Grace Wilkinson - A family sandwich

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.