One Friday night, Dad and Leanne had had a particularly terrible argument, and the old man burst into my room in a tiff. I was laying awake, staring at the ceiling. He didn’t say a word to me while he rifled through my desk looking for my cigarettes.
“‘Coulda just divorced her,” I said.
Dad sat next to me, spared a withering glance, and lit the cigarette.
“But, no,” I continued. “You just had to cheat on her.”
“Shut it, you,” Dad said, blowing rings of blueish smoke. “I don’t know what happened. She wasn’t supposed to find out.”
“She was bound to find out eventually. I mean, you did manage to get this one knocked up.”
Dad shook his head, took a deep drag, and sighed. “And there’s another headache. I’m going to go out. Do me a favor and make sure Leanne doesn’t off herself, alright?”
I shrugged and, just like that, dad was gone. Lucas was headstrong and independent. Two excellent qualities for a businessman, but not for a husband. From outside, I heard the roar of an engine coming to life, the skid of rubber on asphalt, and then silence. I stayed on my bed for a few more minutes, staring at the ceiling, thinking about nothing in particular, before I forced myself onto my feet to make my way to the kitchen. Passing the bedroom dad used to share with Leanne—since the arguing started he had been sleeping in one of the guest rooms—I heard muted sobs.
Leanne was sitting on the edge of the bed, a perfect picture of modern day misery. Her long black hair was unkempt, hanging wildly down her back. She wore a loose tank top and a pair of comfortable shorts. Her shoulders shook as she cried and she covered her eyes to catch the tears. At this point I’d like to remind you that my mind is wired a bit differently than others. Standing at the entrance to the room, watching her breasts bounce freely in her tank top with each sob, blood began flowing to my dick.
Leanne was far from a model. Back when she and my father had gotten married, she was moderately attractive. Her youthful body was petite, tight, and wonderfully fit, but now, after getting older and giving birth to my half-sister, Tony, Leanne was more flab than fab. She was by no means fat, and was still quite beautiful, she simply had a healthy amount of flesh that I personally found attractive. Directly following my psychotic break, in my early twenties after I had been pulled back from the brink of total self-destruction, I had started seeing Leanne in directly sexual light and spying on her and my father whenever they made love.
Looking back, I should have known that the relationship was doomed to fail. Leanne had large, black areolae, firm nipples, and a lightly trimmed bush. My father was, and still is, incredibly fit. I knelt in the closet, naked from the waist down, and watched as he pierced Leanne with his stiff cock. Their sex was different than any I had seen before. Leanne had wanted slow, intimate, lovemaking. The sort of vanilla sex you would expect a husband and wife to have. Dad had wanted more. From my perspective, it was incredibly hot. I stroked my cock, smearing pre-cum over my shaft and palm, while I watched them rut. Dad was unsatisfied, unable to break through Leanne’s resistance, but eventually he got himself off due to the sheer physical pleasure of being inside of her tight pussy. I spurted cum over the carpet as dad whipped out his cock and sprayed his jizz on Leanne’s face. Then, I sat back and toyed with my softening wood while she argued with him for not finishing inside her.