Radio C

The weather was pleasant out. Afternoon was fading to a lovely evening free of clouds or darkness. The sun crested on the poplar trees behind the Sampsons' household, a shadow from the roof casting down, just beginning to creep up the base of the trees, crawling up the shed, making the wood look as though it had been deeply flooded. Inside was a similarly passionate scene. A creaking sound informed on the nursery's door, a woman with child stepping out, and making their holy way down the mid-level's small flight. The boy nursed easier on the couch, she thought, so she took him there. In the arms of Stacey Sampson, a newly wed and new mother, was a little boy, small, completely unconscious of his mother's adoration, and yet somehow appreciative no less. He radiated warmth like a little spoonful of sun. His name was Joseph Sampson, and he was seven months old.

When the boy's father slid quietly and smoothly onto the couch beside the two, neither the boy nor the mother were startled, despite the first knowing of him being an arm draped weightily over the mother's shoulders. In fact, she nestled back into him, and all under the silence of a lovely sunday afternoon. The mother's name was Stacey, and the father's Alexander.

Chapter 1 - Work.

The light of the early morning was as a cloth, blue and pale, settling over everything having, weighing it down the absence of a long night's rest. It was a morning like any other for Alex. His wife was conducting the orders of the morning with her typical speed. He tried to help, but he found that it was more of an interference, and sat back down, drinking the orange juice she had poured him, and just watched her go, industrious by nature. Her eyes were hard, passing all the things that weren't Joseph or her husband- even he was sometimes exempt from that list- a cold glance, an assessment, before it was taken care of with graceful yet direct motions. This had a fortunate effect on Stacey's body. She was a tall woman, a bit taller than her above-averagely sized husband, and was known as lean. Having a kid had changed her a bit, though. Baby Joseph just banged on the table, using his toy like a hammer, as he was like to do.

Where she once had a lean rear, a product of her training in the pool, there was now something pillowy and wide, wonderfully shaped. It didn't look bad, Alex remarked. In fact, it looked strangely enticing- refreshing, even. He knew that the tough ass he loved was still under there, if only under a few inches of maternal weight. She was looking at him, he was surprised to see, watching him gaze until he realized he was hardly being so sly. He looked away, bashful as a joke. She laughed, to his relief. It was going to be a good day when she could smile before breakfast was over. She passed him a plate, and started on her own, glancing at him over a forkful of eggs, giving the smile right back. Other than that exchange, it was a breakfast just like any other. Hands full of used dishes, Alex found it a fine time to ask,

"So, excited for your new job?" Over the sound of a hissing tap, Stacey nodded, still chewing her last forkful, and grabbing her bag. Little Joseph looked from parent to hectic parent without a peep, and resumed banging on the table, like a little judge banging a gavel.

"Yeah, I really am. The radio's a great place, and they always need techs and stuff, plus I heard everyone's really nice," Stacey went on, speaking without much intonation as she gathered her things, eyes only going from item to item: keys, coffee, coat, and so forth. Alex, again, just watched her go, industrious and mechanical at a moment's notice. By the time she looked back, she was already at the door, ready to go. He smiled back, pocketing his hands.

"Go have fun, sweetheart~" he told her. Bang bang bang, agreed Joseph, extending up to see his mom go. She smiled not coldly, and she went.

The remainder of Joseph's morning was, unsurprisingly, taking care of his son. He fixed bowl of mashed carrots and such set to the tune of baby-babble, and, just as Joseph's mumbling started to make strange sense backed by Alex's fatherly replies, the boy gumming on mouthfuls of his simple meal, sufficiently distracted. Alex checked his phone between rounds of 'here comes the airplane!', and only found a few paltry notifications, which he flicked past. They were some stupid things posted by this relationship magazine's twitter page, something that he really only included to feel less guilty about his almost strictly pornographic twitter feed, which was even strange considering the explicit nature. His son was blabbering again, and reaching for the spoon Alex had forgotten. Alex dropped his phone and got back to feeding Joseph, a decision that the baby boy seemed to approve.

The boy was napping in his crib before Alex could even check the clock again. He flipped the stereo-system on his course to the couch, pulling out his phone as the jams of his favorite station came on the air, and found that article from before.

It was an op-ed thing on the psychology of relationships. Its headline read, quite bluntly, "Is your spouse truly satisfied?", and continued as follows,

"Observing the animal kingdom, the domain that precedes mankind, monogamy is a rare adaptation. Sexual access is a resource in such a place, and so is naturally, and completely, exploited. Male specimens of the most fit tier will have a myriad of mates, and females with any sort of frugality will see contests for their males to compete in- to find the best, obviously, but also to drive them to new levels. This is antithetical to monogamy, and yet has produced an incredible natural world. Why should mankind not follow?"

"The simple answer is that we do. Many women feel a basic urge to mate up in dominance hierarchies, and it's in many men's natural interest to claim as many sources of reproduction as possible. So they cheat, "adulterating" the strictures of monogamy as they've been taught. Many who have been cheated on report feelings of anger, rage, defeat, and betrayal, all at once, like crystals being sheared by impact. And yet, some report excitement, an inexplicable arousal (in the sexual sense, not to be enraged, though the duality of the term is poetic) stemming from jealousy, the prospect of your significant other kneeling at the privates of some fat-cocked, broad, muscled, hairy man without even telling you about it. Or else, informing you beforehand, but never asking. Or, for women en masse, they are thoughts of male partners conquering and enjoying the bodies and expressions of women other than yourself. I exclude the sexually queer because, in many situations, they are beyond this anxiety.

The thoughts of this will stir anyone deep- and so, we label them as taboo. As a behavioural psychologist, I say it's past time we peel off that label, and inspect it as a way of life, and not as a tragedy. Though, to any man or woman reading this, your position in this refurbishing of modern relationships stands on a knife's edge, no matter how sure your footing is now. On which side will you fall?"

-Amelia Sweet-cheeks

He didn't know why, but he was breathing heavy, and was hard, leaking lubricant into his sweats. An image sat in his head, one of a radio-station, sparsely lit, with the silhouette of a long-haired man sitting in a thick-windowed broadcasting booth, a head of blonde hair bobbing and gagging in his lap, her ass just visible from the door, thick with a few inches of pregnancy weight. His eyes looked down, and he found his hand grasping himself, pumping slowly, sweats around his ankles. He had hardly even been conscious of what the vision compelled his hands to do, but he was doing it, and he was getting wet. His dick, of average length, was getting rigid and swollen at the thought of his wife doing those things with that man, that man he had no idea even existed. It would seem that his body didn't care, though. Just as his other hand grabbed at his balls, and the other began to speed up, a shadow blocked the living-room window. Standing there was a slim, well-shaped silhouette, and beside her was a much larger, blockier one. Alex gasped, and his eyes focused. She was shocked, but livened with humor. The man was amused in a more expectant way. Alex scrambled to clothe himself before his wife, and the long-haired man his fantasy informed him to be her new boss.

***

It was uncanny how dramatically the man his wife had brought home had resembled the man from his involuntary fantasy. Perhaps it was a vision whose perverse mechanism went so deep it eluded him entirely despite informing him of this man. Or it was coincidence, Alex frustratedly posited to himself. That article really was getting to him. Again, maybe it was just the shock and residual embarrassment of being caught in such a position, but he was struggling to slice the sourdough for sandwiches, and his erection had failed to leave him in peace. The latter was harder to explain. He continued to rake and dredge over his thoughts, preparing lunch much slower than he otherwise would have. He rejoined his wife and her boss at the dinner table, and, though he could hear them clearly before, had only now observed that the both of them were rather calm about the ordeal. In fact, his wife was laughing lightly, probably over some anecdote that Alex had spun in the moments previous.

He set their plates on the table, and took his seat, only to see that they hadn't taken them from where they'd been placed, preferring to keep talking. He huffed, and arranged them more to look like place-settings, not just plates deposited on a table.

"Oh, thanks man!" Stacey's boss graciously thanked, even interrupting his own similarly enthusiastic story with a hearty mouthful of sandwich. His voice was scratchy, just like it was on the radio. And man, was he big, Alex thought. Alex wasn't small by any means- a respectable five-ten, and no more weight than his strength vouched for, but christ, this man was something separate entirely. The scraggly haired man before the couple sat like a grizzly bear, or some fur-matted grinning ape. He was far from lean, but his broad frame, potent musculature, and lightly tanned, rugged flesh met it twice over. He towered over Stacey- she only came up to his adam's apple- while she and Jacob shared a height. He's even better than I thought was the strange thought which Jacob happened to be fighting at that point. The man was bearded with wirey hair, a poorly kept handlebar filling the space between his grin-stretched upper-lip, and his hooked, black-head sewn nose. His hair was long, going nearly a foot down his back. At least that was well kept. "Mm, ga'damn that's a good sammy!" he declared in his usual rasp, looking back to Alex, who was slow to respond.

"Oh, glad you like it, misterrrr?..." he trailed, not knowing the man's name quite yet.

"Linetti. Henry Linetti, but most just call me Hank. Or 'Harder daddy!'" He gave a chuckle through his remaining mouthful of sandwich. Alex chuckled too, a little caught off guard, but Stacey laughed hard enough to be startling. But she caught herself and blushed, making it perhaps worse. Her leggings-clad ass, a fat thing that both Hank could see on his left, and Alex on his right, shifted in her seat uncomfortably, jiggling just a touch. Alex saw, in a flash of a stare, that her boss was looking at it too. He also saw that her rear was more towards her boss, though that might just be because she was trying to hold back her all-too-loud laugh. He was thinking at a hundred miles a minute. And worse, Alex's erection wouldn't go away, like the presence of that article in his mind.

In a nervous tone, Alex broke the silence, drawing the eyes of that big, beardy, grinning man that his wife had brought home. "So, wh-what were you guys talking about?"

"Oh," he began with a rasp, "We were just talking about all the turnover at the studio."

"Turnover? What do you mean?"

"So, the studio's pretty small, and honestly the building kinda sucks," he explained. Even when he was talking about something ordinary, his voice had that rock'n'roll ratchet tone. It must've just been something he had. "So we both gotta share the booth. Most of the new hires quit pretty quick, but the ones who stay- they got a certain funk to 'em, y'know? 'Really shows that they get the station, man." He finished, nodding with that wide smile. Alex, ever the stone, only betrayed his thoughts with the subtle sharpening of his pupils, and a dim blush coming to his face. Not even the arrant blink of Hank's beady blue eyes would tell Alex that he knew or didn't know about why he was so nervous. His erection was leaking into his briefs again.

"H...how small is the booth, Hank?"

"About... the size of this table?" the man ventured, sitting up out of his usual hunched posture, looking over the table. It might've been three and a half feet wide, and five feet long. "Yeah, or maybe a bit smaller. It gets pretty hot too! Ventilation's been broke for a bit, so we just closed over the vents," he answered with complete sincerity.

"We?" Jacob asked further, on the edge of his seat, dripping.

"Me 'n Stace, but it was mostly her idea," He slapped him on the back, "But man did I love to see her on a ladder! You probably used a little more tape than necessary, huh, Stace?" he laughed heartily, with that grin again. His smell was beginning to overbear- the scent of unadulterated man, if regular hygiene were considered adulteration. But there was something more, some primal, red-hot essence of manhood that no amount of big, dull mauve hippie-shirt or overstretched, ragged khakis could withstand.

"Yeah, it takes a lot to make it in the radio business. Like I was sayin', you need a little bit of funk. Sleepin' in your car, pissin' in soda-bottles, casting with your dick in your hand. Heh', I know that all sounds weird to some white collar cats, but it's tried and true. I'll make sure our little Stacey here makes it in the bizz~"

Alex was seeing white. He could swear he had heatstroke. He wiped his forehead again. He couldn't stomach eye-contact for a moment longer, and so made eye contact with his sandwich instead. And his wife's. She hadn't eaten a bite either, and was... wiggling again, the pliant flesh of her ass bobbling back and forth in her leggings, like bouncy dog just promised a walk. Her typically cold blue eyes were warm and wiggling, shimmering as a mirage might. She looked back to Alex, and he knew then what she was thinking. It was a look of tension, like she was being pulled from two places. She was probably dripping as much as him.

So he and his wife ate their meal, hunched over, with silence and red faces, just staring at their plates. Hank laughed lightly. His sunglasses, a set of circular mirrors, had slid to the tip of his nose. He seemed to be chuckling at the both of them, observing and speculating without apology, giving them all the shame he didn't need. Now that primal smell was everywhere around the table.

"Oops," Hank interjected as a fork fell to the floor on his side. He was going to push out his chair to get it, but Stacey was a bit faster.

"I got it-" she jumped as she disappeared under the table. She should've came back up with it in seconds, but soon five seconds had gone by. Hank was making eye contact with Alex, just watching him sweat. There were no sounds of rummaging or difficulty under the table, and by the stillness of his wife's plump bottom, she wasn't moving. Hank was still looking. Ten seconds. He heard breathing under the table, even a heavy sniff, spurring his gaze, panicked and flustered, to fly between his wife and her boss. Finally, he kneed her in the hip, and she hurried back from under the table as if she'd just been awoken roughly. Her cheeks were flushed red. Alex didn't know, but so were his.

Then, with a sudden gusto, her boss gave a big belly laugh, jubilating with such stunning volume to the air above them, and with that trade-marked grizzle in the back of his voice. It was so sudden and, frankly, intimidating, that Alex took a second to join in, but when he did, the joviality lifted the tension from his heart, and he laughed extraordinarily. His wife was bawling with laughter too, he saw when they shared a teary glance. Alex laughed harder than he had in ages. The tension wasn't going anywhere, though. And Hank just kept laughing with them.

***

The door closed louder than the couple had yet heard it closed. They watched the tall man slide into his low Cadillac, and then slip away, down the street, quiet as can be. Before Alex could look at his wife, she wrenched him by the collar, and kissed him, pulling him towards her like a doll. Her kiss lacked her normal composure; it felt hungry, ravenous, and, most of all, drenched in saliva. In some way he couldn't quite recall, she had pinned him to the couch with her equal weight, and was bullying him down, commanding him with her lips. He felt her rump pushing down on his lap, her pussy doing much the same to his swollen, leaking manhood. Her leggings didn't do much to referee her pursuit. He tried to grab her ass, but she caught his wrists, and pinned them to the wall just above the couch's back. This occurred just as their kiss was ending.

She looked at him with wild eyes like blue fire, steaming breath blowing past her bars of straight white teeth, brows furrowed, and a head of blonde hair all in a mess. She looked like she was searching for the words.

"I-I get it now." she blurted out.

"Wh-what do you?-" he began to ask.

"When you were masturbating in the living room, with your knees together and your back stiff," she explained, forward as ever, "You feel it still, don't you?" She was wet enough to be felt through his jeans. She was painfully still as she spoke, and never abandoned eye-contact, as painful as it was for Alex.

"Yeah, I do. I don't know why, but it's only gotten harder."

"I can tell~" she giggled, feeling his rigidity pushing on her lips.

"You know what I mean!~" he smiled, struggling with the pin she had him in. Sometimes he forgot just how strong she was. She equalled him in size, and was certainly more athletic. Her shoulders weren't just bones, but rather well-defined examples of strength. Even her core was strong despite her slim waist. She was muscular, but gracefully avoided anything that could be called 'bulky'. She didn't use it on him very often, though. He seriously tried to get his hands free, but he seriously couldn't. This was a first.

"Oh, don't worry, hun, I'm just having a little fun~" she teased close to his ear, relaxing her big, soft, fat ass on his crotch, the weight ever-so-slowly massaging his over-eager sausage. "So what made your dick so hard?" she asked, preferring a jiggle of her ass to any graceful wording. Her question put a pause to his struggling.

"Well, I... I read an article."

"An article?"

"Yeah. It was this weird critique of monogamy. Most people would just read it and hear a crack-pot. But I... I don't know..." He looked to her as though she might continue his words for him, but she just nodded back. So, he continued. "Well, the whole idea was that monogamy is, well, unnatural, and that competition is... healthy." To that, his wife juggled her fat ass around his rigid dick, much to his frustration.

"Right, healthy~ ", she teased devilishly, only to come across a question, "She sounds like a smart lady. Wait, so does that mean you were jerking your dick to... your 'competition'?" She laughed, but didn't smile for long.

Alex averted his eyes, a blush striking them both. She saw the meaning in his silence. It lingered for a good while, and only ended when Alex looked back to her, a look of confession in his eyes. Her ass softened around his shameful hardness. She smiled like a succubus, and kissed him again. She decided the pace. It must've gone on like that for minutes, Alex guessed for how coated his mouth was in their saliva.