On the way home

Margaret told her husband Rory to drive faster. He kept rattling off political jokes — something he was terrible at, his attempts at humor always landing somewhere between awkward and painfully unfunny. She hated when Rory joked. The presence of their daughter Olivia and her new boyfriend Chris in the backseat only amplified her discomfort, but Rory was unstoppable. So Margaret just stared out the window, lost in thought. At least Olivia had gotten into university — the education faculty — and would be studying with Chris. Small mercies.

"Did you buy the water filters?" Margaret finally snapped, her patience frayed.

Rory fell silent, shooting her an irritated glare. He clearly didn’t appreciate being interrupted.

"No. I forgot."

"Sweetheart, we’re just making a quick stop at the store," Margaret said to her daughter. No response.

She turned.

Olivia ’s thighs were spread. Chris’s hand was between them. Chris's hand is between them. She squeezed his wrist with both hands, smoothly rotating her hips and caressing herself with his fingers. Her skirt — already too short — hiked up to her waist, baring everything.

Margaret froze, then flicked her gaze to Olivia ’s face — eyes shut, mouth slack, lost in silent ecstasy.

God… Margaret whipped back around, staring rigidly at the road, then at Rory. He was still droning on, grinning like an idiot.

Shock gave way to scalding rage. This little slut knew I’d look. Did she even hear me? Or was she too wrapped up in her filthy little game? But Chris… Chris had definitely noticed.

Her pulse hammered in her temples, but she refused to turn again, left only to imagine Olivia coming right behind her.

When Rory parked, they all filed into the store. Olivia acted as if nothing had happened, beelining for the restroom while Rory went for the filters. Margaret lingered near the checkout, pretending to browse kitchenware.

"Enjoy the show?" Chris’s voice slithered up behind her.

She startled.

"What?" she said, feigning ignorance.

"Don’t play dumb. I saw you watching." He stepped closer, his dark eyes dragging down her body with deliberate, mocking appraisal. "And I’d bet anything you wanted in on it. Or are you gonna pretend your heart isn’t racing right now?"

Margaret stood rigid, then barked loud enough to draw stares: "What the hell is wrong with you, Chris?!"

"Your Rory’s a joke," Chris murmured.

Margaret glanced around, grabbed his wrist, and pulled him into the restroom. She locked the door, dropped to her knees, and undid his zipper, taking him deep into her throat. Then he fucked her raw from behind—just how she whispered she liked it.