My Father's Woman Ch. 07

I suppose I could have used my safe word.

We were going to start trying to get pregnant.

It would have been reasonable to draw a bright line, to build a veritable wall, between our decision to bring a new life into the world, and our still on-going teasing and fantasy play about another man owning my wife's pussy. Especially considering that that other man was my father.

I just wasn't sure I wanted to.

I had no idea how the coming months and years would play out. Once Michelle was carrying our child, she might consciously or unconsciously move away from her desire to play these kinky games with me. Or my paternalistic instincts might kick in and I might lose my compulsion to engage in these weird fantasies.

I was familiar with the whole "Madonna and Whore" complex; the tendency of men to start to see the mother of their children as too "pure" to be the object of their sexual desire. Of course, in many cases, that's when a healthy and suddenly frustrated woman begins to enjoy being the object of another man's sexual desire. At least I already knew that that could happen.

The following week was another stretch of normal life, punctuated by gentle, pleasurable lovemaking, unaccompanied by any play-by-play on my wife's part. The fact that I was still rubbering up was the only concession to our on-going denial play. She didn't taunt me with it verbally; but it thrilled me that she was still silently playing along with the tease that it would be my father's decision to let me have her without condoms again. Or not.

The truth was, I didn't really see myself actually asking him. I knew that in another

week or so, we were going to go visit him, and attend a tailgate party with his co-workers, at which my wife was going to present herself again as his girlfriend.

Did I really expect my father to look at me and say something like: "I think that's a fine thing, son. I think it's high time you take on the responsibility of raising a child"? And then to place one arm around my precious wife's shoulders, and the other hand on her belly, and add, "But do you really think you deserve to be the one to put it there?"

No, I couldn't see that happening. But picturing the scenario -- which I couldn't help but doing, while in the midst of making love to my wife -- never failed to cause me to erupt into the condom.

Did I really think my father had that kind of bullishness in him?

No, I didn't. But then, I had never really imagined that my father had it in him to take advantage of the opportunity to fuck my wife. In his bed. In my bed. On my back patio, while I watched haplessly through the blinds of the guest room where I was ostensibly taking an afternoon nap. Fucking her before and after learning that I was a cuckold; that I had acquiesced in having my penis locked into a cage so that whenever he and my wife were together, he would be the only one of us allowed to have an erection, or a glorious orgasm, deep inside my wife.

My life was pretty fucked up. But I really didn't think my wife was really, truly, willing to let another man impregnate her. She had never actually acknowledged anything other than the opposite. She had been fucking other men for a couple of years now, and I knew now that we were part of a small but not unheard-of number of couples who played that way. But I still believed her when she told me that, while pregnancy risk was a hot fantasy, that she would never intentionally let another man create a baby inside her.

That, it seemed, was my obsession.

***

One evening we ran into our neighbor Diane at the grocery store. Diane was an extremely attractive 40-something divorcee, who had quite obviously expressed her interest in my father at a neighborhood barbeque the last time he had visited.

That evening, it had occurred to me, as well, that she was actually an ideal partner for my dad. Little did she realize, as she had flirted with him that evening, that he was already fucking the pretty younger woman who was remaining near his side, his own daughter-in-law.

Let alone that the next day, he would take her lascivious teenaged daughter on a "date," and ejaculate into the girl's precociously skilled mouth.

My heart pounded as the three of us chatted amiably, thinking that this poor lovely smitten woman was in fact almost as pathetic as I was. Until, as we parted, she innocently offered, "Well, tell your dad I said hi."

"I'll tell him next time I see him," Michelle replied.

I glanced quickly at Diane's face, over to Michelle's in time to see her wink at me, and back to Diane, to see if it had registered on her that my wife had said "next time I see him," not "next time we see him." The subtle acknowledgment that she saw him more frequently than I did; that she saw him alone,* and naked, while underneath him, on a regular basis. It didn't appear that Diane had noticed. But it gave me a weird thrill nonetheless.

***

The following weekend Michelle started her period, right on time. She made a little show of sauntering into the kitchen and handing me her fresh package of next month's birth control pills, to "dispose of properly."

Birth control, she was telling me, was out of her hands. The thought made my cock swell in my pants.

I set them aside. Flushing them down the toilet or the garbage disposal would be an appropriately dramatic gesture; but I knew well enough that Michelle wouldn't approve of adding them to the water supply. I had read about these things before. Maybe I would put bury them in a coffee can full of kitty litter.

Maybe I would take them to my dad's house next weekend and let him do the honors.

Because we were still scheduled to spend next weekend with my father, attending a tailgating party before a college football game with his friends and co-workers. It would be the second time she had appeared at an event on his arm, earning him the admiration and jealousy of his colleagues -- the stunningly attractive, much younger woman that John Donovan had scored. And, no doubt, scored with.*

And I would be there as the third wheel, the obedient son, the confirmation that John's new lady friend was not some shameful secret, but that she was in fact the acknowledged new woman in his life.

Then we would go back to his one-bedroom apartment. The three of us. We would have dinner, watch TV, play a board game. And would we then have the talk, let him know that we were going to start trying to have a family?

Who does that? How many couples our age inform their parents that they're going to "start trying," rather than waiting until the pregnancy was safely underway to share the good news?

But then again, with how many couples was the wife already fucking her father-in-law on a regular basis? Let alone, having informed him, and her husband, that the

older man "owned her pussy?"

My life was fucked up. And I was addicted to it.

And given all that, what would the sleeping arrangements be that night? Who would get the bedroom, and who would get the couch? It seemed like something we should address. But I was avoiding the subject, and so, seemingly, was she.

I also knew, whether my dad did or not, that she had stopped taking her birth control pills already. And I knew, good and well, that that was an iffy proposition. Many women, perhaps most women, don't immediately start ovulating again the first month after having been on the pill for a few years. But on the other hand, some women ovulate almost immediately.

If my dad didn't know... if my dad didn't know; it thrilled me to consider that my wife may have shared that news, or even that decision, with him before me... it did seem that he had embraced his role in our kinky game. He would know, all day on Saturday in front of his friends, that his son's penis was locked away in a chastity cage, silently acknowledging his own pre-eminence when it came to penetrating and inseminating his daughter-in-law. He had already come into my home and fucked her in my bed. I could definitely imagine that he was already looking forward to assigning me to the couch and taking her behind the closed door of his own bedroom.

But would he still play that dangerous game, if he knew that she had stopped using birth control? Had she told him already? Was that my job?

Don't ask, don't tell, I was deciding.

I was going to leave it up to her. And to him.

***

I had a fund-raising event on Friday night, so our trip to my dad's house didn't get underway until Saturday morning. Thank goodness for 3:30 PM kickoffs. We would have plenty of time to get to dad's, drive together to the stadium, and spend an hour or two socializing. And even though the prospects of standing off to the side and watching my wife on my father's arm in public made me a little sick to my stomach, I was nonetheless looking forward to it. As well as to whatever happened afterwards.

It turned out to be a perfect early-fall afternoon, not actually warming up until well after the grills were going and the beer was flowing. As anticipated, the crowd greeted my father warmly, and welcomed Michelle back into their midst. They also welcomed me. I had only met a few of them before. Everyone knew John had a son my age. It just made it that much more intriguing to his co-workers that he also had a girlfriend his son's age. But there was no reason for anyone to put two and two together.

We had been there a good half-hour when a man about my own age sidled up to me while my wife and my dad were off chatting with another group. I took an instant disliking to him. He was a little too tanned, a little too toned, a little too cocky for my taste. Just the kind of guy that my wife used to tease me with -- not because that washer type, but just because she knew how it made me stew.

"Ryan, is it? Jeremy," he re-introduced himself, extending his cup of beer to tap against mine. I acknowledged him and reciprocated.

"So, how well do you know your dad's girlfriend?" he asked me after a moment.

"Umm... we've met a few times," I answered, warily.

"She's something else, isn't she?" he continued, taking a sip of his beer.

"Uh huh."

"I mean, God, look at the ass on that babe. Didn't know old John Donovan had it in him."

I cleared my throat to let him know I didn't approve. Even though I could feel my cock getting thicker inside my cage.

"So what's the deal with the wedding ring? You know?"

I took a second to consider my response. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"I mean, it's a real topic of conversation in the break room. Your dad's all of a sudden got this girlfriend, from out of town; turns out she's half his age, drop-dead gorgeous; shows up to the office party in a painted-on dress and a wedding band on her left hand. Your dad's banging a married woman, isn't he?"

I glared at Jeremy; but I felt the cage biting into the neck of my genitals as I heard him hitting the nail on the head.

"Not really... our business..." I muttered, and hid my face in my solo cup.

"Yeah, I mean, apparently Brian asked him and he said she's separated, but I don't know, man. I've dated some separated women and they always took their rings off, at least on dates. I think she's cheating on her husband and wants everyone to know it."

"Look -- Jeremy, is it? -- I don't think..."

"Poor sap, back home, taking care of the kids, while she's over here boffing a guy old enough to be her father. She got kids?"

"No," I answered, figuring I couldn't play too ignorant.

"Even better," he mused. I wasn't even sure what he meant by that, but my imagination could run with it. He was talking about how sweet and tight my wife's childbirth-free pussy must feel as it pulsed around my father's naked cock inside her.

"You know, Jeremy, I think you need..."

"Take it easy, I won't say anything. But I'm just telling you what everyone's thinking." He took another drink and grinned at me.

"Or maybe he does know. Maybe she's a hotwife, and he's a cuck."

I stifled a cough and shifted my weight, trying to adjust to the growing discomfort between my legs.

"Maybe he's back home jacking off all weekend to the thought. Or maybe he can't. Maybe she's got him locked up in one of those chastity cages."

I was afraid that my face was turning red. And I was taking too long to come up with a reply.

"What? It happens, you know." He took another sip and arched his eyebrows at me. As if to say, "Curious? Does your wife need a 'bull'? And where is your wife today, by the way?"

Instead, he hit me with, "So what're they gonna do when he goes to Phoenix?"

"Phoenix?" I asked, confused.

"Yeah. They're transferring him to the Phoenix office, you know."

No, I didn't know. This was news to me. I quickly assumed that Dad was planning on telling us this tonight. Probably why it was so important to him that we both come over this weekend. "I don't know," was all I said.

"So maybe >em>you ought to take a crack at her," he offered. "So to speak. I mean, living in the same town and all. And she's obviously hot to trot."

I just scowled. He shrugged.

"Or maybe I will. Hell, I'd drive across two states to get a piece of that."

I wanted to punch him. But that's not my style. And I didn't need to cause trouble for my dad. And I was pretty sure that he hadn't figured out the whole story.

"I think," I said, quietly but as sternly as I could muster, "You need to keep your mouth shut."

"Yeah, yeah, fine, whatever," he replied, but by then I had turned and walked away from him.

I didn't want to be too obvious, to go straight to my father and my wife and tattle, give this jerk the proof that he was in fact on the right track. Although I did like to think that maybe my dad had enough juice in the company to get this asshole transferred to Fargo. So I circulated for a few minutes, watching from a distance while he mingled with other pods of co-workers, while my dad stood in another group and chatted with my wife on his arm.

After enough time had passed, I sidled up to their cluster, and just watched them together. As the day had warmed, Michelle had taken off her sweatshirt and tied it around her waist. She wore a white dress shirt with a button-down collar underneath that, very preppy, and tight enough that one wouldn't have to stare to determine that she wasn't wearing a bra.

I wasn't the only man doing exactly that.

When she moved her shoulder, say, to wrap her arm around my father's waist, the fabric would stretch across the swell of her perfect C-cup breast and a hint of nipple would make itself known. My father was in his element, enjoying the conversation and joking with his friends, obviously both pleased to have a beautiful woman at his side, and casually non-plussed by it. Like she belonged there.

Without looking, he reached behind her and hooked his finger through a belt-loop in her jeans and pulled her gently to him, so they were hip-to-hip as they continued chatting. I sighed. I thought of that as one of my moves.

I knew all these people had first met Michelle three weeks ago at a company party where she had worn a form-fitting dress that screamed "sex." But today she was -- they were -- the picture of relaxed, domestic compatibility. And my dad was getting ready to move halfway across the country for the next three months. I felt a sudden twitch of sadness.

Eventually the others in the group filtered away, and it was just the three of us. "So," I ventured, "You guys don't really want to go the game, do you?"

My dad looked at me quizzically. Michelle stepped in with a response. "Oh, come on. We should at least stay until halftime."

I smiled in resignation, and nodded. She wasn't going to let me off the hook that easily. Okay. Two more hours of watching them together in public. Watching her stand and cheer for every first down, watching her perfect breasts bounce up and down inside her white blouse, while every other man watched that, too. And then watched her turn and throw her arms around his neck and kiss him on the cheek. Well, it was two more hours, and my dad deserved it. Yeah, I could deal with that.

***

I asked my dad about Phoenix in the car on the way back to his apartment. As expected, he did acknowledge that it was something he had been waiting to talk about until tonight. From my seat in the back, I glanced at Michelle riding shotgun and she looked back at me and nodded. So, she knew.

"It's not permanent," he said. "It's just for the fourth quarter, they say. They bought a couple new agencies and want me to oversee the conversion to our systems."

That made sense. I couldn't help thinking about how this move aligned with our plans to get pregnant. I wondered how long Michelle had known. I wondered which decision had come first.

"Well, congratulations, really," I offered. "I mean, that's kind of a new role for you in the company, isn't it? Kind of... nice."

"It is," he agreed. "Better than being put out to pasture."

Michelle put her hand on his arm. I thought his sentiment and her gesture were completely innocent. But I couldn't help thinking about the term. Because when racehorses get put out to pasture, it is so they can spend the next few years as a breeding stud.

I had been studiously avoiding bringing up the subject, of whether Michelle was going to stop seeing my father sexually, stop sleeping with other men in general, while we tried to make a baby. I mean, it should be a given, right?

Back at my father's apartment, we turned on the TV to catch the end of the game we had left. Although my mind was elsewhere.

Eventually Michelle headed into the kitchen and started chopping vegetables for a salad. My dad excused himself to the restroom, and I joined my wife at the kitchen counter.

"So," I ventured, unable to keep avoiding the question in my head. "Where, um, are you going to be sleeping tonight?"

She turned to me with wide, innocent eyes, but lips which were betraying a devious smile. "Oh, I don't think there's any question where I'll be sleeping tonight," she said softly. "What you're wondering is, who will be in there with me?"

I gulped hard and nodded.

"Well, he is the pater familias, remember," she offered. "Not to mention, the Lord of the Manor." I grinned at the references, even as I felt my stomach roiling.

"Prima nocta,, right?" she said with a wink. God, she was so wickedly well-read, especially when it came to things that made me weak in the knees. Prima nocta, the mythical, probably apocryphal medieval custom whereby the king or the lord got to exercise his divine right to deflower the bride -- any bride -- on her wedding night. Before handing her back to her husband.

Well, it wasn't our wedding night; although in a sense, it was an even more pivotal event in our lives. It was my wife's first weekend off birth control. It could be our first night of lovemaking with the intention of making a baby. But we were in my father's home. There was only one bedroom. It belonged to him. And so, apparently, did my wife. At least, that's what she was telling me, taunting me with. My balls ached beneath the cock cage. I was hopeless.

My dad came into the kitchen at that point, and leaned against the refrigerator, on the other side of Michelle from me. "So, what did I miss?" he asked.

Michelle looked at me and went back to chopping vegetables. I took a deep breath and said, "So... Phoenix. That's big news."

He nodded, unenthusiastically.

"Well, Dad, we've got some news, too," I said. "Michelle and I have... decided we're going to try and start a family."

I paused. Michelle's eyes were fixed on the cutting board, still working the knife. My dad's eyebrows were raised, his eyes momentarily wide. Then I watched one side of his salt-and-pepper moustache twitch as he began to break into a grin.