Family Disrupted

Warning: This is an interracial cheating wives story about the dissolution of the family unit. If those themes are disturbing to you, please do not read ahead. All characters in sexual scenarios are 18+. If you enjoy, please leave a rating and comment

—

“Alexa and Carl broke up.”

“Huh? Divorce?”

“Something like that.”

“We were just at their house last week for their BBQ. Everything seemed fine. How did this happen so quickly?”

My wife, Samantha, raised her eyebrows in confusion. She was a gorgeous woman in her early thirties: black hair, tan skin, and a curvy body that featured the finest pair of breasts in our town. Not only was Samantha stacked, she had the perkiness of a girl just finishing puberty. When she opened the freezer in the grocery store, the stock boys gathered round with their hands down their pants.

“Stuff with them had been stale for a long time. You couldn’t tell?”

“No?”

Samantha curled up at the edge of the bed. I was standing in the doorway between our master bathroom and the bedroom, brushing my teeth. I noticed in the mirror that I was looking particularly balding, and I tried to covert it quickly.

Samantha gave a little excited giggle, ready to gossip.

“Carl hadn’t been fucking her in ages,” she said, “And when they did, it wasn’t very good.”

Carl had been my business partner for many years. We had met in business school. I never expected to hear about his sex life like that. I didn’t know his wife was talking to anyone about it, nevertheless my wife.

“She said he had a shrinky little dick,” Samantha said, pinching her fingers. It seemed extra crass for my wife to use a word like that. Dick. She was usually so much more reserved.

“Didn’t they want to make it work? Even for the boys?” Like Samantha and me, Alexa and Carl had two young boys.

Samantha just shrugged. “You know Alexa. She gets what she wants.”

I did remember business trips with Carl, where he complained about his wife. She was a smoke show: a gorgeous blond with a body that looked fit and sexy even after pumping out two kids. But she nagged about every little thing. Spent his money on clothes and jewelry. I know he slept around: heck, I visited some of the strip clubs with him when we were truly far out of the vicinity of our wives.

Shit, had Alexa found out about that? Was that why they had so quickly split? And if so… had she told my Samantha about my little transgressions?

“I honestly don’t know that much about it,” Samantha said, as if reading my mind.

I finished brushing my teeth, and got into bed. I ran my fingers through my wife’s hair, squeezing her warm body close to me.

My wife Samantha had a considerable bust: a pair just as perky and juicy as the day I met her. As I drew her closer to me, I felt her nipples harden between my fingers.

Her phone rang, startling her out of my arms.

“It’s Alexa,” she said, getting out of bed to take the call, “I should be there for her.”

My wife left me alone in bed, hard-on pressing against my boxers.

I thought about what she said Alexa had told her about Carl’s performance in bed. The last time Samantha and I slept together, she had definitely finished, right? I remembered feeling her contract against me as she smothered my face between her breasts.

I felt myself growing harder remembering the darkness of my wife’s cleavage, my face against those soft breasts, and, believe it or not, I began stroking off to the thoughts of my own wife!

I could hear the little sounds of her voice in the study talking to her bitchy friend Alexa. I just spit into my hand and stroked, hoping she would come back soon and dangle those big breasts in front of my face…

“Oh my god,” she said after a while, “You will not believe what Alexa just told me.”

So engrossed in her gossip, she didn’t even notice me stroking on our marital bed.

“So she’s not just divorcing Carl,” Samantha said, “Carl’s in prison.”

“What?”

“Apparently, the feds showed up to his house the other day and took him away in handcuffs. In front of his wife and kids, they dragged him out of his home like he was a dirty tissue.”

“Jesus.”

“It was apparently quite the scene. Alexa was in the tub when she heard the commotion, so she burst into the hallway wearing only the remnants of her bubble bath as fifteen burly FBI agents were dragging her husband across their marble tiled entryway.”

“Whoa.”

“Her two sons just stared, watching their mother plead with the agents not to take him away. It sounded like a mess.”

“No shit.”

“She seems fine now,” Samantha said with a coy smile, “Though I have to imagine that’s a facade.”

What had Carl done? How could this have happened?

“And she invited us over,” Samantha said, “For BBQ this Sunday afternoon.”

BBQ? Again, like we had just had when she and Carl had been together last week? How was she in such a celebratory mood?

“Won’t it be awkward?”

“Hush,” Samantha said, “Alexa is my friend and we should go to support her. Plus, if she is a mess, I want to see it.”

As troubling as my friend’s arrest sounded, at least there was no mention of his and my wild nights with strippers on our trips.

“I’m exhausted,” my wife said, jumping into bed in a way that her big breasts jiggled around in her bedtime nightie, “I’m turning off the lights and going to sleep.”

Ah. So much for getting laid tonight. I closed my eyes in the darkness, my hard on sticking up in the sheets, imagining what must have happened between Carl and Alexa in the last week for this all to happen. Eventually, cock still hard, I fell asleep.

—

The next day, the house phone rang when Samantha was in the shower. It was the principal of the school where our boys went. Apparently, our older son had gotten into some trouble and they needed to meet with the parents.

I groaned. Samantha was already so rattled from the news about Alexa and Carl. Knowing there was a problem with the kids would make her even crazier.

“I’ll handle it,” I said, and arranged to head to the school.

I found my oldest son, still in middle school, sitting in a waiting room in the school office with his head hanging down, avoiding any eye contact. The administrator ushered me in.

I had never met my son’s school staff before and was amazed that the woman standing before me was not a student. She couldn’t have been more than 21 years old, with that dewy fresh skin that only young women who are used to taking care of their appearance can have. Wearing her shiny white blouse and tight pencil skirt and stockings, she looked more like a sorority girl in a Halloween costume than a teacher.

“Unfortunately, Mr. Lokkens,” she began, very seriously, “Your son has been causing some trouble for the other students.”

I groaned. “What’s the problem?”

“It’s a little sensitive.”

“Okay…”

“You’ll of course remember that we have one of the best basketball teams in the state,” she said. I guess I did know that but I wasn’t sure why she brought it up. My son didn’t play basketball.

“Our players are star athletes, young, but full of potential. They’re the future leaders of the world, real assets to our school.”

“Okay. What does this have to do with my son?”

“Well, your son has been getting in their way.”

“Getting in their way?”

The pretty young teacher nodded.

“It’s happened a few times. Once, a few weeks ago, he was walking slowly in the hallway and they had to shove him to get out of their way as they were going to practice.”

“They shoved him?!”

“Yes, he was just moving so slowly and they needed to get to practice. Then, later, he was apparently talking to a girl on the cheerleading squad at lunch.”

“The cheerleading squad?”

“Yes, well, it’s an unofficial thing, but the cheerleaders are often our most desirable students and the basketball players usually enjoy the company of those girls. They didn’t like to see someone like your son talking to them.”

“Excuse me, what are you talking about?”

“Then, this morning, it really came to a head,” she said, “Your son came to my office and brought me this.”

She slid a face down piece of paper across the table. I gulped as I turned it upwards. It was a glossy photograph of a stunning young woman in lingerie. Her skin was tan and sexy, her long legs curled under a stool, her fingers crossing her delicate ribcage and her nipples hard and visible under the sheer of her bra.

This picture was of the school administrator sitting in front of me.

“Jesus… this is… you?”

The teacher nodded.

“This is a photo I shared with the coach of the basketball team. Now, if he shared it with his team members, that’s his business. But there’s no reason someone like your son should be in possession of this. He came to me to try to tattle on the players, to get them in trouble for possessing this photo of me. And just, I don’t know if there’s room for a student who tattles at our school.”

My jaw was on the floor. How could these incidents be a reason that my son was in trouble? It sounded like he was the victim!

“Look, Mr. Lokkens, I’ve called you in here because your pudgy little boy–sorry– the student in question… this is his final warning. He needs to learn his place, or else, he’ll lose it. Do you understand?”

Somewhere along the line, the teacher had begun scolding me, as if I were the one in trouble!

“Do I make myself clear?” she asked, her eyes sternly staring at me as she took the raunchy photo of herself away.

“Yes ma’am,” I found myself saying. Now I could barely make eye contact with her.

“Good,” she said, “Now be on your way. I’m busy.”

I left the school without talking to my son, deeply troubled by what I heard. Still, the image of the teacher’s young perky breasts was stained on my mind, and I was curious to see if I could one day learn more about her.

—

On Sunday, I drove Samantha and the boys over to Alexa’s house for the BBQ. We had warned them that their friends’ father would not be there anymore, and that the reason was that he had committed a horrible crime and was in jail.

“What did he do?” my youngest son asked.

“Something very bad,” Samantha said sharply, for of course, neither she nor I knew the answer to that question.

Alexa and Carl had had two boys, the same ages as Samantha and my boys. Upon pulling up in the driveway of the big house, we were surprised to see both boys standing outside on the steps of the home. When we parked our car, the two of them shuffled over to us quickly, opening the car door first for my wife and then for me.

“Thank you,” Samantha said, leaning over and tussling their hair, “What fine gentlemen.”

“Yes ma’am,” they said in unison.

This was a huge contrast with the behavior we were used to. Usually, they ran out of the house to find their friends and the four of them ran off into the backyard or into the basement to play some silly games. This time, they didn’t even greet my boys. They just waited patiently and opened the front door for us, closing it without coming inside.

“Welcome welcome welcome!” came a loud voice from around the corner. The click clap of high heels on the marble tile echoed as she approached.

It was Alexa Triton, wearing a loose blue dress with a plunging neckline that reveal a V shape of tan skin all the way down her naval. She had on numerous necklaces, all thin and dangly, plus a pair of tinted lavender sunglasses with gold frames. She looked like some kind of movie star from the 70’s, or maybe a comfort girl from an airport lounge, or somewhere in between. Definitely not the uptight spoiled mother we had known for years.

“So good to see you,” she said, leaning forward and kissing my wife on each cheek before doing the same to me. I was flattered and startled. Up close, it was obvious that she wasn’t wearing a bra, and her nipples were hard!

Compared to my wife, in her frumpy flowery blouse and white slacks, Alexa Triton exuded youth and vitality.

“I’ve had a crazy week,” she said, understatement of a lifetime. This was the same woman who had chased the FBI around her house naked while her sons watched their father get arrested?

“Oh gee,” she said, looking down at my two confused kids for the first time, “I forgot you’d be bringing–them.” She waved her finger around like she was pointing at rats that had crawled onto a ship.

“You two stay out in the front with the other boys, okay?” she said in a sing songy voice. My kids shrugged and left out the front door with a slam.

“We’ve been doing a ‘no kids’ inside rule lately,” she said, “It’s quite nice. The house gets to be an adult space again.”

Where to even begin–who is ‘we’? No kids inside?

“Where do they, uh, sleep?” my wife asked.

“Oh I don’t know,” Alexa said, waving her hand around, “Maybe in that shed out front, the gardening one? They’re fine.”

With that, she led us into the kitchen where she had a big pitcher of sangria waiting. She poured and we both sipped–it was insanely strong!

After she downed her drink, Alexa paused for a moment, smiling at us. Samantha took this opportunity to grab her friend’s hand and give her a concerned look.

“Sweetie,” my wife said, “We know you’ve had a huge life change recently. Are you… are you sure you’re okay?”

Alexa looked at my wife confused and then burst into laughter.

“Oh Sam, I’ve never been better!” she said, laughing on and on.

My wife looked at me confused.

“But then… you must be in shock. Your husband being arrested…”

“Good riddance!” she said, waving her hand over her face like dismissing a fart, “Couldn’t have happened any sooner.”

“What exactly happened to Carl?” I asked. It was jarring to see this previously devoted wife now celebrating her husband’s demise.

“It was all in the taxes,” Alexa said, “He had been screwing the government for years. Guess the bastard never thought he’d get caught. Well, they figured it out, took him away, and sentenced him to 200 years of hard time all within a single day.”

“Jesus.”

“I know. I admit, when I heard the judge say the sentence and imagined my poor Carly locked behind bars for the rest of his days, getting abused and spit on by those other terrible criminals, my heart broke. I drove behind his jail transport in my Audi and waited the hour for them to process him before it was visiting time.”

“And then?”

“He was a blubbering mess. Honestly, my husband was never much of a man, but he looked even more like a little girl when I saw him through the glass. It was honestly kind of pathetic. You ever feel your sexual desire for someone evaporate all at once? That was how I felt seeing Carl in jail.”

I watched my wife Samantha nodding in understanding.

“So he’s crying and crying about how sorry he is. And at this point, I’m just like–please! I don’t care how scared you are right now. I need to know about the money–where’s the money that the feds can’t touch?

“He wrote it on a piece of paper and slid it to me. As soon as I had those instructions, I was gone. I didn’t want to see him like that now, or, really, ever again. As long as I had the money, what else did I need?”

It was incredible to see Alexa so callous about her husband. I expected my wife Samantha to be as shocked as I was. But she was nodding in perfect understanding.

“He crossed a line. I don’t blame you one bit.” Sometimes, my wife humored her wild and crazy friend. But I could tell my Samantha was being completely serious.

“That’s when it happened,” Alexa continued, “I was in the parking lot, walking to the car where my boys were waiting in the backseat, and the big wire gates of the prison lawn opened. It was so loud that I turned to look. A single person was walking out, wearing an old suit that looked like it was made in the 90’s. The man turned to me as soon as he saw me and asked for a ride.”

“Who was he?” my wife asked, totally intrigued. I was kind of creeped out.

“Well,” Alexa said, grinning like a school girl, “His name is Tyson. He had been locked in there for over 25 years! And that day, just as I was walking in the parking lot, was the day he was finally released. This poor man had not been out in the real world in almost three decades and there I was, ready to help him out!”

So many questions were running through my mind. What the fuck had this man done to be locked away for 25 years? What were his intentions before seeing Alexa?

My wife asked the one question that was not even remotely on my mind. “What did he look like?”

Alexa laughed. “Oh, go see for yourself. He’s out back grilling now!”

My wife stood up, alarmed, and walked through the long kitchen, me following her. Out through the veranda doors, though which Carl and the kids used to race around during BBQ days, we stepped onto the patio out back. And there was Tyson, grilling sausages on the big propane barbecue, smiling.

Tyson was an enormous man: at least 300 lbs, well over 6.5 feet tall. His big head of shaved bald and he had a nicely trimmed rugged beard that was jet black. His body shape was somewhere between the carefully toned muscles of a professional athlete and a fat man: he had big pads of muscle all down his chest and his legs were like jack hammers. Tyson’s skin was medium-dark black, covered in tattoos that blended into his already shiny skin. With his sunglasses and toothy white smile, Tyson had an immediately noticeable winner’s energy.

That wasn’t the first thing you noticed about him though. Because, while he did wear a silky blue shirt unbuttoned entirely and at risk of slipping off his shoulders, he wasn’t wearing much else. The tiny stretch of elastic fiber covering his crotch looked like it was about to snap off like a rubber band. The pouch of fabric had just been stretched too thin. It was like he had stuffed a bundle of plantains down there, the tropical ones, which already feel thicker in the hand than usual grocery store bananas.

“Hi sweetheart,” Alexa said, skipping over to him in her heels and dangling herself over him like a fawning crushing girl.

“Hey baby. These your friends?”

“Yes, meet the Lokkens, Samantha and Drew.”

The ex-con extended his hand for me to shake. The size difference between his massive paw and mine was freakish, and the strength he used crushed my right palm.

“How you doing, baby?” he asked Samantha. One of his big arms curled my wife close to him, tugging her body against his, as he gave her a too-friendly kiss on the cheek.

“Hi there,” my wife cooed, and I frowned as Alexa giggled.

“Take a seat,” Alexa said to me and my wife, “Tyson is just finishing up the grilling.”

Alexa led us to the table out on the other side of the pool. We were out of earshot of Tyson, but not out of view: both women kept stealing glances over to watch the massive man as he flexed around the barbecue.

“Alexa,” my wife asked, “Did you seriously meet this man as he was let out of prison?”

“Yep! He said he needed a ride, so I gave him the front seat next to me. He said he was going to go to this crummy motel, but I said that was preposterous, not when I had all this space in my mansion.”

“So he’s staying with you?” I asked, “In, like, the guest house?”

“Well,” Alexa said, blushing, “At first he was in the guest house. I let him shower in there, get set up. But the first night, when he invited him into the main house for dinner, there was an episode.”

“An episode?” my wife asked, intrigued.

“My sons were misbehaving,” she continued, “And there was this moment when Tyson slammed his fist down on the table and told them to shut the fuck up. Usually, I wouldn’t condone that kind of language in my house, but hearing it come from a big man like Tyson, it just seemed natural. I think the boys got the message too: this was a man who was used to shiving the people who disturbed him during his meals and they certainly didn’t want any of that. He pointed his finger out to the sliding glass doors by the pool and immediately my boys just obeyed… they followed his guide out the door and shut it behind them. Finally, I could just have a meal in peace!”

The look of ecstasy on Alexa’s face as she told this story was palpable.

“Then, when the meal was over, I started to clear the plates when Tyson grabbed my hand. He said, ‘Sweetheart, it’s been a long time since I’ve been in the presence of a woman like you.’ And I started to blush, and then he put those big hands around me and I just, well, I melted!”

I leaned back in my chair, entirely confused about the erotic turn in Alexa’s story. Samantha, however, stretched forward, totally engrossed. I don’t know why my wife was so curious about her friend’s sexual romp with this dangerous man.

“He stripped me naked right there, at the dinner table, and bent me over the seat where I had just been sitting. I felt so naughty, feeling my ass and hips pawed at by this stranger, but it also felt so good to finally be touched like that. Since we had the kids, my life with Carl had been so focused on parenting and the drudgery of day to day life. Now, I could finally just be the woman I always was, and get fucked!”

I stared over at the big man flipping meat on the grill and imagined him inserting his fingers into Alexa’s bare pussy from behind, like she had described.

“He was working my pussy so good, I honestly feel like I just disappeared inside my mind. I was leaking all over those clean kitchen tiles, he was so good with his hands!”

I looked over and saw those sliding glass doors. Inside was the dining table. That was exactly where Alexa had been bent over the chair and fingered by the man over there.

“Then, he pulled it out. I wasn’t facing it at first, but he plopped it down on the small of my back and I felt its weight! It was enormous, just a masterpiece of cock and–”

“What was that?” came a deep voice. We all looked up to see Tyson, standing before, speedo strutting out immensely, as he held the tray of barbecued meats.

“Dinner time,” he said, setting the tray down, “What were y’all talking about?”

“Nothing,” Alexa said, “Just some good memories.”

“Alexa says you all have been friends for a long time,” Tyson said.

“Yes,” Samantha answered, “She and I went to college together. And the boys were in business school.”

“The boys…” Tyson said, looking confused. He pointed at me and then looked around to find out who else Samantha was referring to.

“I mean, Alexa’s husband Carl. Or, well, ex-husband…” My wife let out a little giggle, which I couldn’t for the life of me figure out.

“Oh,” Tyson said, letting out a big hearty laugh, “That bitch.”

Alexa leaned her head onto Tyson’s big chest as he laughed thinking about Carl.

“You know, I almost admire the guy,” Tyson said. He was scooping big piles of bacon, hamburgers, and sausages onto each of our plates, “He made a little fortune for himself over the years. Of course, he didn’t know how to hold onto it!”

He laughed, and Alexa and Samantha joined him in denigrating Carl.

I felt badly for the man. He was rotting away in a prison cell somewhere while his beautiful wife was draped over this strange large man, eating his food, sleeping in his house. It didn’t seem to bother my wife Samantha, who noticed how uneasy I was.

“Relax,” she said quietly to me, “Carl did some bad things. He deserved it.”

Still, I wondered why Carl’s crimes were worth throwing him to the wolves while Tyson, who we knew had been in prison for 25 years, was able to live in luxury like a king right now.

“Tyson’s paid his dues, right?” Samantha said, turning for confirmation to Alexa.

“I did,” Tyson answered. I hadn’t realized he could hear me complaining, and I gulped a little out of fear. “I did do some bad stuff.”

Alexa ran her fingers over his chest delicately.

“I got my baggage to carry,” he said, turning his eyes downwards solemnly. Both Samantha and Alexa reached their hands out to touch him out of sympathy.

“Let’s eat then,” Samantha suggested, lightening the mood, “This sausage looks completely appetizing!”

As we ate, I became aware of just how massive Tyson was. The food moving down his gullet looked like a tiger feeding, and with Alexa’s delicate white hand massaging his chest, he really did seem like a wild animal at chow time.

“Having Tyson here this last week has been amazing,” Alexa said, “Not only has the sex been good–” here, we all looked at Tyson for a reaction, but he kept eating unfazed, “But the household has never been better managed.”

“Never been better managed? How so?”

“Well, the staff has been tip top. Our cleaning service used to do an OK job, but Carl was never very good at making sure they actually scrubbed every inch and he was too generous with the tips. Tyson here saw one of the butlers leave a room that still had dust on a shelf and he tossed him off the balcony!”

I gasped, imagining the man throwing someone to their demise off the second story balcony.

“He landed in the pool, of course,” Alexa said, chortling, “But he learned his lesson.”

“There’s no pool in the clink,” Tyson said, “When a fella gets tossed, he lands in the concrete, you know?”

Samantha saw this as a joke and laughed. I knew he was serious.

“Plus,” Alexa continued, “Tyson has been just amazing with the boys. They were so spoiled when Carl was around: getting everything they wanted and gorging themselves on fatty foods and sweets. They had just gotten so heavy these last few years. Tyson immediately had them running laps around the house, skipping meals, and overall they learned pretty quickly that life isn’t all pretty roses.”

“They’re not bad kids,” Tyson said, biting off a piece of hamburger, “They just have never encountered a man like me.” There he grinned.

“And like I said, it’s turned the house into such an amazing place. With the kids staying out, I can finally express myself the way I like.”

“Express yourself how?” Samantha said. She was so curious about what Alexa could mean.

“I had a certain modesty as a mother and wife,” Alexa said, “That’s now just completely gone.”

I always remembered Alexa as a bit of a slutty dresser, even when Carl was around, so this self-assessment struck me as wrong.

“For example,” she said, my wife eagerly listening, “I might come down to breakfast wearing nothing but an apron. I’ll cook something nice and hearty for my man: eggs, pancakes, bacon… and then I’ll know he’s ready when he’s given me a nice firm slap on my bare bottom.”

This kind of scene sounded like something out of a porno, not like what a rich housewife with two kids would do.

“Then, while he’s eating, I’ll make myself nice and comfy under the table and make sure he starts off his day nicely by blowing a hot load down my mouth.”

The vulgarity shocked Samantha and I, but Tyson was unfazed. Still just shoveling food into his face.

“Honestly, a lot of the improvements around the house Tyson has made have had to do with me,” Alexa said, “The first day after we fucked, when I didn’t have dinner ready for him, he took me by my hair, slammed me down, pulled off my panties and started spanking me. I had never experienced that before and the mix of humiliation and arousal… let’s just say I haven’t forgot to do any of my duties since then.”

“Just ’cause I was away for 25 years doesn’t mean I forgot how to treat a bitch,” Tyson said, “They need to be kept in line, right?”

He looked over at me and Samantha, but she just laughed.

“As if! My relationship with Drew is so much more sacred than that. He would never debase me that way by stripping me naked and spanking me!”

Tyson just laughed.

“If that’s how you two make it work, sure,” he said, “I just know that bitches have a hunger in them for some order, and any kind of real man that gives them that is going to own that pussy, you hear me?”

Now, Samantha was frowning, upset at the misogyny that her friend’s new man was spouting.

“Why don’t you serve the dessert?” Samantha asked Alexa, “I think I’m about ready to get out of here.”

“Sure thing,” Alexa said, and as she got up, Tyson gave her a nice smack on her plump bottom.

“Listen here,” I said to Tyson, feeling emboldened by my wife’s disgust now that Alexa was away, “How are you doing this? How have you so completely brainwashed poor Alexa in such a quick time? When we were here last week, she and Carl were a happy couple. Something just isn’t right.”

Tyson barely listened to me, waving his hand over his face.

“You don’t know a thing,” he said, “This girl is happy for the first time in her life. She’s getting good dick. She’s feeling sexy out in the world. She’s done serving her shitty quack husband who never cared a second for her. And you think the only way I could make Alexa happy is by tricking her?”

Tyson shook his head severely.

“You don’t know shit.”

I wasn’t sure what to say and neither was my wife. Alexa returned with some brownies and a handle of liquor which only she and Tyson partook in.

Samantha looked longingly at the brownie, but she turned it away.

“I’m watching my figure,” she said, then shot a look at Alexa who was eating her second.

“Oh, Tyson loves when I eat. He says it keeps me happy and fills out my body.” She scooted over to his lap, where she folded her arms around his neck and dug her ass cheeks against the fabric of his speedo. She gave him a big kiss on the cheek, and he turned his head so she gave him a kiss on the lips, and then he grabbed her head and kissed her deeply, making out with her sensually right then and there.

My wife nervously shifted in her seat as her friend french kissed this stranger for minutes uninterrupted.

“Hey!” came a small voice, “Are those brownies?”

It was my oldest son, appearing out of nowhere. He suddenly lurched forward clumsily across the table, the way kids do, to grab one of the brownies. But in doing so, he tripped over Tyson and Alexa who were making out.

“The fuck?” Tyson said, looking up and seeing my kid trying to grab a treat.

“Get the fuck out,” he shouted, and in one swift motion, he sent my boy flying. I swear, he vaulted him fifteen feet in the air, soaring over the entire pool deck before landing with a splash in the deep end.

“Honey!” my wife shouted, starting to get up to help.

“He’s fine,” Tyson said, without looking, “Let him be.”

Samantha surprised us all by obeying Tyson’s orders. Instead of checking on her son, my wife sat patiently at the table across from Tyson the ex-con, not even glancing over as the boy sheepishly crawled out of the pool and away.

“Now,” Tyson said, a thread of heavy saliva dangling between his lips and Alexa’s, breaking and falling onto Alexa’s breasts, “You should really have one of these brownies.”

“Yes sir,” my wife said, and did.

—

The car ride back was completely silent. Both boys sulked up to their rooms, and I followed Samantha up to our bedroom for what was sure to be a heated chat.

“Well?” I asked, when the doors were closed.

“Well what?”

“Are we going to talk about what happened?”

Samantha sat down on our bed, taking off her shoes and earrings distractedly, “About what that happened?”

“About Tyson throwing our son into the pool!”

Samantha paused, as if she had to remember that that even happened.

“Oh yeah,” she said, “I suppose that was a little uncalled for. But he was getting in Tyson’s way, and that ultimately was rude. I think, while neither you nor I would have done something like that, it probably was what he deserved, no?”

I couldn’t believe my wife’s words. Was she really okay with what Tyson had done?

“I mean, Tyson seems to be a misogynistic pig, a gross and hypersexual monster who has Alexa drunk on cock and supporting his lavish ex-con lifestyle. It’s sad to see. But a lot of my friends make bad decisions. Tyson seems about as bad as anyone to me.”

“You mean, you think this is just a phase for Alexa?”

Samantha nodded her head side to side in contemplation.

“Maybe a phase, maybe not. He’s gross, for sure, and I don’t condone his words or foul language. But I don’t see how he did anything wrong tonight. It was his house. Our son rudely stepped on him, while he was making out with his woman no less. He had the right to do anything he wanted.”

I couldn’t believe it. I said that that was the most unsafe and scary experience I had ever seen.

“Oh relax!” Samantha said, “Just because you don’t like Tyson doesn’t make him unsafe. He seemed like, at the very least, a loving partner to Alexa and a good father to the boys, even if he is rude.”

A good father? Their real father, Carl, hadn’t even been gone a week.

“I don’t quite like Tyson either,” she continued, “But maybe he’ll grow on us as we see him more.”

“You can’t be serious. You’d go back there, to their house again? For BBQ?”

“Yes, of course,” she said with nonchalance, “Alexa invited us again. Every Sunday. Of course we’re going.”

I was shocked. It seemed like the world had gone mad, both my wife and her friend were accepting this stranger!

“Hey, calm down,” she said, and stood up to face me. My wife, now bare foot and without her jewelry, shed the rest of her clothes to the floor. She stood facing me, long black hair tied up in a knot, as her magnificent large breasts hung towards me, only in a hefty wire set of black lingerie. Her stomach was perfectly smooth and her hips shook as she walked towards me.

“I am so hot right now,” she said, coming forward to kiss me. I held her in my arms, feeling her bare juicy bottom in my palms as those amazing breasts pressed against my chest.

“How about we try something different,” she suggested, laying her stomach down on our bed and wiggling her ass at me, “I want you to touch me as deeply as you can. Really work me.”

Excited, I got now on my knees and began to knead her ass with my hands. I worked my knuckles down to her pussy lips, which were wet and dripping already down her legs. I started massaging her insides, and she responded by moving her hips against me, positioning my hand exactly where she wanted it to go.

“That’s so good,” she said, and I leaned close, her asshole and pussy inches from my face now. I sniffed, instinctively, smelling how wet and juicy my wife was getting. And then, without hesitation, I plunged in.

Samantha wasn’t expecting my tongue, so she let out a girlish squeal. I ate her asshole, her pussy, and back, lapping up her juices as she squired into me. My cock was so hard, but something about worshiping at the pussy of my wife just felt right.

I guess in my subconscious, I understood that this was almost the story that Alexa had told, of Tyson wearing her like a puppet bent over at their kitchen table, but I felt like I was going deeper, burying my nose in her as I ate every drop of her.

“Fuck, I’m cumming!” she shouted, and she exploded a jet stream of fluids directly down my mouth. I felt like a fire hydrant that had just been thoroughly claimed by my wife’s splash.

“Mmmm,” she said, Curling up and looking at me. She giggled: I must have looked curious, sopping wet from her pussy and ass as I kneeled in front of our bed.

“How about I take care of you?” she suggested. I went to turn off the lights, but she suggested to leave it.

“I want to try with the lights on,” she said. My wife positioned me up on the bed and then kneeled exactly where I had been, in a puddle of her own juices. As I wriggled off my pants, she scooped up some of the slimy excess from her thighs and grabbed my dick in her hand.

“You’re so hard,” she said, giggling, as she watching my dick throb in her hand. Usually, the lights were off, so she didn’t get such a great view. Now, as she stroked me, she seemed fascinated by every twitch of my shaft and every wrinkle of my balls.

“You’re my big man,” she said, and got up off the floor to straddle me.

As I slid into my wife, I felt like I was in heaven. She did all the work, bucking her hips and taking my cock in her life she was meant for it. I was getting ready to blow, even as she confidently smiled and told me, in a rather motherly reassuring way, that she wanted me to fill her up.

“What if we get pregnant?” I asked, suddenly breaking the fantasy.

“I don’t care,” she said, moaning, “I want you to cum inside of me.”

But I was suddenly awash in the thoughts of new bills, the expenses, the work it would take to bring another child into this world. And at the last moment, I pulled out my cock and fired a load upwards, where it landed on her startled face and breasts.

“Drew!” she shouted, wiping cum off her nose, “I said to cum inside me!”

“Sorry,” I said nervously. She got off me and went to the bathroom to clean herself off, but when she returned she was all sweet again.

“I love you, Drew,” she said, cuddling naked up against me.

“I love you too Samantha.”

—

Later that week, I got a call while I was home for lunch alone. It was my son’s school.

“Hi Mr. Lokkens,” the voice said. I recognized it: it was the sexy young administrator who I had met with recently.

“I have an update for you about your son,” she said, “Could you please come and meet with me?”

I had to cancel my afternoon schedule, but the memory of those bare tits in that sheer bra of the photo compulsed me forward.

I sat down in front of her and asked her why she called me.

“It’s good news, actually,” she said, “The issues with your son… they seem to have resolved themselves.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your son came into school on Monday very differently,” she said. I hadn’t noticed anything. “He marched right up to the basketball team as they were gathering and apologized. Now, they may have beat him around a bit at first, he did randomly approach them and all, but after they realized what he wanted, they accepted his apology and moved on. That was a good sign that your son has finally started to learn his place.”

I gulped. They had beaten my son and she said that was good news?

“Additionally,” she said, “He came to me and apologized as well. I wasn’t going to accept his apology as easy as the team had, however,” she paused here for a grim smile, “So I told him to really show remorse, he would need to show a grand gesture.”

“A grand gesture?”

“Yes, Mr. Lokkens. So we came up with this plan together.”

She threw down a stack of papers onto the table. It was a lot of documents!

“First,” she read off, “Your son is committing to spending every one of his afternoons cleaning out the basketball team’s locker room. Now, those boys can get a little rowdy, so it will be good to have someone like your son on hand to make sure everything is spotless after.”

I didn’t know what she meant, but the idea of him doing work like that didn’t seem like the worst idea.

“Next,” she said, “Your son volunteered the idea that he should be supporting the basketball team at every one of their games, primarily by joining the cheerleading team. This was his idea, and we’ve never had a male cheerleader before, but the girls say that they don’t view your son as a threat or anything so they’re happy to have him. I asked, gently, if your son was gay, but he assured me he was not, he just felt more comfortable cheering than playing. Do you follow?”

I did. This seemed strange to me, but I didn’t know if I should object.

“Third, he said he wants to commit more to the world outside. So, he’s going to sign a document that says he will have 9 months of community service done by the end of the school year.”

I counted on my fingers: there were nine months left in the year, so that seemed fair.

“Sign here please,” she instructed me. I didn’t see any problem, so I signed.

“Great,” she said, locking all the papers away in a drawer. “Now that you’ve signed, let’s return to the topic of those community service hours. Nine months of community service hours, let’s say 30 days in a month, 24 hours in a day, that’s 6,480 hours of community service that will need to be completed by the end of the year. Since your son has classes, duties in the basketball locker room, and cheerleading practice, and I presume he needs to sleep a little, someone else will need to be helping out to make sure all those hours get done before the end of the year. I suppose your other son can pitch in, certainly he has the time, but there will still be more hours that will need to be covered.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“You signed it, Mr. Lokkens,” the beautiful teacher said, “I just carry out the orders. And this contract clearly states that failure to perform these hours will result in the termination of your children from the entire state school system. They’ll be barred from ever attending school again.”

I thought about how their futures would be ruined by something like that.

“I’m sure you or your wife will be able to find a way to cover those hours,” the teacher said.

I walked out of the office in a daze. I hadn’t even told my wife that our son was in trouble. Now I had to explain this!

“Oh, excuse me!” shouted a voice. It was the teacher, following me out into the parking lot.

“One thing I forgot to mention,” she said, “I actually think this might help you.” She handed me a flyer for a coffee shop poetry open mic night. I was confused.

“I perform here at this coffee shop on some nights,” she said, “It’s a community event, so attendance by you would count against your son’s hours. It’s an 18+ only event, so don’t bring the little ones, but there’s an hour a week for attending. The next one is on Friday.”

The teacher gave me a wink and a smile, and I gulped out of anxiety.

“See you there?” I said nervously and she nodded.

“Yes, 8pm, sharp,” she said, and walked away, showing off how short her skirt was as I could almost see the bottom of her ass cheeks.

—

When I got home and told Samantha what had happened with our son, she berated me profusely.

“How could you sign such a silly document! Now our children are at risk to end up in the gutter!”

I told her there was no way it could be that severe and she showed me statistics that showed that more and more, kids like ours were ending up no more useful to society than human garbage. How easy it would be for our genetic offspring to be a waste, to just completely contribute nothing to the world and end up spiraling in the sewer.

“I can’t believe this. I am so done!” she shouted, and slammed our bedroom door.

I slept that night in the guest room, hoping she would feel differently in the morning. While I was there, I had nothing else to do except go on the web.

First, I googled the name of the administrator with the hot tits and short skirt. Mrs. Trisha Kensley was her official name, but the flyer she had given me had a second name on it: Trish the Poet. Googling that name, I found her Instagram which was a treasure trove of salacious content. Under the guise of “artistic expression”, Trish the Poet posted images of herself in tight latex pants, spreading across a bed that was painted with the word: patriarchy. An ominous sword in her hands was labeled “anticolonialism” and she had brass knuckles that said “ACAB.” I wasn’t sure what to make of it, except for the delicious hint of her nipples peaking out of her light tank top.

Without my wife’s attention that night, Trish the Poet would make for easy bate material. As I jerked, I wondered how many other men like me, especially around that school, had found these photos and were happily spilling seed to them perhaps every single day.

In the morning, the kids were gone, and my wife was very soberly sitting at the kitchen table. I noticed immediately how she was dressed: a tight professional white skirt with lines down the side, and a white blazer. Only once I sat in front of her did I see how the blazer was positioned: it was too short to cover her midriff, which was deliciously feminine if not a little round, and the only thing she had on beneath it was a black lacey bra. Nothing was showing, but it was a far more scandalous outfit than anything I knew her to own.

“What’s that?” I asked, pointing to the outfit, but she shook her finger.

“Let’s discuss your incidents first,” she said. I sat down at the table like a scared puppy.

“First off, both our sons will of course be splitting some of the burden of the community service that you signed them up for,” she said. “I’ve gotten them paper routes with the local paper, and they’ll be waking up bright and early to shave 2 hours each every single day off the commitment.”

Good, I reasoned. That was a good start.

“As for the rest,” she said, “It’s clear that you and I will have to bear the brunt. Now, with your current salary, I figure we can afford to buy the right to donate cans, clothes, and other goods which should do a good deal. But there’s still about a 40 hour weekly commitment that will need to be covered.”

I gulped. 40 hours a week? On top of my full time job?

“Obviously, with your job, you won’t be able to do it. And we need your salary to cover the donations. So, it’s been decided, I’ll take a position in the government, without pay, to cover the rest of the time.”

I breathed easy. Thank god, this would all be solved.

“Thank you dear,” I said, hugging my wife Samantha, “Thank you!”

“Don’t mention it,” she said, smiling, and revealed she had a nice egg sandwich already made and ready for me to eat.

“This is such a treat,” I said.

“I wanted to make you happy,” she said, “Even if you made a mistake you still are my husband and I want to care for you.”

I smiled and ate my sandwich. When I was done, she quickly cleared my plate and did the dishes.

“Wow,” I said, watching her attend on me like a maid, “This is… new!”

“I understand that I haven’t always been, well, the most ‘dutiful’ wife,” she said, immediately packing my lunch for me to go to work. “I’ve asked you to cover housing duties like dishes and chores. That wasn’t very lady like of me.”

I had no idea where this was coming from, but I wasn’t complaining!

“I was at the mall with Alexa yesterday,” she said, “And she explained a lot to me about how her life has changed since she started playing the more traditional woman’s role. And I think that sounded like something I should try out.”

As disturbing as my experience with Alexa had been, that didn’t sound bad!

“She bought me this outfit,” she said, pointing out her tight skirt and bare midriff to me, “I think it looks good, don’t you agree?”

“I do,” I said, standing up and caressing the outside of her blazer. Her big round tits looked like they were about to burst out.

“Honey,” she said, blushing, “Won’t you be late for work?”

“I don’t care,” I said, immediately tugging the blazer off to let her breasts free. After a night of masturbating, I wanted so badly to plunge into my wife.

She scooted up her skirt to reveal that she wasn’t wearing any panties.

“Alexa said they’re a waste,” she started to explain, but I didn’t care. I immediately thrust my cock in between her, finding delicious warmth in her pussy that shivered up my spine.

“Oh Drew! Your cock!” she moaned, and I fucked her over our kitchen sink like I was some kind of animal. The window in the kitchen was open: anyone walking by could see my wife’s dangling breasts slapping back and forth as I pounded her from behind.

“Cum inside me!” she begged again, but I once again was careful to pull and and ejaculate all over her skirt.

“Honey!” she shouted, “I was going to wear this today!”

I was too winded to apologize, and I just collapsed on the floor of the kitchen, satisfied.

“Hmmm,” she said, looking at what fine work she had made of me, laying on the floor like that, “Maybe Alexa is onto something!”

—

Samantha and I fucked every night that week, and each time, it was hotter than the last. She got way more experimental in bed than I was used to. She sucked my cock, let me fuck her tits, even stuck a finger in my asshole “just to see if I liked it.” I did!

On top of that, I saw every single one of the outfits she had bought when she and Alexa went shopping. They were all still within a range of acceptable, but a little skin there, some cleavage, and the overall knowledge that she wasn’t wearing panties anymore got me hard.

“It’s all for you, baby,” she said one night before swallowing my load and heading out to finish making the home cleaner.

All’s to say that despite the weirdness at school and with our kids, my life with Samantha had never been better. I wasn’t even tempted to attend Trish the Poet’s Friday night series… I was too busy busting a load all over my wife Samantha’s massive jugs!

When it came time to visit Alexa and Tyson again for another Sunday BBQ, I was in good spirits. Nothing would get me off.

This time, in the car, both my sons were quiet and still. My oldest was exhausted from his paper route, school, locker room clean up, and cheerleading practice. And my youngest seemed to be mulling something over.

This time, when we pulled into the driveway, there was only one of Alexa’s children waiting there. He opened the door as usually and then led my boys aside, away from the house, which was fine by Samantha and me.

“Welcome back!” Alexa shouted. This time, she was wearing a simple white cloth dress that was probably a single sheet of cotton thick. Her entire bare body was visible as she twirled under the lights: her rosy naval, her pink nipples, her feminine collar bones. My wife was still extremely conservative compared to Alexa, but this time, her blouse was open to reveal a hint of cleavage and under her skirt, she wore no panties.

Tyson appeared and shook my hand. He was no longer offended by me, it seemed. He was even jovial, slapping my back and leading me into the kitchen to get a beer. We were away from the wives now.

“Hey man, I just want to say, I don’t think I noticed fully last time, but your wife is fine!”

Here, he slapped me on the back, a show of comradery.

“Just so fine! She got those big titties, man.”

Nervously, I said, “Yeah, haha, thanks.”

“You ever fuck them?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you fucking those titties?”

Tyson wanted to know if I was fucking my own wife’s titties? In fact, I was. I had just blown a load inside of them yesterday.

“Yeah, haha I am.”

“Nice, man,” he said, and extended his hand to fist bump me.

“If I had a chick like that,” he continued, “With big titties like that, I’d be constantly–” here, he mimed using his big hands to grab my wife’s breasts, sticking his face between them and slapping around his big lips.

“I’d be tugging at her nipples with my teeth, you know what I’m saying.”

I just laughed, joining him in the fun.

“Hey, man, I don’t know if you’re like this,” he said, “But you ever let the squad hit?”

“Huh?”

“See, where I come from, when you got good pussy–like, really truly great gushing pussy–a good man will let the whole squad take a hit. You follow?”

I told him I didn’t.

“You wanna let me take a go at her, that’s what I’m saying?”

“You mean, fuck? You want to fuck Samantha?”

“You hear me now!” he said, patting me on the back, “So yes?”

Here was the big handed ex con, handing me a beer and asking if he could fuck my wife! What did he expect, me to nod and then usher him into the living room where he could drop his trouser and plow Samantha right there?

“Nah,” I said, nervously, “That’s not really me.”

“Oh alright,” he said, a little bitterness in his voice, “Y’know, you’d get a shot at Alexa too, if you wanted.”

“Uhhh, no thanks.” As hot as it sounded to get Alexa’s fine and fuckable body in my arms, Samantha would kill me if I fucked her friend. And I certainly didn’t want Samantha fucking this hulking beast here!

After I told Tyson that I didn’t want to swing with him, he immediately ignored me and returned out to the girls. It was such an abrupt change that I was slow to follow him into the big seating area where he was now sitting sandwiched in between Samantha and Alexa. He had one of his big hands on each of their knees, too close to what I knew was Samantha’s totally uncovered breathing pussy.

“Hey, we’re all comfy, would you mind getting the food? It’s all prepped out back already.”

I trudged out to the back patio where there were trays of BBQ and toppings already laid out. I took a few trips, carrying everything into the living room, while Tyson and the ladies told stories and laughed.

As soon as I sat down, Samantha turned to Tyson and Alexa and asked a question.

“I noticed only one of your boys outside,” she said, “What happened to your oldest?”

Alexa had to think about it, as if she wasn’t entirely sure.

“Oh yes,” she said suddenly, “There was an accident.”

“An accident?”

“Tyson here was wrestling with the boys,” Alexa said.

“Trying to see if they had the stuff in ’em to be men,” Tyson said.

“Yes, and while wrestling, our oldest son suffered a bit of an injury.”

“Oh dear,” Samantha said, “What kind of injury?”

“Nothing major,” Alexa said, “I supposed his limbs will all heal in due time. Until then, he’ll just be staying at the hospital. Which is better than where he was staying in the shack, of course. His brother is practically jealous of him!”

Samantha laughed, and I wondered uneasily what exactly had really happened.

Despite all her frustrations last week, this week Samantha was in jovial spirits. I suppose our good sex life had something to do with it. Finally, after much drinking and laughing, Samantha finally burst out with the big question.

“Tyson,” she said, “I’m just dying to know. What happened that you were spending 25 years in prison?”

“Oh, haha!” he shouted, slapping both women’s thighs for emphasis and scooting his hands further up their bodies, “Well, it was just a little thing. Happened so long ago. But it wasn’t far from here, just down the block.”

“In this neighborhood?” I asked. The place where Carl picked his house was a luxurious place.

“Yes, it was. I didn’t have very much money back then. I was down on my luck. Eating only what I could get. Robbing convenience stores for grub and cash. And one day, I come across this neighborhood with all its big houses and well, I just had to come take a look.”

Both women leaned forward sympathetically, sorry to hear about Tyson’s hard times.

“So I was coming through this neighborhood, with nothing but my old sneakers and my shot gun, for protection, and I come across a great nice house that looked like it might have some food.”

“You must have been so hungry,” Alexa said, patting her man’s chest.

“I was. So I come and find that the big front door is open and I come in and I see a beautiful young woman with long black hair, wearing an apron and just finishing up one of the most delicious looking rotisserie chickens I’d ever seen.”

“She must have been startled,” I said, and both women shot me angry glances.

“She was a bit scared of the shotgun. But I told her my story, and she said I could help myself to all her dinner. She had been making it for her husband who was out. So I take my fill and meanwhile, she’s watching me eat and I’m noticing, damn, this bitch has some big titties!”

Both women blushed at this part of the story, but Tyson kept going.

“I said, ‘pardon me miss, but have you ever been with a man like me?’ And she looks me up and down and says that she hasn’t. So I told her that I could give her the greatest sexual experience of her life, right here, right now.”

Both women heard his promise and nodded. They knew he was serious.

“So I take her into her big living room, and I strip her naked. I’m sucking on those big breasts of hers and then, I pull down my pants. And she sees the biggest blackest cock that her fine eyes have ever seen and she can’t help herself anymore. She starts slobbering on it, trying to swallow it all, and I’m polishing off the last bits of her husband’s meal from my finger tips, getting ready to stick everything inside of her.”

He let out a big hearty laugh.

“So I get her face down, ass up on the couch and I start fucking her. She’s glued to my dick, easily the best dick she’s ever had. She starts talking dirty to me, telling me that her husband is a little boy compared to me, she called him– hmm, hey, Alexa, what did you call your husband the other day?”

“A shrimp dick,” Alexa answered.

“A shrimp dick, that was it. She’s calling her husband a shrimp dick and I’m fucking her, grabbing her big dangling tits, and that’s when it happened. There was a big sound and I didn’t even hesitate: I aimed my shot gun and fired.”

“You must have been so scared,” Alexa said.

“It was pure instinct. I heard the thud as the man collapsed. It was the husband, coming in through the front door, probably wide eyed at the sight of his former lover all sweaty and hot on the couch getting dicked down the best she’d ever had. And now he’s got a round in him, ending his time on Earth, while she’s still moaning and creaming on my cock!”

Tyson proudly nodded as he remembered fucking this housewife.

“So we’re still fucking as the poor body is just laying there and I figure we’re good for, say, another hour or two of fucking. But then, right as she’s at the height of her orgasm, another sound at the door!”

Here, Tyson stood up, acting out as if he was fucking the woman and pointing his shotgun at the door.

“It was her son this time, and once again, I fired first and asked questions later. Now, this guy was definitely too old to be living with his momma, but like his daddy, his final image was seeing his fine momma getting fucked by yours truly. He lay there, finishing his time, right next to him, all while I kept going and kept making that woman cum!”

“‘Mmmm, you’re so bad,’ she said, taking my dick, and I was almost ready to cum!”

In present day, Tyson mimed hearing the door again.

“Then I heard the door for the third time, and this time, because my nut was so close, I had the good sense to wait a moment. It was the lady’s daughter, home from college, and she sees the two bodies in the entryway and her momma getting fucked and the shotgun barrel getting pointed at her face and she just freezes. I’m grunting now, her momma’s grunting still, the sound of my balls slapping against her momma’s stomach is the main noise, and she can’t move a muscle.”

“I didn’t even have to say shit,” Tyson continued, “Before the little slut was getting naked right there and sliding her fine body over to come join her momma getting fucked by me!”

The two women on the couch clapped and laughed as Tyson told the story.

“So now I’ve got two bitches: mom and daughter, and the daughter’s licking my sweaty balls as I’m fucking her mom. She’ begging me to keep going, but now, I want to try some of this college pussy too. So I nut, I cream a big fat load inside this woman and she’s happy and full and now she starts licking my balls while I’m fucking the face of her 21 year old daughter.”

Tyson’s miming holding the girl’s head with one hand, the shotgun with the other, as he face fucks 25 years in the past.

“Look, I was gonna fuck her pussy real good. I was ready to fuck her and knock her up just like her mom. But that’s when the feds came in, and they had to pry me off those babes to take me in. So I didn’t even get to fire my second nut!”

Tyson ended his story with a powerful slam of his fist onto the coffee table. He spilled a tray of hamburgers, which Alexa immediately began cleaning up. Following her lead, my own wife began to help clean up the mess.

“Anyway,” he said, sitting down on the empty couch while the two women cleaned up, “That’s my story. That’s how I got 25 years.”

“Jesus,” I said. He was a cold blooded killer!

“But I’m blessed to be out now,” he said, talking more to the air than to me, “Blessed to be with this fine ass woman and in her blessed home.”

The wives came back and, to my surprise, Samantha took the seat next to Tyson again, even though there was an open one next to me.

“I need a drink,” Tyson said, “What do we got?”

“How about something nice, from the wine cellar?” Alexa suggested.

“That sounds right. Something expensive,” he said, standing up, “I want to go pick.”