The Family BBC - Chapter 4 - Sex Stories

The Family BBC - Chapter 4

... phone from an unidentified number. My phone shunted the unrecognized call to voicemail. I didn't know it was him until his unexpectedly reasonable voice spoke in my ear.

"You're officially a whore, today. I had to spend a lot to get a new service for this phone. Pick me up in downtown." He rattled off an intersection that was actually at the edge of downtown. "Tomorrow at seven, or I'll see you the next day, much earlier. We're gonna fuck and talk. Wear something a whore would wear."

The threat was clear. If I didn't meet him, he would come to my family's home!

At breakfast the next day, after shooing Peg and Ridley out to school, I told George. "I'm going out tonight. Don't come home early. I don't want to see you before I leave."

He stopped eating, and his throat clenched. "I-I see." His posture slowly slumped while he stared at his plate, unable to make eye contact.

I grabbed his hand. "I'll be home as soon as I can. I'll do anything then, to ease your pain."

"No sex."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't want to have sex with you - after-"

"Whatever you want." I felt my own throat constrict. My earnest hope to manage our marriage under horrific circumstances had no basis in reality. "I'm absolutely certain that if I ignore him, he will make our lives worse."

"I don't believe that, but I also believe that you may be right and I'm wrong." He said quietly. His fingers intertwined with mine. This was the way we handled conflict. It worked great for ...

... fifteen years.

The kids came home on time and immediately began arguing. I was looking through my closet for clothes which might show that I had at least tried to dress like a whore. There was no way I would put on the skimpy and tight things that prostitues in movies wore. I did apply quite a bit of make-up.

"You gotta stop being mean to me, Peg-neg." Ridley accused. "That's why Mom is acting up and hitting us."

"I'm only mean to you because you're such a snot hole. You're always in my way or taking my stuff."

"I give your stuff back. Mom won't buy girls shoes for me."

"Don't you hear how sick that sounds? You're a freak!"

"You're a butt head!"

"Stop it!" I shouted standing in my doorway at the end of the hall.

My quarreling son and daughter went silent but stared at me. I told them. "If you don't have homework, Peg you clean the kitchen. Ridley, you scrub the bathroom. I'll check in an hour."

"Mom." Ridley confronted me. "What did you do to your face?"

"Yeah, Mom. You look like you fell headfirst against a paint pallet."

In the heat of my frustration at my children's endless bickering, I had forgotten about the make-up on my face.

"I'm testing some product." I lied.

"It looks nasty, Mom." My son grimaced.

"Trashy, more like." Peg took pride in her greater vocabulary and for getting a lick in against me. She nearly purred from putting me down.

I couldn't punish them for what was my fault. I fumed for a second. "Get started with your ...