Chapter 7

Brint Cooper, Assistant Manager, the sign said outside his door, and inside the large office Brint sat behind his desk, toying with a sheaf of comparison shopper's reports. He would funnel the information on down to the necessary departments of the store in the morning. Right now the only thing he felt like doing was going home. He'd just come from a long and unpleasant meeting of the Board of Directors of the store, and it had been made clear to the attractive executive that there were certain aspects of his two-year reign as assistant manager of the store that were being reevaluated. Certain sales had gone down and an advertising policy that Brint had pushed hard for had fallen flat. It was all very distressing, and Brint tried to forget about it, even though there was a funny twist in his stomach at that very moment.

Hungry... he thought, I'm Hungry, that's all... I'll get right home and have dinner and a good night's sleep, and lots of rest over the weekend, and by Monday morning I'll be able to think of something that will save my face with the Board.

But even the thought of dinner was disturbing because of the new feelings Brint had been having about his wife, Fran. He mulled it over as he went out the door, bidding his secretaries good-bye with an absentminded nod.

"Sour puss looks fit to be tied tonight!" one of them said to the other.

"That's what he probably needs!" the other replied, laughing.

The elevator carried him down to the parking level and Brint found his car waiting for him the way it usually was at that hour.

"Have a good evening, Mr. Cooper!" the attendant called out to him as he drove up the ramp to the open air. But Brint couldn't help thinking that his whole world was slipping out from beneath him in some sneaky, irreversible way. There was Fran... there was the dissatisfied Board of Directors... there was that funny sound the car had started making and which was no longer covered by the warranty. The tired young man thought about his wife's attitude for the last few days - oh, it was very subtle, mind you, but Brint had noticed it just because of its subtlety. Usually when something was bugging his beautiful ex-model wife, she made it clear as all-get-out, and usually Brint had a good time getting her goat even more by either making fun of her or making her so upset that she lost control, thereby making him the winner of the argument. Or, he reflected, he would make love to her the way he had done several weeks before, thus effectively shutting her up. He felt a surge of excitement as he stopped at a traffic light, remembering that night and how Fran had moaned in ecstasy beneath his stiff cock.

They'd only made love a couple of times since then, and though Brint knew that each time had been too fast for Fran, nevertheless he did feel that she took too goddamned long to cum sometimes. He hadn't been able to wait either time, and now he regretted this, feeling that perhaps this had something to do with the distant, remote way that his blonde wife had been behaving toward him. Yet it seemed to be more serious than that. God knew, in the years they'd been married it wasn't the first time they'd made love and she hadn't cum!

In fact, Brint knew, because Fran told him later, that there'd been one entire year when she'd never cum at all!

So what's she got to complain about now? he thought angrily, surging on toward the quiet suburban street where he lived. Even so, Brint decided that tonight he'd make it up to her. She was a good kid, after all, and maybe he had been a bit hard on her, teasing her about her desire to go back to work and all. Christ, if he lost his job, they'd need a second paycheck!

The thought was staggering and depressing, and also reminded Brint that as far as money was concerned he wasn't saving any by feeding his younger brother, Morgan. Fran was right there too, but Brint was too stubborn to tell her so. If she was against Morgan, he was automatically for him, even though there was little love felt between the two brothers. Brint had always felt that his kid brother had been coddled so much by his parents that he would never amount to anything. He took good things that happened to him as his due, and never seemed to reflect about the seriousness of life. Something Brint had had ample time to do during the years he was at City College working his way through, and then later at business school where he worked particularly hard to make good, even though he didn't feel any particular calling toward the business world. It made him feel good to identify with the President. He, too, was a self-made man, and no matter what, no one could ever take that away from him. Especially not his punk kid of a brother! Maybe he'd tell Fran tonight that she'd be getting rid of Morgan. Let the kid go stay with Mom and Dad - God knows they deserve each other!

Then maybe I'll have a little peace at home, he thought, reminding himself that it would be very pleasant indeed if, for example, while Jeanie was asleep he and Fran could go at it in the living room right on the sofa. They used to do this some years before, but it was impossible now due to the presence of his brother, Morgan, who always seemed to be around and under foot even though Brint had thought him to be the sort who went out a great deal. In fact, he'd envied the younger boy that, going out with all those pretty girls he was probably in contact with all the time. The stewardesses and airline sweeties. Yeah, Morgan was sitting pretty right in the middle of all that fancy tail, and all of it hot and ready too, Brint was willing to bet.

Brint himself had never found it terribly useful to chase other women. It took up too much time for one thing, and the girls always wanted something or other, and since he was willing to give nothing at all his few sorties into that field were brief and uneventful. Now the cynical young executive contented himself with calling one of several girls whose phone numbers he had and who for a fee would stop by his office or allow him to stop by their apartments for five or ten minutes. But this only happened about once a month at most, and Brint considered the money well spent and to be, in a manner which he was able to make himself understand, a favor to his wife. He wasn't getting involved with other women the way most of the men he consorted with did, and Fran was lucky to have him for a husband even though she would never know why Brint thought so.

The powerful motor shutting off jolted Brint back to reality. He was home and in the driveway. In a sense he regretted having gotten home so quickly, for he'd been enjoying the daze of driving and the pattern of his own thoughts. He never felt better than at those moments when he was in his car. As the tall dark executive got out of the car and closed the door after him, he wished that he could take with him the feeling of invincibility that the car gave him. Instead, he set his features in a contemptuous snarl without even realizing that he was doing so. This was his protection against the powers that existed beyond him.

"YES I TELL YOU I HEARD SOMETHING! IT'S BRINT! OH GOD, IT'S BRINT COMING HOME!" Fran jumped up as best she could considering the fact that she was covered by her brother-in-law and her daughter's fervently writhing bodies, the two of them beginning once again what each thought was over moments before. Still the wondrous sparks of lust ricocheted between their naked, incestuously attracted bodies, making them lose sight of anything else but the fulfillment of the moment.

Fran got out from under them and ran to the window, her firmly rounded white buttocks bouncing as she ran.

"GOD. YES!" she shrieked, "IT'S HIM IT'S HIM... GET OUT! GET OUT! HURRY!"

Jeanie was disappointed, having hoped for a more complete surprise, but she slowly went toward the door of her mother's room anyway. Morgan hurried past her, grabbing his clothes as he ran. Jeanie did all she could to detain him, but the young uncle, frightened by the prospect of seeing his brother under such circumstances, pushed the little girl aside and ran out, heading toward his room. Jeanie blew her mother a kiss and slipped out herself, moving reluctantly toward her own room.

Downstairs the front door opened, closed, and Brint entered. He was immediately surprised by the fact that no delicious cooking odors were wafting from the kitchen, and that there was no one about to meet him. Suspicious by nature and particularly edgy because of his bad day, Brint looked around.

The first thing that the startled husband saw was that one of the pillows of the sofa had fallen onto the floor. Absentmindedly he went to pick it up, listening all along for the sound of someone else in the house. Just as he saw the wet stains upon the sleek material of the pillow, he thought he heard a noise upstairs like the sound of a door closing.

FRAN! His wife's name exploding in his brain, Brint began to take the steps two at a time. THAT BITCHING TWO-TIMING WHORE FUCKING ON MY SOFA!

Brint burst into the bedroom and the door slammed against a wall. Angrily he slammed it back. "FRAN, WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU? I KNOW YOU'RE HERE!"

From the bathroom came the sound of water running, and Brint raced to the door, flung it open, and headed for his nakedly trembling wife where she stood under the shower, furiously trying to scrub away the love scents she had accumulated throughout the long illicit afternoon. The blonde wife's eyes rounded with horror as she saw Brint coming toward her like a charging bull and then felt his fingers closing around her arms, pinching, hurting so hard that she knew that she'd have black and blue marks for weeks. Absurdly, she thought about the photographs she was due to take the next day. Would she even be alive the next day?

She was being shaken, carried bodily from the shower, harshly thrown upon the bed where she bounced up and scrambled away only to be tossed back upon the badly crumpled bed which the guilty woman had only had time to smooth out in the most perfunctory manner.

He knows... oh Christ, he knows! she thought as she fended off his blows, protesting, pleading with her irate husband.

"FUCKING WHILE I'M AT WORK! FUCKING!" he screamed down at her nakedly cringing body. "WHAT ABOUT JEANIE? WHAT KIND OF A MOTHER ARE YOU ANYWAY? DID SHE GET A GOOD LOOK AT HER MOTHER SCREWING ON THE SOFA?"

"Ooooooh," Fran could only wail with the terrible burden of the truth, which was a hundred times more dreadful than the awful things of which she was being accused.

"Who was it? WHO? SOME CANDY-ASSED PHOTOGRAPHER, I'LL BET! ONE OF YOUR OLD BOY FRIENDS!"

Fran sobbed. Was he so far from wrong? Wouldn't she have given in to Giuliano tomorrow? Wouldn't she have wanted his warm kisses and kind words? But instead she had received her own husband's brother, felt his cock - God, she seemed to still feel it - high in her quivering pussy! And she had joined her own little girl in the most depraved enjoyment of sex, and she had loved it, loved every minute of it!

"NEVER MIND! NEVER MIND!" the distraught blonde cried, "BEAT ME, HIT ME, KILL ME IF YOU WANT! I DON'T CARE! I TELL YOU I DON'T CARE!"

Brint stopped for a second, glaring down at the cowering female before him. "Killing's too good for you!" he hissed. His woman, his own wife betraying him, actually giving herself to someone else. That same gorgeous golden cunt there between those fabulous thighs... they were his... all his and they belonged to nobody else! The very idea of another man even touching Fran was enraging him more by the moment. He had to do something, something to put his stamp upon this woman, to prove to her and to him that she was his, that he would not tolerate unfaithfulness! A wild look was in his eyes as the angry husband ripped off his suit coat and his shirt and tie. Then he loosened his belt and let his pants fall down. He peeled down his shorts and took off his tight cotton undershirt. The calf-length black socks upon which he insisted came off after the conservative brown shoes.

All the while, Fran watched him carefully, cautiously between sobs, as though her life depended upon it. Then he spoke, barking out a command to her that startled the young wife. Nevertheless, she was in no position to refuse him and she did as her husband asked.

Kneeling naked on all fours on the bed, the adulterous wife cringed backwards.

"No... no," she murmured fearfully.

"NO? What's the matter, had too much screwing already? That little pussy can take more, can't it?"

"NO... NO!" It was too awful, too humiliating!

"Well, that's okay too!" Brint said with a snarl, eyeing the white pliant mounds of nether flesh that formed his wife's fully presented buttocks. "There's more than one way to skin a cat!"

From her lewd position on the bed where her husband had forced her, terror struck deep in Fran's bones. But didn't she deserve whatever she got? Even if her husband was a disgusting egomaniac, a cold, ungiving person and a selfish monster? Even though all that was true, hadn't she done things that no woman ought to ever consider, much less enjoy? Wasn't he right to want to punish her? She thought she was going mad. Perhaps she was! Didn't her wanton actions, even though she had been forced at the beginning, indicate a wandering mind? How could she have made passionate love with her own brother-in-law... and later with her own daughter? How could she have enjoyed it when she heard her daughter, who was only ten years old, cumming blissfully beneath the twenty year old's fucking, and while enjoying it cum herself because of Morgan's fingers thrusting in her naked cunt?