A good husband

He was comfortably waiting downstairs in the building's foyer, sitting in one of the lounge chairs of the Manhattan residence tower. Some years ago, he had been lucky and bought the penthouse for a little less than 30 million dollars. It was a true, luxurious, residential building. He heard rumours of movie stars living there, but he was not interested in them.

The penthouse, with space rivalling a multi-floor townhouse, had all floors accessible by a private elevator. Within are five bedrooms and seven bathrooms; for outdoor life, 2,173 square feet of terrace space stretches beyond glass walls and doors.

And right now, he patiently killed time, having a latte macchiato after the in-house restaurant staff had served him a delicious meal, consisting of Wagyu and Kobe beef and side dishes. He was cosy and enjoyed having time to read through several newspapers.

As he was about to pick up the New York Times, the elevator bell chimed, and four big, athletic men walked out. They were all NFL players; he had invited them himself after a careful analysis of all the potential prospects.

He wanted to jump up but managed to control himself and calmed himself down, remaining seated. He quickly discovered it was the perfect way of watching their physiques, as he observed their predatory walk, muscles ripping under their clothes.

Two of them were Black, and the other two were White. The two blonde Caucasians looked like Vikings, giving him an excellent impression of what those fantastic warriors must have looked like: unshaven, raw and dominant. The two Blacks were even more impressive, and he could clearly see the veins of their bulging biceps.

As the four men walked past him, he could see those flat on the sides, round muscular butts, perfect examples of strong bodies made for breeding. He visualised how hard those butts would shove their large cocks deep inside any cunt writhing below them, and he shivered from the idea of what might have happened in his penthouse.

He saw that they had a slightly slower walk as when they arrived, as if their strong bodies were tired, but their athleticism didn’t show it. Their faces had a fulfilled look. They didn’t talk; they didn’t need to.

He casually looked at his watch to check the time, and he realised he had been waiting downstairs a little over four hours. Four hours ago, he had carefully left his private elevator key stuck in the upper stock keyhole of the elevators´ operating panel, permitting the men to access his penthouse without any troubles. The elevator would stop directly in-house, where his wife Bibi and 19-year-old daughter Alessandra would have welcomed the four men.

As the four men left the building, he carefully took a last sip of his latte macchiato and stood up, neatly folding the newspaper and placing it back in the newspaper stand.

You couldn't see it, but his heart was racing. About what he was about to find once he would be in his house again. He slowly walked into the elevator, took a deep breath, and turned the key, the elevator doors closing behind him.

Half a minute later he arrived upstairs, right inside his own foyer, and he could smell it right away.

The sex.

The smell of sex, through the entire penthouse. The musky, sweaty smell of fornicating. Everywhere. Already in his private lobby, in the corridor leading toward the living room, the smell came out of the kitchen as he walked past, and the strong smell of sex, as he stood in the middle of the living room, trying to absorb what he was seeing. His living room looked like a war zone, with pillows on the floor everywhere; some were stacked together, serving as a sex bench, and empty bottles of champagne were lying around. He found a discarded bra, a ripped stocking, a top and a large, black dildo.

He noticed how hard his penis was inside his pants from anticipation, and he enjoyed the excitement building up as he walked towards the marital bedroom.

He didn’t dare to just enter the bedroom. He didn’t even dare to have a good look. With one eye, he quickly peeked around the corner, and the first thing he saw was on their bed his wife lying on her back, her legs wide open, knees slightly bent in a resting position. From where he was standing, he could see the obscene flood of seed flowing out of her well-fucked cunt. It was not even leaking or dripping anymore. It was plain and flowing, like a river.

He could clearly see her red, swollen labia, with red tissue tears from the stretching her cunt must have received. The lacerations were on both sides and on both inner and outer labia. Her clit looked truly abused, red, swollen and protruding out. He had never seen anything similar. As if somebody had pulled on it. He had never seen her clit so easily, so open and present to the viewer, normally being hidden between her folds.

Between his wife's thighs was a very large puddle – no, it was a pool of cum which had already oozed out, the bedsheets not even capable of absorbing it anymore. He saw the same white stains everywhere: on her legs, on her tits, on her stomach, on her face and on her chin, literally everywhere. Some cum ropes were even in her hair.

Whoever had cummed onto her face must have sprayed her. Perhaps she had tried to swallow all his cum and hadn’t managed, her mouth already full with his warm seed, thus her bull pumping the last loads of jizz onto her face, marking his property.

He saw bitemarks and bruises on her beautiful tits, hickeys on her neck and red bruises of slapping her on the sides of her used butt. Her hips and waist had already blue prints of hands, bruised from grabbing her during the hard fucking she had received.

His wife was either unconscious, sleeping or zoned out, not noticing him watching her.

Next to her, his young daughter. In an almost identical position, on her back, legs wide open and knees a bit bent, naturally finding the best resting position. She had the same kind of bruises everywhere. Her young cunt had been fucked so hard that it truly looked like a used cunt of a 40-year-old slut. The biggest difference was the lake of cum under her used snatch, much bigger than her mom's, but that made sense, her womb being young and less deep, never having given birth.

Yet.

Because I remembered how they had carefully planned six months ahead his first anniversary gift for his wife. And the moment their daughter found out, she wanted to join her mother. And it was the same young daughter who came up with the idea they should both play sperm roulette. At first, his wife didn’t understand it, until she explained it.

“Daddy stops fucking Mom altogether, and we both go off the pill. And then we get fucked by several men.” She said casually.

His wife’s eyes lightened up, highly aroused by the idea of fucking unprotected.

He hesitated, but his daughter continued talking about it and was slowly convincing him. To be honest, he was as excited as they were!

“And we sync as best as we can our ovulation week.” His daughter added. “We can’t sync the day itself, but sperm stays active up to 5 days, sometimes even 7 days.”

His wife shivered at the idea, not knowing who the father would be. Syncing one week should be feasible, she thought.

“But then we need to get fucked every day, for 7 days at least.” His wife thought aloud.

"Longer," his young daughter added. “Let’s pretend our cycle is slightly off. Thus, we need to cover more than 7 days to make sure both fertile eggs get that stranger's cum at the right day.

“What would you recommend?” My wife asked her.

“Maybe we should do two weeks of solid, daily fucking, Mom?"

And so, it was decided.

“What is my role here?” I sincerely asked.

“You will provide, as always.” My wife replied.

“What do you mean?”

“Cocks, Dad. "Lots of cocks!” my daughter replied, having no patience with me but still chuckling about my naiveté.

“Honey?” my wife whispered, “Big cocks. Not like yours, please.”

My face went red, but it was simply the truth.

And suddenly, a very vivid image popped up in my brain, my young daughter about to welcome the first anniversary cock.

To be continued.