Vanilla Adel was nothing if not a dutiful wife.
She had said nothing when her husband had clambered into bed in the dead of the night, unannounced, days before he was scheduled to come home, and asked no questions when he spooned her from behind with faintly trembling arms.
And she voiced no complaints as he roused her from her beauty sleep early the next morning, pawing at her breasts as he ground his hardening member against her shapely rear.
"Morning dear," she said tolerantly, stretching alluringly as she accepted that her day had begun. She languidly raised her arms over her head, tossing the sheets off, her breasts bouncing slightly as she moved. Vanilla smirked as her husband let out a sharp intake of breath as his eyes marveled over her figure, protected by nothing but a sheer, tight chemise and a pair of her favorite lacy lingerie.
She had the bosom of a mother of 4, round and full, and perkier than they had any right to be – the product of good genes and the best bras money could buy. Her waist was slim and her hips wide, her curves flaring out deliciously on her toned, trim, figure.
Her husband's hands roamed greedily over her smooth, fair skin, cock stiffening to full mast in seconds.
Vanilla giggled at his excitement – this was what she lived for, the power to turn the most proper of men into slack jawed idiots. It was why she worked out every day, watched what she ate with the severity of a zealot, and why she kept a wardrobe with tailor made outfits for every occasion.
From the first moment she'd stepped on a runway she had been addicted to the adoring eyes of the crowd, and she'd done everything in her power to keep it. That high was why she was the envy of every woman, why she still had the body of a model while her rivals had withered with age, why she turned heads and melted hearts everywhere she went.
Vanilla Adel was a vain woman, but by the Gods she had earned it.
She met her husband's gaze with teasing eyes – the color of champagne and every bit as intoxicating – before playfully cupping his bulge. Then she looked meaningfully at the clock.
"Someone's up early today-" she teased, before letting out a surprised gasp of her own as her husband's member slipped out of his boxers.
He captured her mouth hungrily, running his tongue over her lips in a wet, sloppy kiss as his hips bucked impatiently behind her. One hand slipped under her bra while the other went to her panties, pulling aside her gusset to reveal the swelling lips of her slowly dampening cunt.
Normally her husband was far more controlled and methodical in their couplings, but today there was an eagerness that was almost adolescent as he frantically grabbed at her body, grasping for something , as he impatiently waited for her to get wet.
After a minute or two, when his fingers could slide into her pussy without much trouble, his patience had apparently worn out, and he shifted above her, flipping his wife on her back.
She sighed and spread her legs wide as he lined his shaft up with her slit, smearing pre-cum over her outer lips as a welcome bit of lube.
Then he thrusted forward and buried himself to the hilt in a single move.
Vanilla winced as her body protested the sudden assault, pulling away on instinct.
It was a futile instinct – her husband had pinned her under his weight, with an arm boxing her in on either side, grunting in pleasure as his cock was surrounded by her warm, wet snatch.
"You're so fucking tight, babe," he murmured, kissing at her chest.
She grit her teeth as he started to thrust.
'Maybe I wouldn't be so tight if you'd waited another minute,' she thought bitterly, before ridding herself of the useless thought.
Instead she looked her partner over as her body did all it could to adjust to him.
She had few complaints – her husband was tall enough , handsome enough , and successful enough to have caught her eye in the first place, and while he could be a bit more considerate she couldn't help but admire the strength of his passion, the vigor in his movements, the raw tenacity of her man's desire for her.
Vanilla began to faintly moan as her body began to react, pain morphing into a building pleasure as she started slowly rocking her hips forward to meet his.
The dull, thump, thump, thump as he rutted into her began echoing in her brain, as her hands wandered over the hair on his chest, and the salt-and-pepper scruff on his chin.
But, right as she began to truly enjoy herself, it was over.
With a few hurried thrusts and a sudden gasp of pleasure, Mr. Adel slammed into his wife for the final time before collapsing on top of her and spraying her insides with his seed.
Verne Adel rolled over with a satisfied grunt as his wife feebly pushed him off, laying by her side, panting and prone. He casually put an arm around her waist, pulling her in for a post-coital embrace.
Vanilla huffed as she squirmed away and hopped out of bed, cursing under her breath. Verne sighed as he watched her saunter into the master bath, caught up in post-orgasmic bliss.
His wife was a vision of beauty, and he felt a surge of masculine pride as he watched a trickle of faint white essence ooze down her long, toned legs.
The scowl on her face distorted the picture.
Verne grimaced as his lust faded and reality emerged in its startling clarity. With his desire sated, all he felt now was a gnawing sense of emptiness.
His wife didn't love him.
Granted, he was fairly certain that he didn't love her either, fucktastic body aside. Her feelings or lack thereof had never overly concerned him, so long as she kept his bed warm and took her place by her side whenever he needed to show her off.
But, as he laid down and caught his breath, he was painfully reminded that he wasn't as young as he used to be. His sex drive wasn't quite so demanding: He tired more easily, and took longer to recover after pushing himself. The aches and pains brought on by rough travel and a poor night's sleep were more acute and slower to fade.
He pushed himself up and made his way to the bathroom, reminding himself that he was as young as he was ever going to be.
It was all downhill from here.
He stepped into the bathroom and appraised himself in the full length mirror before the steam from Vanilla's shower misted it up completely.
He had a long way to go before he hit rock bottom.
Verne Adel had turned 50 last week, but he was a fit 50 – sometimes it felt like he lived off crossfit and coffee. He'd never been a fitness model and never would be, but while his muscles had lost some of their size there was still definition in his arms and chest, and he hadn't grown much of a gut, unlike most of the men he worked with. He was one of the few men at his level who could hold his own against the young bucks at the company, and there was nothing like an overly firm handshake or making another man's secretary swoon to undercut the authority of some pompous middle management prick who'd let himself deteriorate into a glorified sack of shit.
He was good looking, in a generic sort of way, with dark brown, short cropped hair and intense eyes the color of charcoal. He stood just over 6 feet tall and was a bit under 6 inches long at full mast, although his manhood looked nowhere near that impressive at the moment, limp and spent as it was.
Verne had qualified as tall, dark and handsome, and still looked damn good in a suit, if he said so himself. And, while he knew his dick was only on the upper end of average, that never stopped him from getting it wet.
He peeked into the shower and drank up the curvaceous silhouette of his greatest conquest.
Vanilla was 13 years younger than him and was still every bit as lovely as she had been the first time he'd laid eyes on her.
Time had been kinder to her than it was to him – he kept in shape when he could, but while he had other responsibilities, keeping herself fit and pretty was his wife's full time job.
It was a simple arrangement they had, one that they had never spoken about but never needed to: Verne had been an up and coming executive at one of the biggest fashion brands in Vale, and Vanilla was the most beautiful model he'd ever laid eyes on. Within minutes of courting what each of them wanted was painfully obvious.
Verne wanted a perfect trophy wife, and Vanilla wanted to be taken care of for the rest of her life.
So, she'd married him and he'd pampered her. He'd bought her luxury cars and designer clothes, dazzling jewelry, world class vacations to exotic locales. He'd bought the family a mansion – specifically because the property was just large enough to count as a 'mansion', and she wanted to brag to her girlfriends, not because he particularly liked it – and paid a maid company to clean it twice a week. He paid her trainer and covered her trips to the spa, paid the grocery bills – he even hired a part-time cook to prepare healthy, gourmet meals, because Vanilla struggled to make anything more complex than a salad and would only settle for the best.
He had taken care of everything for her, and in return he'd demanded a perfect body for his exclusive use.
Vanilla had kept her end of the bargain.
His loins stirred as he watched hot water roll down her body, flowing down her flawless skin as it followed the shape of her hourglass figure. Chocolate brown hair cascaded past her shoulders as she cleaned and conditioned it to maintain its perfect sheen.
If he had been a few years younger he would've slipped in behind her and taken full advantage of his marital rights.
As it was, while the sight of her made his dick stir, it would be hours before he was ready to perform again.
Vanilla turned off the water and sashayed out of the shower for her husband's benefit, watching him eye her up.
There was a faint glimmer of want in his eyes, but it was overshadowed by regret, and a tinge of guilt.
"Sorry," he'd said lightly.
Vanilla shrugged, before drying her hair and taking out her moisturizer.
"It's fine," she said. "Today's safe… I think." she said. "Just ask before you bust inside next time."
Vanilla was happy to indulge his every sexual whim, with one exception – she had no desire to get pregnant again. Getting the baby fat off had been harder and harder after each kid and his wife had no desire to risk her figure for a fifth time.
Verne was inclined to agree: he loved his children but between school and gifts and their own allowances they were almost as expensive as his wife – he wasn't that rich.
Besides, as vain as she was, Vanilla had born four children, and all of them were his.
He'd checked.
It was easy enough to do, volunteering to take each baby to get their first shots and discreetly drawing a tiny bit of blood for a DNA test. His job took him away from home for weeks or months at a time, and looking how she looked he knew his wife would have no trouble straying.
She had never given him any reason to doubt her faithfulness - she hadn't complained when he had insisted that all the staff that visited their home would be women, hadn't argued when he'd picked her personal trainer or told her there were certain people he didn't want her to see. She'd been perfectly content to submit to his every whim, to accept that there were certain decisions he as the man of the house had the sole authority to make.
It had cost him more than her weight in gold for the privilege, but by all accounts Vanilla Adel had only ever been the faithful and obedient wife he'd demanded
The heavy weight of guilt bore down on him. Verne wrapped an arm around her waist and laid a possessive hand on his wife's hip.
"Next time," he said throatily, "I'll make sure you have a bit more fun."
He'd never cum that quickly before, never been so lost in his own pleasure.
Vanilla smiled politely before drying her face. "It's alright." She said casually. "After all, it has been a while."
Verne frowned, annoyed at how unupset she was. It had been weeks since they'd slept together – did she really not care if he underperformed, if he failed to satisfy her needs?
At the very least, Verne usually made sure his lover enjoyed herself while he had his fun.
"How long will you be in town?" She asked, as she wandered over to her walk-in closet to assemble her outfit for the day.
'How many nights do I need to clear my schedule for?' He heard.
Verne shook his head. Sometimes his wife made him feel less like a married man and more like the exclusive customer of a world class escort – someone always happy to entertain him, but who was always waiting for him to leave.
His conscience rebelled at the thought. He had no right to call her a whore. Not when he was the one who fooled around behind her back.
It was one of those unspoken privileges of their marriage that he had exercised from time to time – if he was going to work sun-up to sun-down for weeks at a time, far away from home, to keep her in the lap of luxury, didn't he have the right to bring the odd slut back to his suite? He was a virile man, and there were plenty of easy women waiting for someone with his looks or his lien to take them to bed.
None of them rivaled Vanilla and none of them got the Vanilla treatment – they had gotten some free meals, a few loads, a fake last name and a burner phone number.
His wife had never accused him of infidelity – she either didn't know or didn't care. She rarely asked him about his job or what he did when he was gone – business bored her and she trusted that he knew what he was doing. He kept his affairs discreet and classy, and he always came home clean – what difference did it make?
'Like you wouldn't divorce her if she gave it up whenever you were out of town.'
…Was it worse, he wondered, if she really trusted him or knew what he'd been getting up to and didn't care enough to bring it up?
"I'm off work for the rest of the week." He said gruffly. "I just wanted to come back early. My cousin's funeral was…" he trailed off.
Vanilla looked at him awkwardly. She could count on one hand the amount of times he had opened up to her about something that was bothering him – neither of them knew how to handle it.
She had never met his cousin – Luz and Verne had never been close. They were ten years apart and had very little in common – Verne had always wanted to make it big while his cousin had been happy to eke out a living out on the edges of their ancestral province. They hadn't spoken in years, but they were still family, and when his Luz had suffered a heart attack out in the fields he had come to pay his respects.
Half the goddamn town must have been there. There were friends and co-workers, rivals and drinking buddies, all gathered round in somber black as Luz had been lowered into the ground. His wife – a fat, wrinkly old woman – had been inconsolable, wailing like mad as their children and grandchildren fought back years.
Verne had planned to stick around for a few days, offer a shoulder to cry on and make a few cold calls to local chains, just to keep his skills sharp.
Instead, he had floated the grieving family enough lien to hold them over until the insurance money came through and then boarded the next bullhead home.
Home…
The word felt wrong in his head.
…
60 wasn't that much older than 50. How many years did he have left - 30? 20? 10?
Would anyone cry for him when he went?
"...It was a lot." He said lamely.
Vanilla laid a comforting hand on his thigh as he struggled to tell her that he desperately wanted to see his children, to hold her, to be with her .
No, that wasn't true either. He wanted to be with his wife .
He and Vanilla were barely even roommates .
He awkwardly took her hand in his.
"Is there anything you'd like to do while I'm here?" He asked. "With me?"
Vanilla blinked before her lips curled up into a surprised smile. "Well…" she said slyly, "Now that you mention it… Why don't we go on a vacation?!"
Verne's brow furrowed in confusion. "Vacation?"
"Yes, a vacation!" She said gaily. "Oh, it's been ages since we've been out of the Kingdom, and Antilles is wonderful this time of year!"
"...You want to go to Antilles." He said curtly.
"Don't you?" She asked. "The crystal blue water, the sand under your toes… the Sex on the Beach ."
If she thought that trick was going to work on him again she had another thing coming.
"The kids have school." He said.
"Oh, they'll be fine." She said dismissively. "They're all old enough to take care of themselves for a week–"
" –I want to spend time with my kids . "
'You idiot.' went unsaid, but even Vanilla could read between the lines.
"Well, fine," she huffed, storming out of the room, " just forget it."
Verne felt a masochistic duty to follow her into the bathroom, watching as she put on the faintest touch of make up while ignoring him.
'What the hell,' he thought, bracing himself for another try. 'You picked her.'
He wrapped his arms around her from behind. She stiffened in his grasp as he tried to find a position that was comfortable - he was half a head taller and he'd never taken the time to figure out how they'd fit together like this.
Eventually he settled on angling his chin back so that his nose was buried in her hair, breathing in the floral scent of her shampoo.
"...Honey," he said, grasping for some term of endearment. "I'm sorry I snapped at you. It's just… I've been under a lot of stress lately. Our little girl is graduating this year. Toma barely calls anymore, and then suddenly I blink and Mate has a driver's license, Van's starting middle school. Sometimes I feel like I've already-"
-He caught her eye in the mirror and saw her impatiently waiting for him to let her go.
He dropped it.
"-Anyway." He said casually. "Now's just not a good time to leave Vale. The CMO is retiring at the end of the quarter, and everyone and their mother is going to be scrambling to fill that seat."
That was half true: the CMO was retiring, but Verne was the heir apparent and had been for years – that wouldn't change if he went off the radar for the week.
"They're giving me a little time off for bereavement, but I've gotta be here in case they need anything. Once I've got my promotion, we can spend a month in Antilles – hell, we can rent out a beach house and bring the whole family."
Vanilla relaxed. Then she rubbed her ass against his crotch.
"You could buy us the beach house." She said breathily, grinning as he tensed. "Mr. Chief Marketing Officer. "
Her husband held his ground.
"Rent." He said firmly.
Vanilla giggled. "Oh, I'm just teasing you, dear – that sounds lovely. " She shrugged herself free and looked herself over in the mirror, satisfied that she was as gorgeous as possible. " And I'm sure Coco will appreciate the gesture – we do owe our princess a special send off."
Verne felt an overwhelming sense of loss as he counted the days until his only daughter would be off on her own.
"Don't frown, dear." Vanilla said absentmindedly. "It makes wrinkles. Brings out the gray in you."
Verne chuckled mirthlessly. "You know, you're going to get old someday too."
His wife shuddered. "Don't remind me." She said, "I think I'll just keel over at 40, if it's all the same to you. You can replace me with a younger model."
She pecked his cheek and turned out of the room without seeing the horrified look on his face.
Verne aimlessly wandered the halls of his home, feeling as if he had walked into a stranger's home.
The walls were a soft golden brown – a pattern of stylized leaves wove across the wall paper.
The hallways were lined with an eclectic mix of paintings and small sculptures with no rhyme or reason – modern, classical, avant garde, without a shared theme to speak of.
No, that wasn't true. They all were signed with famous names and were good for impressing guests at cocktail parties. Vanilla had picked most of them – he wondered idly if she liked them.
He was shaken out of his thoughts by a shrill cry and the din of a roaring crowd.
"Van, how many times do I have to tell you – not in the living room!"
Verne turned the corner to find his youngest son slouched on the sofa, dead to the world with a controller in his hand.
Van didn't dignify his mother's complaint with a response – although his eyes narrowed slightly as she stepped in front of the screen.
"Do not ignore me, young man."
Van rolled his eyes.
"It's not like anyone else is using it." He said, voice cracking slightly.
Vanilla huffed – whether she wanted to watch TV or the noise was simply irritating her, Verne couldn't say.
"You have a perfectly good TV in your room." She insisted.
"I like this one better." He said, looking past her. "The screen's bigger."
Vanilla caught her husband's eye, sending him a meaningful look. He didn't understand it.
After several seconds she threw up her hands.
"If you spent half the time you waste on the couch learning the real game you might actually accomplish something. Girls like athletes."
Van blushed awkwardly but pretended like he didn't hear her. He was at the age where girls were as tantalizing as they were terrifying, his boyish image shattered by stray new hairs and faint traces of acne. His body was gangly and his movements uncertain, as limbs shot out faster than his torso, his center of gravity always shifting as he grew in fits and spurts.
He wasn't a child anymore – but he wasn't a man yet either.
The 'tween' years weren't easy on anybody, and Van coped like so many others did, by acting like he could care less about how everyone saw him when he obviously cared very, very much – the last person he'd open to about his insecurities was his beauty queen of a mom.
Vanilla could never wrap her head around that, although at least she tried.
She gave her husband a long suffering look as she walked past to him.
"Go ahead." She muttered. " Spend some time with him . And for Gods' sakes, try to talk some sense into that thick head of his."
If their son could hear her he showed no sign of it – now that she had stopped bitching at him Van had gotten back into his game.
Verne watched it for a moment, trying to figure it out.
It seemed to be some odd kind of football simulator. Different players would glow as the ball traded hands. Verne waited until after the 4th down, when Van's team stopped at the 40 yard line and the perspective flipped to defense, before he took a seat by his son's side.
"So," Verne said lightly. "You're still a White Hawks fan?"
Van grunted in acknowledgement as he tackled a digital foe.
After a beat he answered.
"They're alright."
Verne remembered the little boy who used to cheer at every touchdown and beg his dad to go to the games with him… Verne had always bought him tickets but he'd never found time to show up.
That boy was gone now. Forever.
Verne pushed back the sense of loss – he'd never get that time back, but there was no point feeling sorry for himself when he could still salvage what they had now.
"Who's your favorite player?"
Van stayed quiet for a long time. His father didn't push, he just sat and waited.
Once it was clear that he wasn't going to leave Van caved.
"...Sam Ortez is pretty good."
Verne scanned the names on the back of their digital jerseys.
"Who, the big guy? What is he, a linebacker?"
"Mhm."
Suddenly something caught his interest. He vaguely remembered the guys at the office gushing over the top prospects at the latest draft.
"Wait, this game has real players? From this season?"
"...Duh." Van said condescendingly. "It's not like they put out a new game every year. "
Suddenly figures and balance sheets flashed through Verne's mind as he realized the amount of money this kind of scheme could generate – exclusive licensing rights and annual releases of the same damn product over and over with a slightly different coat of paint.
What kind of percentage did the league get?
Did the players get a cut?
How long was this sort of thing under contract?
It was easy to think about these sorts of problems – they were interesting and it was the kind of work he was good at. So much easier than trying to bond with a temperamental 12 year old.
Verne shook his head. 'Later,' he told himself. 'You can think about business later.'
He tried to steer the conversation back to his son, watching as he racked up touchdown after touchdown. He didn't have much of an eye for the sport, but his son certainly seemed to – the difficulty was set to All-star, which he had to assume was rather high, and Van was effortlessly countering every play, guiding his men across the field like an expert general.
He smiled encouragingly as the game wound to a close.
"You're pretty good at that." He said, clasping his shoulder.
Van shrugged.
"I guess."
"You know," Verne continued, "with a little practice, I think you'd be a pretty good quarterback. We could work on your throw some time, get you ready to go out for the team."
His son glared at him like he was a total idiot.
"I did try out for the team." He said bitterly. "I got cut."
Verne winced. "I… I didn't know that."
"Yeah." He said curtly. "You didn't."
The boy's father gave his best impression of a reassuring smile. "Well, you're only in 6th grade." He said. "There's still plenty of time."
Van kept his eyes on the screen. "Maybe." He said, voice devoid of interest.
Verne sat silently by his side for the length of a minute.
"Could you move, dad?" His son said shortly. "You're blocking my view."
Verne looked at his boy and was struck by the chasm between them… one he might never be able to cross.
"Alright." He said, rising to retreat, giving the boy a quick clasp on the shoulder. "See you at dinner, champ."
Mate was even harder to reach. He was out with his friends – or with girls, or alone on a joyride, he couldn't say for sure. As it turned out, the last place a boy with a new license ever wanted to be was home . Verne sent him a text asking him to be back for dinner by 8, and hoped he'd eventually get a response.
He walked into the kitchen, desperate for a cup of coffee and a new lease on life. He was still looking at his phone, and didn't realize he'd bumped into Nadya until he heard the cute little "oomf" she made as a breakfast platter clattered to the ground.
Verne cursed and bent over to clean it up.
"I've got it."
Verne looked up to see a pretty face staring shyly at him.
Nadya Tsvesti was an Atlesian refugee, and the Adel's part time chef. She was a pretty young thing, barely older than Coco.
Nadya was obviously from the far north in both looks and temperament. She had very fair skin and purplish-blue eyes, with pale blonde hair and an innocent face. She was also polite to the point of servility — always eager to obey.
Verne's cock twitched as he thought about how far he could push her.
He pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind — he was one day into trying not to act like a scumbag and failing miserably.
"It's my fault." he countered.
"It's my job." She said, softly but firmly.
Verne didn't feel like arguing, so he stood up, and was struck by the view of her bent over, skirt clinging to her small, round ass.
Nadya had a modest figure, but she was as cute as a button.
He'd never tried to bed her. He'd never slept with any member of his staff — what he did at work was one thing, but parading his affairs in front of his wife in her own home was a bridge too far.
Not to mention that it would've been grossly unprofessional.
Nadya was the breadwinner for a family of four — her father had been killed early on in the fighting, and her mother had grown deathly ill before the family had been smuggled out of Atlas. As the eldest child, it fell to Nadya to put bread on the table and buy her mother's medicine. She had no special skills, she hadn't even been able to finish high school, and she was desperate for work, for every lien she could get her hands on.
It was a miracle she hadn't resorted to whoring or petty crime, like so many other desperate refugees who hadn't been lucky enough to flee Atlas with a family fortune in tow. But the war hadn't robbed her of her dignity, or that austere spirit, half duty, half pride, that had seen her ancestors through the tundra's coldest winters.
Still, everyone had their limits. It seemed like whenever he was around she begged him for more hours, asking if there was anything, anything , she could do for him.
He invariably found some menial chore when all he wanted to do was tell her to bend over.
Now that she had, he could say he quite liked the view.
Verne went over to the coffee maker and poured in the strongest grounds he could find.
"I didn't know you were working today." He said lightly, without turning around to look at her.
Nadya showed no sign that she took offense - as she rose from the cleaned up floor.
"Oh, well…" she said awkwardly. "Your wife let me know that you came in last night. I left pre-made meals in the fridge, but I thought… I thought you might like something special for your first meal back."
He finally turned around, and fought back a gulp when he saw she was blushing.
Nadya clasped her hands in front of her waist, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot as she refused to meet his gaze. Her blush deepened to a vibrant red as she realized he was staring.
"I wanted to surprise you." She murmured shyly.
…Gods help him. He could fuck her right now.
The moment was broken as the confident clacking of heels descended down the stairs.
His only daughter strolled into the kitchen with a languid stretch and an exaggerated yawn — she had just started her day and she was already dressed to the nines.
She wore her trademark beret, which she unfailingly matched with everything, as well as a strapless, lacy white blouse with a plunging neckline that exposed the smooth skin of her shoulders and the narrowest part of her waist, and a pair of designer jeans tailor made to show off the contours of her hips and legs.
Her eyes widened slightly as she saw him, before she strutted over to greet him.
"Hey Dad." She said warmly, as he pulled her in for a hug.
Parents weren't supposed to play favorites, but if Verne had to pick, he'd choose Coco. He was proud of his sons, but he always felt he had a duty to keep his distance a little bit, help toughen that up.
But when his baby girl was born his heart melted .
He'd spoiled her rotten and he knew it — bought every outfit, accommodated every request, indulged every little petty whim. He knew his daughter was every bit as manipulative as her mother, but pampering her was painless.
She looked so much like Vanilla, all the poise and confidence and heart stopping beauty, but with a certain authenticity, a boldness – an edge that was all her own.
He was immensely proud of her, as any father would be. But he also appreciated her in a way a father probably shouldn't – she reminded him a little too much of her mom.
He carefully kept their hips from touching — any fatigue from this morning was long gone and his dick was back at full mast. The feel of her soft chest against his, the warmth of her skin, and the faint scent of perfume was intoxicating.
He supposed on some level it was natural. Coco was a beautiful woman, the spitting image of the finest fuck he ever had, and she was in the prime of her life. How could he not react?
He wondered if all fathers were turned on by their teenage girls or if he was some kind of aberrant freak — maybe he was. He could spend weeks or months without seeing her and she had grown up before he had even noticed, until he barely recognized her. Maybe that was his punishment for being such an absent father, seeing her so rarely that whatever part of his brain was supposed to keep his offspring in the 'no bone zone' couldn't register the stunning young woman in front of him as his own flesh and blood.
Or maybe he was so used to objectifying every woman in his life that he just couldn't turn it off. Not even for his precious little girl.
Either way, these twinges of errant lust were definitive evidence that he was a bad dad — and he would diebefore he told a soul, least of all Coco.
He let her go after holding her for perhaps a moment too long – desire overpowered by the fear of discovery.
Verne said nothing as his daughter slipped past him and stole his morning cup of coffee, said nothing as she passed Nadya by and playfully slapped the older girl on the ass.
"Nice hustle, babe." She said, before swiping up a croissant.
Nadya looked positively scandalized but held her tongue – this job was too important.
He was fairly sure Coco wasn't being malicious – she didn't seem like the type to come on to someone who couldn't refuse, but she was too flirtatious, too comfortable to realize that what she was doing might be out of bounds.
Verne shook his head. 'I'm going to need to have a conversation with her about boundaries some time.'
… That would be rich, wouldn't it?
He cleared his throat. Nadya shot him an apologetic look before skittering out of the room.
"Sweetie?" He said softly.
Coco looked up from her impromptu breakfast. "What's up?"
"Do you touch Nadya like that often?"
She smirked. "Oh, just every once in a while. What can I say, she has a really nice butt."
He couldn't disagree with his daughters' taste in women – as alien as that thought still was to him – but that wasn't the point.
"Never do that again."
Coco looked at him, surprised. He hadn't ever been the type to lay down the law — his little angel could do no wrong in his eyes.
"Relax, Dad," She said. "I'm not forcing anything on her, I slap my friends' asses all the time."
"Nadya's not your friend." He said sternly, filing away that mental image for later and hating himself for it. "You're her boss."
Coco shrugged. "If she has a problem with it, she can say so."
Verne sighed. "No she can't. Most Atlesians usually think the way you or I do – they're far more conservative about how they speak to their superior… what girls are supposed to do with other girls."
Coco scowled and crossed her arms in front of her chest – which was as distracting as it was defensive.
"Shit, Dad, I'm not trying to get her to sleep with me," she said. "Not when she only has eyes for you."
Coco laughed at his expression.
"I'm kidding." She said, fighting back giggles. "Well, I'm not kidding – she has a crush on you and it's super obvious, but that's not the reason. I get it."
"Do you?"
Coco met his gaze with the first hint of guilt in her eyes.
"Yeah." She said brusquely. "No more slapass."
Verne wanted to give her a hug, to let her know all was forgiven, but didn't want to chance Coco catching on to his stubborn erection. Instead he settled for wrapping a supportive arm around her smooth, bare shoulder.
"So, what other trouble have you been getting into while I've been away?"
Coco smirked.
"Oh, this and that." She said. "Taking names, breaking hearts, the usual."
Verne chuckled.
"Any progress with Velvet?"
No one else in the family knew. Everyone knew she liked girls, but no one aside from her father knew that she was in love .
He had walked in on his daughter moaning her best friend's name one extraordinarily awkward evening, but he'd also seen her staring at her yearbook photo with an uncharacteristically lovelorn expression on a less lurid but equally informative night.
He'd been nothing but supportive, happy to have found some kind of in, some secret that was only theirs. He knew Vanilla wouldn't be — hell, he had his own reservations about corrupting an innocent girl, let alone a Faunus, but if it made her happy he was willing to keep them to himself.
She grinned with a faintly wistful look that entered her eye whenever the beautiful bunnygirl was brought up.
"She's still perfect, and still straight as an arrow, but I think I've got her."
"Oh?" Coco had thus far been slow and cautious in her pursuit of the other girl — one of the tell tale signs that she was serious. "What's the plan?"
Coco grinned. "Let's just say it will leave all parties involved very happy. Speaking of which," she said, disentangling herself from him. "I've got a hot date."
'Obviously.' Verne thought, looking her over as she preened – his daughter was a show-off and respected him as an objective observer.
"Is it someone you actually like or are you using some lucky sap to make her jealous?" He asked.
Coco's grin widened.
"A little of column A, a little of column B."
Verne's brow furrowed in confusion.
Coco chuckled. "It's complicated. Let's just say I've got a good thing going. Anyway, I'm headed to the mall."
Verne reached for his wallet on reflex.
"Clothes shopping?" He asked, pulling out a handful of lien.
He knew Coco was making her own money but he couldn't help spoiling her whenever he could.
She beamed at him and wrapped her arms around his neck before giving him an innocent kiss on the cheek.
"You're the best, Dad."
He hoped she meant that. It was hard to tell — he and his wife were smooth operators and he wasn't so blind that he didn't notice his princess had her own manipulative streak. Coco had him wrapped around her finger and they both knew it, but what went on in that beautiful head of hers was beyond him.
It was a blessing and a curse. He would never know if she saw him as a father or an ATM… and she would never know that she starred in his darkest dreams, what she did to him with the faintest touch of her lips.
Just another secret that kept them civilized.
She pulled away, blissfully unaware, before pocketing the cash.
"A man always provides."
Vanilla stood in the doorway, with an ambivalent tone in her voice.
As her only daughter, Coco had always been a special project of Vanilla's — she cherished her about as much as he did. But, while she had been delighted to see her baby blossom into a beauty that matched her own, and had happily helped her start her own modeling career, Coco was not quite the perfect protege.
She was still feminine, but being the lone girl sandwiched between 3 brothers had toughened her up, made her more blunt and more bold than her mother had ever been – the two practically spoke different languages.
Vanilla had been quite tolerant when Coco had started fooling around with girls, had made allowances when Verne insisted that any shoots had to be worked in around school, but as her daughter grew older she had begun dropping subtle hints that Coco's priorities needed to be straightened out. By the time she was her daughter's age she had been modeling full time for over a year and had already locked down a husband and had a baby on the way. It was high time their princess stopped playing around and got serious about finding a man to take care of her.
She'd never say it directly — the one time she'd floated the idea to Verne he had shot her down immediately in the most vicious argument of their marriage.
Coco could be a trophy wife if she wanted to — she was overqualified. In the meantime, she was finishing school. There would be no dropping out, no 'getting serious' about her modeling career, and above all, no talk of 'husband hunting.'
Of course, effectively calling his wife a gold digging bimbo and insisting that the last thing their daughter should do was follow in her footsteps had done him no favors, no matter how delicately he'd tried to phrase it, but he'd wanted his princess to have every opportunity in the world.
If that made him a "massive hypocrite", so-fucking-be-it.
Vanilla obeyed, as she always did, but she skirted the line every now and again.
Coco ignored her — either she didn't notice or didn't care.
"What time are you getting back?" He asked.
Coco shrugged. "Whenever we're done, I guess."
"I was hoping we could have dinner as a family tonight. Could you be back by 8?"
Coco bit her lip. "Maybe." She said. "Could we take a rain check on that?"
Vanilla shot her an exasperated look. "It's not even noon."
"I've got a really hot date."
Her mother rolled her eyes but held her tongue.
Verne sighed. "Well, since your brother isn't responding, we could push it back to tomorrow —"
A ringtone went off and for a mad moment he thought it was Toma.
Then Coco pulled a strange holographic phone out of her purse — he'd have to ask her about that.
"Hey Jaune," she said. "No, I didn't forget. My old man just got back in town and I lost track of time." She lowered her voice meaningfully. " I'll make it up to you. "
Something awful twisted in Verne's stomach, although he wasn't quite sure what it meant.
Vanilla, on the other hand, looked positively ecstatic.
Coco put her new phone down and rushed out the door with a skip in her step. "Dinner tomorrow, tell Nadya I'm sorry!"
"Have fun honey!" Vanilla sang, before turning to her husband with an ear splitting grin.
"Verne!" She said excitedly. "Did you hear that? She said Jaune! That's a boy'sname!"
He noticed. But, there was something else about that name… something that sent an icy chill down his spine.
'...That's Mason's boy's name.'
"Oh, Kali, this is a lovely spot!"
The cat Faunus smiled warmly. The MILF Squad was seated at a posh little cafe on the south side of Vale for an impromptu Sunday brunch.
"Ghira and I like to pop by here at least once a month." She explained. "The smoked salmon is to die for."
"So, we're your replacement date?" Summer teased.
Kali chuckled. "Ghira had a last minute call he had to take — clan business back home. I didn't want the reservation to go to waste."
Glynda looked down at the prices on the menu, the folded napkins and chandeliers around her with the faintest hint of discomfort — she was hard to read but the others were learning her signals.
"I should go," she said. "I wouldn't want to impose."
Kali waved her objections away. "Don't be silly — my suggestion, my treat."
Glynda hummed faintly, duty and good manners warring within her. She didn't want to give even the appearance of impropriety, but it would be rude to refuse… and this was a very nice place…
Kali giggled, reading her thoughts. "Relax, dear. I'm not trying to bribe you… although , if you'd be willing to bump up the 79 on Blake's last quiz —- I'm kidding, Glynda, I'm kidding!"
"Excuse me ladies," a waitress interjected politely, with a tray of glasses in her hand. "Would anyone like a mimosa?"
The table went silent.
An spoke hesitantly. "We didn't order any-"
"-They're on the house." The waitress said brightly, setting a glass in front of each one of them. "Kali is a regular and we know they're her favorite— "
She stopped short as a pair of amber eyes caught her own and begged her to shut up.
The rest of the table was looking at Willow.
The Schnee matron smiled disarmingly. "I'll just have water, please." She said, pushing away the drink without a second thought. "You all can go ahead and enjoy yourselves."
Kali graciously put her glass back on the tray. "We're not really in the mood for drinks today— it's not your fault, Becky, it was very sweet of you." she said, trying to placate the waitress, who was sharp enough to realize that she had just stepped in it, even if she didn't know why. "If you could just bring the table a nice herbal tea-"
"-No, really. Enjoy yourselves."
Willow was still smiling, but there was something imperious in her tone that brokered no argument.
"I insist."
Becky scurried away.
"Willow." An said gently. "None of us think any less of you-"
Willow reached over and squeezed. "I know." She said firmly. "And I know that I had a problem. But just because I can't handle alcohol doesn't mean you all have to give it up. I don't want to be a burden like that—"
"—You're not a burden." Summer insisted. "But we don't want to rub your addiction in your face."
Willow hummed for a moment. "They say you never really get over it," she admitted. "The best you can hope for is finding something you want even more than the drug — a reason to keep going without it." Then she reached into her pocket. "And I'm not going to touch another drop."
The table let out a collective gasp as Willow pulled out a thin plastic strip with a bright red plus sign in the center.
"…My God, Willow," Kali murmured. " When did you…"
"I took it this morning." She said, glowing with happiness.
…
…
An addressed the elephant in the room.
"I didn't think you and your husband were…"
Willow grinned wickedly.
"We're not."
The table was silent for a long moment.
Then Glynda sighed, picked up her drink and emptied it in a single gulp.
Seeing the normally stoic young woman driven to drink forced an awkward chuckle around the table, but the rest of them weren't too far off from it themselves.
"How are you going to tell Jacques?" Kali asked. She had dealt with the Schnee Patriarch on occasion, mostly through intermediaries – even the Chieftain of Menagerie and his wife didn't rate more than a polite bit of chatter on his busy schedule. But she didn't need much face time to get a sense of the man, and she knew his reputation for ruthlessness well enough.
He wasn't the sort of man you crossed.
Willow shrugged. "He'll figure it out on his own." She said. "My husband is many things, but 'stupid' isn't one of them. Even if I wanted to, if I offered to sleep with him out of the blue and just so happened to get pregnant right away he'd put two and two together soon enough."
An colored slightly, face turning a dusty pink as her eyes darted down to her lap.
Summer caught it – she was watching the rest of the table like a hawk.
They were too caught up in the bombshell to notice – even if they weren't, Summer was still VSS, even if she was a little rusty. It was easy enough to hide her interest behind the real worry she had for her friends – choosing which of her emotions would show on her face as her mind raced a mile a minute.
Kali was curious and understandably concerned. Willow was totally at ease – aside from the faintest hints of contempt, any thought of her husband or what he might think barely registered. Glynda looked like she was completely out of her depth.
An looked guilty.
It didn't prove anything. Not yet. But she filed it away.
Kali took a calming breath as her posture notably shifted. The warmth and kindness in her face faded into the background and were replaced by the no-nonsense expression of a woman who had seen her share of war, rear echelon or not.
"What are you going to do with it?"
Willow's eyes widened in shock.
"What do you mean 'what am I going to do with it?"
"Exactly what I said." Kali said calmly. "What. Are. You. Going. To do?"
Willow's fists clenched as the tablecloth between her fingers, race tingeing red.
Glynda cleared her throat, desperate to clear the air.
"Kali," she hissed under her breath, "You aren't suggesting-
"-I'm not suggesting anything." Kali said. "I just want to know."
Willow glared at her.
Kali was unmoved. "Jacques Schnee is a bad person, who can pay bad people to do bad things," she said dryly. "He has blacklisted countless enemies, ruined plenty of good names, forced his rivals into bankruptcy and has shamelessly profiteered off civil war. His people have used bribery, blackmail and beatings to keep their pawns in check, and he has his own little private army.
"So," she continued. "Now that you've brought this child into the world, what are you going to do to keep it, and you, safe from him?"
Willow relaxed. Then she laughed.
Kali sat unmoving as the rest of the table shared worried glances.
Willow wiped a stray tear from her eye as she collected herself.
"That's what you think?" She said, fighting back giggles. "That my husband is going to lash out at me in a murderous fit of rage? You're giving him too much credit."
"-Willow,"
"My husband doesn't care about me." She said firmly. "He never has."
"But he does care about his image." Summer said. "This won't be just between the two of you – when you give birth to a baby that doesn't look like him…"
Willow bit her lip nervously – that particular thought had somehow not crossed her mind.
"You could go on a long trip." An supplied helpfully. "Take a few months vacation somewhere nice and secluded once you start to show, and find a loving family to take care of the –
"- No!"
Willow's cry was desperate and primal, like a cornered animal defending her cub to the death.
People at the restaurant were starting to stare.
Glynda hushed them as Becky nervously approached the table, pretending like she hadn't been listening in.
"Are you… ready to order yet?" She asked anxiously.
Willow shook her head. "No…" she whispered tightly. "No."
"We'll be a few more minutes." Kali said, surprisingly calm. "But could you be a dear and bring us some scones?"
"And some chamomile tea," An supplied helpfully, "for nerves."
Meanwhile Summer was looking curiously at the back.
"You wouldn't happen to have a private room we could move to, would you?" She asked.
Becky eagerly volunteered that yes, yes they did, and guided them away from the other prying eyes.
"For VIP's only," she said, with fake levity. "Enjoy."
Kali handed her an extremely generous tip as she bolted out of the room.
Willow had calmed down somewhat, and defiantly crossed her arms in front her, looking almost like a petulant child, even though her tone was deadly serious.
"I am not giving up this baby," she vowed. "I won't let anyone take it away from me. I'd die first."
Summer gently wrapped her arm around her.
"I understand." She whispered. "Believe me, we all do." Aside from Glynda, they were all mothers. Even Glynda had some sense of the bond between mother and child, a bond she had never experienced but had longed for for as long as she could remember.
"However we can, we'll help." An added, joining in the embrace. "That's all we want."
Kali walked around the table and wrapped her arms around the trio.
Glynda sat awkwardly on the sidelines, unsure of what to do until Kali caught her eye and gave her an encouraging look.
She tentatively approached the group and was pulled into the group hug.
Willow trembled faintly, tears of joy falling down her face as she basked in their embrace.
"Thank you." She breathed. "You all have been so good to me." She gave them an effervescent smile as she squeezed them tight. "That's why I wanted to tell you first. This is happy news."
"I know." Kali whispered.
The group hug slowly broke apart and the friends spent the next few minutes exchanging the usual pleasantries, asking about names – "I have no idea, and it'll be hard finding another W" – giving their warmest congratulations, and taking turns putting their hand over Willow's stomach while playfully saying hello.
Glynda was the last woman to take her turn, her hand hovering a few inches above Willow's waist.
Willow smiled. "Go on. I won't bite."
Glynda closed the distance and placed her palm over Willow's womb with a featherlight touch.
Her body was warm, soft and smooth, goosebumps covering her creamy white skin as Glynda's had ghosted over it.
Her stomach was flat and toned, with no sign of the little life growing within.
Willow put a reassuring hand over her own.
"It'll take a few months before it starts to show." She said kindly. "But it's there."
She smiled at the faint look of wonder in the younger woman's eyes.
From there, the MILF squad took their places around the table, finally ordered their food and were settling in for a pleasant and relaxing meal, toasting the health of the mother for good measure.
"-The baby shouldn't raise too many eyebrows." Willow said, when Summer cautiously asked what it might look like. "The father isn't Atlesian, but he's not much darker than we are, and his features are close enough. And, he's human, so there won't be any extra ears or a tail."
"That's a shame," Kali teased, two drinks in and with a faint, buzzed blush – someone had to take Willow's. "You'd make such cute little Faunus cubs."
The 'Faunus Corruption' craze was a vile, racist trope, but as wrong as it was Kali knew it would be especially humiliating for Jacques and she could hardly think of a more deserving cuckold.
Thankfully, Willow took it in stride.
"Oh, that would serve him right." She giggled. "Can you imagine the headlines? Schnee Mutt Slut? SDC's Jungle Fever? Willow Gone Wild?"
An looked between the two of them uncomfortably, but Kali thought it was hilarious.
Glynda cleared her throat over their howls of laughter.
"How are your kids going to take it?"
Suddenly the room was somber again.
Willow sighed, and desperately wished she could have a drink.
"...I hope they'll understand." She whispered. "But if they don't, what's the worst that can happen? They'll have one more reason to hate me?"
"Willow-" Glynda chided.
"-No, it's true." Willow said. "I'm a horrible mother. I threw away so much time… time where they wanted, no, needed me… and I can never get it back."
She blinked back tears again, covering a sob with one hand while waving her friends away.
"I'm sorry – I only just got pregnant and my hormones are already going crazy."
"You're dealing with a lot." An said gently, rubbing soothing circles on her back.
"I- I'm not a young woman." Willow said gently. "It's a miracle I've aged as well as I did, a miracle that I get to have this child… his child... but I don't have much time… I… I…" her entire trembled. "This is my last chance to do things right ."
"And you will." An insisted. "We know you will."
Willow gave her a watery, wobbly smile. "I'll be a terrible screw up like I always have. I'll do things wrong, make a million mistakes… but I'll be there. And I'll give my children – all my children – everything I can. It's the least I can do."
The others gave her their best looks of encouragement, but Glynda sat stone faced.
Willow looked anxiously for her approval, and school teacher put a firm hand on her shoulder.
"Tell them that." She said solemnly. "And I promise, someday, they'll understand."
The Schnee Heiress nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
Kali broke the tension, her blush growing as the alcohol hit her system.
"So, how 'bout this mystery man of yours?"
Glynda glared at her.
"What? *hiccup*. All you've told us is who he's not. Must have been something real special if he got past the goalie on his first try-"
"-Kali!"
"-or did it take a while? Just how long have you been holding out on us?"
Willow's eyes darkened as she remembered the hot steam that covered their bodies as her lover's powerful build pounded into her own.
"No, I think it was the first shot. My eggs never had a prayer." She giggled. "I'm not going to name names, but-"
Willow then proceeded to gush to the entire table in graphic detail about her Daddy, and how tall, and strong, and handsome he was. How dreamy his eyes were, how popular he was with the ladies, and how, despite being an unrepentant manwhore, he made her feel like the only girl in the world.
How he pinned her down and fucked her bare and had owned her body ever since. How he invariably demolished her pussy for hours before painting her insides white with his bitchbreaker of a cock -
"This is starting to sound like a 'bigger fish' story." Glynda said skeptically, although her cheeks were rosy red.
"Oh, he's a big fish alright." Willow said, before putting her hands in front of her chest and pantomiming the size of his genitals.
Summer tensed. She had suspected from the beginning, but now… she could only think of two men who fit that description.
An could only think of one.
Kali panted faintly, her skin flushed, as her lowered inhibitions and the very graphic details of sex sent a warm glow across her body, pooling in her lower stomach. Her panties grew slightly damp as her nipples started to poke out under her shirt.
"You're sure he isn't a Faunus." She joked, trying to distract herself from her own growing arousal. Oh, she was going to pounce on Ghira when she went home.
Summer playfully bumped her arm.
"That's an old wives' tale." She said, "Believe me, I checked."
The tabled stared at her, shocked.
Summer colored slightly.
"In college! Before I was with Tai."
"...How many?" An asked slightly. "I'd only ever been with Li…"
Summer didn't miss the 'past tense' but didn't draw attention to it.
"15. 4 Faunus."
She shrugged at the raised eyebrows.
"Hey, I like 'em big, and I wanted to see what the hype was all about. It was easy enough – go to the right party and say that you're curious and most Faunus guys will try 'corrupting' you into a Mutt Slut before you can finish your sentence."
"Summer!" An hissed, aghast that her friend would talk like that in front of Kali.
"So, how was it?" Kali asked, too interested or too drunk to care.
Summer waved her hand in a so-so motion.
"Three average joes and one seven-incher who thought he was God's Gift To Remnant." Summer said, rolling her eyes. "Most of them were nice enough, but the last one was a real asshole – once he found out I couldn't take birth control he spent an entire semester sniffing around." She scowled at the memory. "He caught me on a bad day and I was sad and lonely enough that I let him talk me into a repeat."
Bad day was an understatement – it was the same day Tai proposed.
"Bastard came in me after a couple thrusts while howling about how he was going to make me a Mutt Mommy, and no guy would ever touch me again." She shuddered.
As awful as stereotypes were, there were always a few bad apples.
"I'm sorry," Kali said.
Summer grinned. "Don't be. I almost ripped his balls off. Then my friends found out, and beat the hell out of him even more."
It had gotten so bad that she and Raven had to pull the boys off him – Summer almost felt sorry for him.
"Plus, it obviously didn't take." Summer said, shrugging, although the stress of waiting to find out had given her a really, really shitty couple of weeks. "We've all had a scare or two at some point."
Instead of a reassuring choir the rest of the room was quiet.
None of the other MILFs met her eyes to confirm or deny the statement – either they were too embarrassed to admit it or shocked that Summer used to be such a slut.
While she started to feel extremely self conscious, Willow stepped in.
"Well, I've given it up for more men than you have, and a few Faunus too, so you all can trust me when I say this: my baby's father is the best I've ever had." She laughed. "And it's not close."
Kali flushed. "Sounds like he's pretty good."
Willow's face took on a dreamy expression as her eyes were flooded with undisguised lust. The poor girls had no idea what Daddy could do to them.
"Better than you could ever imagine."