Chapter 1

Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, mt/ft, Teenagers, Consensual, Heterosexual, Fiction, Interracial, Black Female, White Male, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Voyeurism, .

Desc: Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 1 - What if Kathy and I had made a life together, instead of going our separate ways after nursing school? Here is a fantasy answer to that question.

When you have been married for several years, things get shoved to the back of the desk. You have jobs, the kids have appointments, then they become teens, and you have a different set of pressures keeping ... things ... on the back burner.

Eventually, you notice that you haven’t make monkey love in weeks, or months, or years. You realize that she hasn’t awakened you with “good morning head” lately, and you cannot recall how long it has been. Similarly, when was the last time you chased her climax with your tongue, with your beard on her thighs? Other stuff seems more important, somehow, and then it hits you.

It hit me when I got low a census day at work, not that I wanted to spend a PTO day at random, and rolled home at around 2230. Then I found that my daughter was getting more action than I was, and I was happily married (yeah, let’s pretend I didn’t just say all that stuff, that I just said... )! Sandy wasn’t really naked. Well, not altogether. Young Lochinvar did a creditable job of getting halfway dressed, and bounding his pale ass from my house leaving a debris trail of the clothing he had not managed to put on, before I bumped the door open with my key, and surprised the young lovers kind of in media res.

I briefly reflected upon how much Sandy looked like her mother, when we were both young, before she succeeded in buttoning her blouse to a dad-view-appropriate level. Of course, the accompanying soundtrack of “Gawd, Dad! How COULD you?!!?” at varying cadences, and with assorted intonations, dulled the flashback, somewhat. For my part, being an old street medic, I was not generally easily intimidated, and tossed it right back to her.

“So, anything you want to tell me?”

“Dad! Ohmigawd! I cannot BELIEVE you!”

“You might think that I did not notice that you haven’t answered my question. I noticed. Any comment, other than chastising me for returning to my own home?”

“Daaaa-aad! We weren’t doing anything!”

“And, not doing anything, required wardrobe adjustments? Here, don’t lose your bra.”

I picked up and tossed the indicated article to her, and her blush, previously at a low simmer, turned about to “boil”. Nice trick, given her dark complexion. (Got that from her mother. Me, I’m pale as they come. Sunburn city!)

I slowly pried the name of Young Lochinvar (Brent), his identity (classmate, surreptitious boyfriend), and the chain of events that had led to our daddy-daughter bonding moment. It seemed that he had arrived, “to study”, and, homework complete (point in the girl’s favor. She generally was level headed), they had “watched a movie”. Teen hormones being what they were, sitting led to hugging, and huggin led to touchin, and touchin led to the state of en déshabillé into which I had intruded. From direct evidence, and witness testimony, it appeared that said clothing choices were about to lead directly into certain ancient and generally highly regarded fertility rites. But not with my daughter. No, not so very fucking much.

“You are grounded to your room, until your mother has had an opportunity to weigh in. School tomorrow, and directly home. I do not mean kinda directly, I mean directly-just-as-if-your-driving-license-depended-upon-it directly. Because, you know, it does. It really, really does.”

“Daddy! You don’t understand!” Hmmm. Playing The Daddy Card. Interesting gambit.

“No, actually, honey, I do understand. I also understand that you either will set and enforce your own limits, and those limits will not preclude you from college, or the trade school of your choice, or your mother and I will set and enforce those limits. I betcha you will be happier setting your own limits, huh?”

She started to blubber, which did not look all that good on an otherwise pretty 16 year old, but I stood fast. “Maybe it’s time you were in bed. Like, now. We all will talk, in the morning.”

She retreated upstairs, bra in hand. Now that I was seeing her as a horny teen boy would, she had a marvelous ass. Just like her mother.

By the time Kathy got home from her “3-11” ICU shift (Yeah. About that. See also, “The check is in the mail”, “the ambulance is on the way”, and “I’m from the government, I’m here to help you”.), I had my feet up, nursing a beer, and stifling my desire to yell at the television.

Gratefully, I switched the TV off. Rising, I enveloped my wife in my arms. She purred, “Hmmm, you’re home early. Low census?”

“Yep. You’re home late. High census?”

“Yep. And a late code. Kind of a group grope, but the patient is now resting quietly on his vent, and midnights has him. Took me an hour and a half to complete my charting.”

“Nice. Well, you missed our little domestic drama tonight. Sandy had planned on you being late, and had not planned on my busting out early. I nearly interrupted your opportunity to become a grandmother.”

Well, THAT got her attention. “Did you just say I’m going to be a grandmother?”

“No, I said things had not quite progressed to the grandmother and daddy with rifle stage, rather, I was my own form of coitus interruptus. Brent did pretty well on our shrubs as a hurdler. In fact, when you consider that he left a trail of clothing, he did darned well.”

She paused. “Too bad. I kind of liked Brent. I was starting to hope that Sandy had found her own silly white boy.”

That drew me back. “You knew?”

“That she was seeing Brent? Yeah, I knew. Sandy and I have had several conversations. I put her on the pill, not only for her complexion, but for her protection. I figured it wouldn’t be all that long before she would be dating, and I am not ready for grandma-hood!”

Oblivious me! No wonder she was the brains of the operation! I returned to her embrace. Her curly dark hair tickled my nose as I nuzzled her neck.

“Stop that! You ought to know where that will lead, and I’m all smelly from work! Stop it! I mean it!”, while feigning to push me away, all the while drawing my lips and tongue to the area of her neck she wanted teased next.

“I know how to fix that sweaty business, you know! We have the technology, right here in this very house! I am certain I can fix you right up!”

She drew back, taking my hand in hers, and led me up the stairs. “I just bet you can!” She paused, and turned back to me. “I know very well, how to fix my problem! And you, you dog! You can simply rein yourself in, for the time being. We are both off tomorrow, and it is a school day. We can talk about my problem, as well as yours, tomorrow!”

Kathy, however, seemed to want to keep my attention. She succeeded. She released my hand, and I found myself following a shower of scrubs. Her top was followed by her white brassiere. I was mesmerized by the muscles of her caramel back, as taut now, nearly 20 years later, as when she had taken my heart in nursing school. She paused, and I nearly collided with her, as her scrub pants and panties found their way into the trail of clothing leading to our bathroom.

I collected myself, racing to meet her level of nakedness, hopping on one foot, nearly falling facefirst into the bathroom. She laughed.

“Oh, you fool! Let me help you, before you kill yourself!”, and she knelt before me, untangling my foot from my own scrubs. How did she make disrobing look so effortless, and I made it look like a clown show? Once my socks had joined everything else in a knot in the corner, she was “eye-to-eye” with my johnston, and his “eye” was beginning to weep.

She grinned up at me, from around the grip she took on my tool. “We are not going to finish this in the hallway, outside your daughter’s bedroom! You! Come with me!”

With that, she stood, and led me into the bathroom, where she released me and bent to start the water running. I, dog that I am, stepped up behind her, and began to run my rapidly firming man club up and down her crease. She turned, slapped my cock, and giggled, “Down, boy! You’re still sweaty and nasty, and we are going to take a nice shower—Stop That!--and then go to bed!”

“Well, that’s sort of my plan, as well, ya know!”

“Oh, yes, I know your plan! You will go to sleep, and so will I! Sleep! Once the kids are off to school, we can talk! Shush!” She interrupted me as I started to negotiate. “Shush! You will wait until tomorrow, and we will have a conversation, with words and listening, and all that stuff! Stop! If you don’t, I will shower alone, and you can ... you can ... you can do, by yourself, whatever you want, with yourself, and by yourself! I mean it!”

She had the last word, again. I was very reluctant to deprive myself of the opportunity to admire my cute little wife, and accepted my fate. I slipped in behind her, admiring again her fine firm butt, and reached around her to grasp the soap. (caressing a bit of sideboob in the process). I lathered her back (eliciting a hum of pleasure from her, in the process), and she reciprocated. We dried ourselves, and tucked into bed, goodnight kisses just any other old married couple. Kathy did not smell like part of an old married couple, but that thought was all the consolation I was going to get that night. That much had been made clear.

Surprisingly, considering the limits she had imposed, Kathy came to bed naked. She snuggled up to me, and, wrapping her hand around my swollen nads, whispered into my ear, “I’m sorry you and” here, she gave my hardening tool a little tug, “your little friend here got all excited and we aren’t going to see this through to it’s conclusion. We’re both off this weekend, and let’s see if we can have the kids visit your mother, and you and I can spend a little ‘quality time’ together. I think I can imagine some things that will leave you entertained.”

I throbbed a little at that prospect, and heard her grin into my chest. “I can tell you like that idea. I think you will really like what I’m planning for you. But,” she raised her head, her brown eyes meeting mine, “you will simply have to wait, and trust your little wifey has your best interests at heart.”

I figured that going along with her program would either show that I trust her judgment, and reap me benefits down the road, or would rev her (and me) up, so that once we found ourselves home alone, this stop and start frustration, and the frustration that would develop in the next several days, would achieve the effect of a several days foreplay, again, reaping me (and her) predictable benefits.

But my johnston was throbbing.

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