Father owns my sexy wife's pussy.
He brought bride home to meet parents, lost her forever.
My wife told me, in no uncertain terms that she loves fucking me, but that she must fuck my father. That was not really a choice on her part, she said, it was a one-dollar fact. She meant it too. She has proven that more than once when she has shooed me away while the two of them were heavily engaged in intercourse, or related activities. No, it no longer hurts my feelings or even makes me angry. It has been our way of life, for almost the entirety of our mostly happy marriage.
Well, now I realize that I have to tell you the whole story or you will think I am a hopeless cuckold, or my wife is a cruel bitch, or my dad is a heartless monster. I suppose someone could try to make a case for any or all of those views, but none of it was true in my estimation.
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I, Tyler Svenson, met Brittney Swain decades ago, in Santa Rosa, CA where we both lived. It was at a monthly meeting of the Sonoma County Genealogical Society. As I walked in, I was immediately taken by this beautiful young face in the seat at the far side of the 3rd row. Without hesitation, I walked around to the other side and squeezed past her into the empty seat next to her. I excused myself and she spoke some polite words as I plopped down next to her with my thick briefcase of family history records. I'm sure she observed that there were several more easily accessible seats in the vicinity.
The young lady and I didn't chat during the presentations, but both of us made contributions during the group Q & A. At one point the moderator asked us what the longest line is that we have traced so far. I stood up and, in my manliest possible voice, said "On my mother's side I have her paternal line all the way back to Odin, King of Asgard, in the 10th century, and his Queen Frigg, through their son Thor." Some knowing chuckles. "Of course, I don't have details of birth and death records, etc. for each of the generations, but it must be solid because I found it online."
My smirking grin let the crowd know that I was not being serious. Lots of laughter as I sat back down, the loudest of which came in my right ear from the luscious lady I had been wanting to impress. I smiled my smilingest as I looked her in the eye. Captivating green eyes.
When they recessed us for the luncheon buffet, I rose behind her, put my fingertips gently on her back, and pointed her toward the head of the sandwich line. "May I invite you to lunch" I politely queried. "That would be lovely" she grinned toward me. I felt pretty certain I was deeply in love with her after that bit of conversation, but I was reserved enough not to say so out loud. It was several weeks before I actually did tell her that.
During and after the luncheon we exchanged a lot of light-hearted chit chat and I could feel that she reciprocated my case of in-like. I then asked her if I might take her out for a real lunch and she said yes, but on condition I make it be at John Ash. "I am hurt that you think I would offer you anything less. It's a date!"
She took my hand to shake on it. I then pointed out that John Ash was only open for dinner so how about if I pick her up at 5:30? It is an old winery and a very pleasant place to sip some wine overlooking the vines before one gets to the delectable meat and potatoes. Brittney reciprocated my smarmy grin "of course, I know, that's why I made it a condition." She gave me her address and phone number (this was pre-cellular era).
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Everything went superbly on all fronts after that. On our third real date, after some serious petting on the second, we were in bed and that was profoundly serious.
We were together virtually every day. I was finishing up my last year at Sonoma State in Marketing. She had graduated last spring with a bachelor's degree in Arts & Humanities but was still wrestling with the realization that there aren't a lot of suitable paying jobs out there for such skills. She was working at the time as a waitress at the Indian casino just outside town, and shared an apartment with a funny, if seemingly sleazy gal name Roxanne. I lived alone in a student apartment down in Rohnert Park, near the school.
I dragged her to a few, kinda raunchy student parties, the kind she had avoided in her time at SSU. Brittney was, inevitably, a star attraction as more than a few of the attendees remembered her unforgettable anthracite black hair over creamy white skin, her stunning face and her Wonder Woman physique. Almost any guy who didn't have a ring in his nose made an effort to impress, but she made it clear she was with the big guy. I was 6'3, 195 and pretty well muscled. Light brown hair if anyone cares about that.
At one of those events, she and I managed to out-drink the rest and were the last to say goodbye to the host couple. They were a number of sheets to the wind, as were we. One of us, I think I recall it was my date, suggested we curl up on the big sofa and have another bottle of wine before we head home.
I went along with it willingly but soon realized that I was expected to neck with the host's wife, since Brittney was otherwise clearly spoken for. The hostess and I just mirrored their lead as we moved from some deep throat kissing to breast massage, to tugging off our clothes, then to full-body massages and, inevitably, genital insertions. Those were followed by noisy orgasms, then pretty much a repeat of the preceding.
I wasn't angry, rather turned on by how quickly my date's clothes were gotten off and how energetically she thanked the man responsible. I was even more impressed at how profusely she thanked him a second time. I, for want of a courteous option, was forced, with minimal reluctance, to fuck the hostess lady twice and a good time was had by all.
In the morning, we both felt that we remembered having had a good time. She was in no way apologetic, even though she had screamingly fucked him twice that night, right in front of me. But, for whatever reason, we never repeated the swinging stuff again. We continued to hit it off together on all cylinders and it was only a matter of months before we were tiptoeing around the marital idea.
Once that subject had been vocalized it was no time at all before Brittney was phoning the Gables, a Wine Country Victorian mansion that was an esteemed wedding destination.
We set the date and invited a small number of close friends and our families. The two of us muddled through all the prerequisites of a wedding, with a lot of help from her friends. At the last minute my parents had to bow out as my dad had broken a leg while skiing out at Tyrol. The wedding was just lovely, as all the ladies agreed. We moved into a new apartment big enough for two and commenced marital life.
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An early order of business was to arrange a week-long visit to Rochester, Minnesota, where my parents lived. We were all excited, they had never even met my darling bride. On the appointed Saturday, mom and dad picked us up at the Rochester Airport looking like the dashing and beautiful mid-40's couple they were and whisked us off to the home of Scott and Deanne Svenson. They owned a spotless, four-bedroom, stone-faceted two story not far from one of the Mayo Clinic buildings. Dad was an orthopedic surgeon there when he was not on injured reserve.
Mom had driven, dad was down to a single crutch and his limp was not too pronounced. They both escorted us inside, sat us down in their luxurious living room and opened a bottle of red, Brittney's chosen color. After the long days travel, Brit and I were early to bed, and slept with no attempt at sexual activity.
On Sunday evening, my dad had to go to a restaurant near his clinic as they were having a small going away send-off to one of his retiring staff. He invited me to tag along, and the ladies encouraged that so they could just stay at home and get to know each other better. We drank conservatively and headed home about 9. The women seemed to be almost as sober as we were and they were clearly gal-pals now, sitting on the couch and touching fingers like old family.
I headed off to bed early again. My loving bride waived it off saying that the two-hour jet lag made it only 7 pm in her brain. I fell asleep quickly and soundly. After almost 10 hours of sleep, my eyes popped open. Brittney lay beside me, snoring like a dragon. Her hair looked a bit damp. Huh? ...
I went down to an empty kitchen and made myself some breakfast. I was cleaning up my dishes when mom came in. I thought she looked like a zombie, but I can't say for sure since I have never actually seen a zombie. Suffice it to say she did not appear to be the very comely milf mom usually presents herself to be. She greeted me with a hug that was clearly not as long and robust as usual from her. "I'm not up to par Tyler. I kept Brittney up until the wee hours last night. I'm sure your sweet wife will be sleeping in a bit late as well."
"Ha, ha, that's fine momma. This is a vacation for us. Why don't you go back to sleep too for a while?" With a minimum of chatter, she decided that was a good idea and headed back to the master bedroom. An hour or so later, dad woke up and headed straight for the door to the garage. He left with a mumbled explanation about something he had to do at the Clinic. Another hour or so passed until I heard the shower running in our bedroom and smiled. I could hear her melodious alto voice and shrewdly deduced the younger Mrs. Svenson was in a happy state of mind.
When she came down, I got a quick kiss before she went to the kitchen to make something to eat. Mom came down then too and the two of them chatted as they made French toast and hot cereal. I sat in front of the TV and read yesterday's Sunday paper. Wife and mother hung together around the house all day, thick as thieves as they say. They both seemed to spend an unusual amount of time on their cellphones. I was so happy with how well Brittney was getting on with my parents. You can't ask for anything better than a spouse who gets along great with your parents. At least that was what I thought then.
I didn't chat much with the ladies and found "The Titanic" on TV, only a few minutes into it. Since I seemed to be the spare tire in the house, I started watching and it actually finished about the time dad got home. Shortly after that, I heard all three of them mumbling in the kitchen and then they walk out altogether and stood alongside my easy chair. Dad went to turn off the television and my wife announce in an officious voice. "We have something to tell you Tyler."
