*** This short story is essentially a prequel to what will be a series of stories published over time. ***
Mac peeled open his heavy eyelids, panting like he had just run a marathon. His mind felt emptied of thought as he blinked himself back to awareness. Looking down, he took in the sight of the puddles of cum splattered across his wife's desk, his cock still hard and throbbing in his hand.
"Shit," he muttered. He needed to clean that up before Wendy got home. Glancing up at his wife's computer screen, he took a deep breath to settle himself, because what the fuck even was that.
Apparently, Wendy had a depravity to her that Mac had never known in their 20 years of marriage. He clicked the mouse on her desktop and scrolled back up to the top of the story he just finished reading. A story about a father giving in to the lustful urges that consumed him until the only thing he could do was fuck the ever-loving - and he meant loving - shit out of his daughter. It was the hottest thing Mac had read. And that was saying something given his browser history. But for a father to fuck his daughter? And for Wendy to read something like that... why would she?
The way that man took his daughter's virginity like he was the only man worthy of the cause, painting her lips with her own virgin blood, being overcome with the primal urge to impregnate her... It was more than Mac could process at that moment. And the daughter in the story? She wanted it. She begged for her daddy to fill her up. Just the thought of it sent a shiver through Mac.
Looking back down at himself, Mac realized he needed to cool off if he had any hope of getting his cock back in his pants and cleaning up before Wendy got home from the store, which would be any minute.
Suddenly the front door slammed.
"Hey Dad!"
"Oh fuck," Mac exhaled, scrambling to pull himself together before his daughter Emily made it up the stairs.
Standing up in a rush, Mac hastened to tuck his shirt and his dick back into his pants and frantically searched around for something to wipe up the desk. He eyed the sweater hanging on the back of his wife's desk chair and quickly swiped up the proof of his deviancy before balling it up and throwing it under the desk. He'd come back for it later and put it in the laundry before he went to bed.
"Hey sweetheart," Mac called out. "I thought you were going over to Cyntheia's house tonight."
"Yeah, I am. I just came by to pick up my sweater and my toothbrush." Emily bounded up the steps and into Wendy's office just as Mac was about to step out.
"Oh hey there, what are you doing coming into your mom's office? Do you need something?" Mac started shifting nervously, for some reason feeling like he had been caught with his pants down, even though he knew he had rid himself and the room of any evidence.
"It's cool, Dad. I left my sweater in here this morning when I came to print something off her computer. It should be..." Emily trailed off in thought as she looked around the room. "Huh. I thought I left it on the back of Mom's chair. Have you seen it?"
The blood drained from Mac's face.
"Um, no sweetheart, I sure haven't. But I-I'm sure it will turn up."
Emily glanced around the room and shrugged. "You're probably right Daddy. Oh well, I'll just grab another one from my room."
Emily stepped out into the hall and Mac went right behind her. He felt like he would combust if he stayed in that room one more minute. Emily disappeared into her room and Mac started down the stairs just as the front door opened again.
"Honey, I'm home!" Wendy jokingly shouted as she walked in with the groceries. Mac scowled at his wife's jovial tone and marched down the remaining stairs to greet her. How could she sound so happy and carefree when Mac felt like he was experiencing some sort of psychological crisis?
They were going to talk. Now.
___
Wendy was buzzing with energy as she swept through the front door. Her daughter, Emily, was going to spend the night with her friend and that meant a night for Mac and Wendy to enjoy to themselves.
Even though she was 18 and technically an adult now, Emily was still living at home, and that often cramped Wendy's need for alone time with her husband. There was only so much spicey stuff on the internet to tide her over between sex sessions with Mac. She cringed at the phrasing in her head, but that's honestly what they felt like now - obligatory sex sessions.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Mac enter the kitchen just as she was setting the groceries on the counter.
"Hey babe, I got all of your favorites for dinner tonight. Would you like me to --" Wendy smiled up at her husband, but startled at the look on his face.
"Honey, what is it? What's wrong?"
Mac just stood there, several feet away from her and seething. She didn't know what to do, but if their years of marriage taught her anything, it was to wait for him to gather his thoughts and speak. Before he could utter a word, Emily came flying down the stairs. She paused briefly to kiss her dad on the cheek and then ran over to her mom and did the same.
"Bye, Mom! Bye Daddy! I'm heading off to Cyntheia's for the night. Don't expect me to be home until late tomorrow morning. Have fun, you two!" Then with two steps and a door slam later, she was gone.
And with that exit, Wendy couldn't hold in her questions anymore.
"Can you tell me why you look --" Wendy started, at the same time that Mac finally spoke with his question "Do you want to tell me why --"...
Wendy sighed and shook her head. "Please, Mac, you go first."
Mac seemed rooted to the spot, like an oak tree incapable of compromising to the whims of the wind. His expression hadn't changed a fraction since he walked in, meaning he still looked madder than a hornet about something. Wendy wouldn't have to wait long to find out why.
