed off his hips, letting his sloppy cock pop free of her honeyed hole. "Switch!" she cried, pulling him up from the bench and turning around, putting her face in the seat.

Brent took a step toward her and his prick practically fell back into Trixie's primed box. He grabbed her hips and slammed into her, the way she liked. He was rewarded with a loud groan as his hips collided with her backside. "Oh, yeah," she said. "Just like that."

Gripping Trixie's hips so hard his fingers sunk in, Brent heaved forward as he yanked her back, pulling her on to his cock over and over as he tried to bottom out but never quite reaching. He busied his thoughts with spreadsheets and loan paperwork and sales statistics and he remembered losing his commission and slammed into his wife harder, oblivious to the signs that she was on the verge of coming.

He pounded angrily into her, thinking of the bills and the withholding affection and the furtive texting that he pretended not to notice and he didn't really register when she started yelling, "Yes! Fuck! Oh God, yes!" and her gushing pussy was spasming and flexing all around his driving thrusts and why couldn't she show any empathy and why did she act like she was jealous of his daughter— and that's when Marion's face, her beautiful eyes just like her mother's and her beautiful mouth that was all her own, rose up in Brent's mind and a throb of lewd heat mushroomed low in his gut and detonated as he emptied his frustration and what felt like the biggest load of come of his adult life into his mean wife.

Brent pumped his hot spunk into Trixie until he felt wrung out. He was ambivalent to her little panting whimpers, even though they sounded slightly pained. Without a word, he took a step back and his slowly-deflating dick plopped out of her hard-fucked cunt.

"Mmm," Trixie purred, straightening from her pillow-biting position. "Thanks... Daddy," she said, turning around. But Brent had already left the room.

***

The next morning Brent came out to breakfast expecting to be the first one up, but his girls were already at the table. Marion's back was to him and Trixie was diddling with her phone again. Sometimes it was like living with two teenagers, he thought.

Marion turned as she heard her father enter the room. She looked over her shoulder and smiled. "Hungry?" she said, the model soul of innocence. So why did it suddenly feel like his groin wanted to answer her question?

"Oh, God," Brent nearly moaned. Marion looked alarmed and a pretty blush rose to her cheeks.

"Are you alright, Dad?" she asked, starting to rise from the table.

"No! No..." he said, more gently the second time. "I just... forgot something," Brent finished lamely, and darted from the kitchen before Marion could get up.

***

Brent had to go to a backyard barbecue with Trixie that afternoon, and he was sort of relieved when Marion stayed in her room all day. He texted her as they were leaving: "we'll talk tonight if you still want to, be good love you"

The party was in some ticky-tacky subdivision, and the hosts were longtime friends of Trixie's. Marcus and Ariana were in the kitchen when they arrived, getting drinks.

"Just in time!" Ariana cried, raising her hands, a green glass bottle of beer in each. She gave a little wiggle of joy that made her torso jiggle prettily. Trixie went to her, arms open.

Brent looked to Marcus, who had paused pouring wine to watch, grinning as their wives collided and mashed their breasts together enthusiastically as they hugged. "Ugh, get off me, skank," Ariana said at last.

"Not 'til you get me off, whore," Trixie said, breaking the embrace and snatching a bottle from one of Ariana's hands. Marcus caught Brent's gaze and rolled his eyes.

Marcus went back to filling the glasses in front of him. "Want some of this white?" he asked, turning the bottle so he could read the label. "'Tart and musky. Not too sweet.' Come taste mine," he said, offering his glass to Brent.

"I think I'll just have my own," Brent said, taking the other glass. He sipped at the cool wine. It was good. He took a bigger drink, and then two large gulps, feeling a gentle warmth spread pleasantly down his throat and into his guts.

"Whoa, man. You won't last 'til dinner if you go like that," Marcus said, trying to soften the edge of his concern with a chuckle. "Let me top you off," he said, filling Brent's glass. "Self-serve after this, you know the drill." Their wives had already moved outside to the patio, though they stood away from the rest of the party guests, talking in a way that looked more than a little conspiratorial.

"Shall we see what they're saying about us?" Brent said, grabbing the open wine bottle as Marcus led the way outside.

"... I'll ever do," Brent heard Trixie saying as Marcus opened the sliding glass door. "It's just not my thing."

"You can't know if you haven't even tried," Ariana said, leaning in toward her friend and lowering her voice as their husbands approached.

"What are you perfect angels plotting now?" Marcus asked. He cupped Ariana's curvy buttock through her short skirt and gave it a quick caress.

"Not plotting, babe. Just girl talk. Right, Trix?" Ariana nudged Trixie with her shoulder and Trixie demurred, a light blush rising from the neckline of her blouse.

Brent couldn't remember the last time he saw his wife blush like that and the wine had loosened his tongue enough that he said so out loud. "What were you two really talkin' about?" he asked, surprised to hear his words getting a little slurred.

"Shut up, Brent," Trixie said, but she didn't sound embarrassed or bashful; just bossy. She glared at Ariana.

Brent noticed that Marcus was still cupping his wife's plum bottom. While looking out across the small, treeless yard, he let his hand slip lower, his long fingers flipping at the hem of Ariana's skirt until Brent to see a peep of the curve of her ass, along with the scalloped edge of her lacy pink panties.

He took another gulp of wine. His head was swimming. The guests were oblivious. Marcus kept his eyes on the partygoers. He raised his glass to someone, still gently stroking Ariana's ass in bright daylight with his other hand while twenty-some people stood a few feet away. She sighed and leaned into it a little. To Brent she said, her eyes all wide innocence, "I was telling your beautiful wife about how much I'm enjoying my new butt plug, and recommending as her oldest friend that she consider trying it."

Marcus made a sound through his closed lips. "Mmm," he said, and slid his hand until his fingers found the cleft of her ass. Brent saw him give a firm push and Ariana gasped, just as Trixie slugged her in the arm.

"Bitch," she yelled, causing a few heads to turn toward them. She tried covering the outburst with a laugh. Ariana was massaging the spot where her friend had made contact and whimpering a little, trying to grind into her husband's hand.

Marcus kept his fingers crooked into Ariana's crack until she had almost all her weight balanced against his hand. Brent watched her face as the pleasure built in her loins, clearly elevated by the nearly public setting. He emptied his glass, and tipped his bottle toward its rim.

Suddenly Marcus jerked his hand away from Ariana's grinding bottom, raising it in a wave as another of their guests started walking their direction. "Benji!" he shouted, as his wife fell flat on her ass in the grass. She moaned low in her throat and Brent saw a little shudder twist through her.

"See that?" Marcus asked, dropping his voice and talking out of the corner of his mouth. "She came," he said with what sounded like pride.

Recovering quickly, Ariana splashed a large amount of beer on her shirt, the wetness making the material cling to her breasts and highlighting her bra and tiny nipples, just as Benji came into view.

"Hey guys! This is the girl I been telling you about. Fern, this is my cousin Marcus and his wife Arian—," Benji said, reaching down to offer a hand to her where she still sat on the ground. His eyes settled on her tits, the nipples poking hard at her stained teeshirt. "Uhh," he finished, pulling her to her feet.

Fern, for her part, couldn't take her eyes off Ariana's rack either. She smiled meekly. Ariana smiled back, then drank off what was left in her beer bottle. She handed it to Benji, then put one hand on the small of Fern's back. She reached the other out to her oldest friend, and said, "This is Trixie. We've known each other since high school. Benji said you're starting college in the fall?" She plucked at the material clinging to her chest. The friction made her nipples harder. "Ugh. I have to get this shirt in a soak before it's ruined. Would you ladies like to keep me company while I get changed?"

"So they're just going to watch Ariana strip, huh?" Benji said what they were all thinking. The three men watched the women enter the sliding back door and penetrate deeper into the house until they were out of view.

"Yup," Marcus said.

"Looks like," said Brent.

"They gonna be a minute then," Benji said, not asking.

"Yup," Marcus repeated. "It's cool. I been needing to talk to you anyway." Marcus raised his glass to Brent and winked, then led his cousin away.

Brent, surrounded by people but left alone and on his way to drunk, decided to go ahead and get there. He took his bottle, and another on his way through the kitchen for good measure and continued through the house to the front door, aiming to check out that porch swing he'd spied when they first arrived.

Somewhere between pouring the last of the bottle into his glass and drinking it dry, Brent dozed. The glass slipped from his slack fingers and fell the short distance to the boards of the porch.

He dreamed.

He was making love to his wife.

No. No, he was fucking his wife. Not Trixie. He was fucking his first wife, whom he had not seen since she walked out on her family over a decade ago.

She was so gorgeous, even more beautiful than he remembered her. Impossibly, beatifically lovely. She was a goddess; an angel. And he was fucking her face.

Her watering eyes pleaded with him to be gentle as he choked her airway with his plunging cockhead, and he could hear himself making a savage grunting sound as her throat closed around his engorged prick. He kept fucking her mouth until he saw her eyes roll back in her head and she suddenly went limp, falling off his cock in a dead faint.

Here he was, needing her now like he needed her then, and she was trying to run out on him again. He felt anger and hurt and a bewildered sense of abandonment that he had never admitted to his waking self and right now the only way he wanted to let out all the pent up emotion was through his cock, in the form of improbable quantities of semen.

With no segue his dream self was suddenly kneeling between the parted calves of a woman on all fours. He heard himself growl and in a blink he was inside her, buried to the root. She was screaming and she didn't sound like his wife. Well, she did, but not his first wife.

"Take it out! Take it OUT!" Trixie shrieked, trying to lunge away from him. Brent held her hips firmly as she squirmed, and began to slide out slowly and that's when he realized his dick was buried in her ass.

He felt a grin split his face. He reared back, dragging his rudder though her clenching anal canal, then paused. "What are you doing?" Trixie cried. "Pull it out!" Brent uttered a dark chuckle, and he felt her push out, bearing down to try and expel his cockhead. He seized the moment plowed his entire length up her ass with a bestial snarl.

A span of time later that in that dreaming way felt like an hour and also an instant, Brent pistoned into Trixie's ravaged asshole, feeling his load burning to escape into her bowels. She never stopped struggling but after a while her screams quieted to an exhausted weeping.

Part of his mind couldn't believe he was getting such a charge out of savagely reaming his wife. But the part that was in charge of this dream just slammed into her even harder until she couldn't help but gasp at the force of his pelvic bone colliding with her rump.

At the last instant, when he felt the first telltale spasm in his prick, he yanked his meat from her rectum with a loud moan and jerked it across the finish line, watching as jet after jet of his slimy come squirted into her slowly-closing asshole.

The second her stretched pucker winked all the way shut, he put his cockhead back at the entrance, and with a little force pushed into her spunk-filled anus once more. The penetration elicited a fresh round of tears.

"You shouldn't have denied me this for so long," Brent said to the back of her head. "It could have been nice." He started gently stroking his member in and out of her come-slick channel. "YOU could have been nice."

She groaned, and turned her head to look back over her shoulder at him. "Why, Daddy?" Marion sobbed, her eyes swollen and swimming with tears.

Brent screamed.

***

Consciousness returned to Brent like trying to swim through cotton stuffing. He vaguely wondered if there had been something more than wine in his glass and realized his glass was no longer in his hand and also there was a hand on his cock. His eyes flew open.

It was dusk. There was a girl next to him on the bench, and her hand was in his pants, gently stroking his straining prick through the hole in his boxers. She was looking up at his face and he was frozen by her gaze for a moment.

"Can I see it?" she asked softly.

Finally nearly fully awake, Brent cried, "No! Fuck!" He scrambled off the swing, dislodging her grip on his dick. "Jesus, how old are you anyway? I'm married! What time is it? Where's my wife?"

Surprise and embarrassment and frustration and horror were doing a great job of quickly deflating his erection. Brent looked at the girl on the swing and shook his head. It spun. He realized he could still feel the wine. He stomped inside the house to find Trixie.