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I look at the photo hanging from the rearview of Daphne and I on our wedding day. She had her mom and her friend Georgia from the outreach stand up for her along with three of her dogs.
I had James, Tiny and Mac. My sister Heather sat with Daphne’s mom and dad who both made her part of the family in short order.
After we had our first, Julianne, named after my mother, Daphne and Heather started working on the petitions for law changes in Michigan pertaining to the provisions that needed to be provided for pets. It took a few slogging years, but with our financial backing and Heather’s smarts and connections, new laws were put on the books all because my baby is fucking tenacious when she wants something.
I funded the expansion of the organization and now Georgia, Tiny and Mac help run chapters of the Break the Chains organization in twenty states. They both have families of their own and they’ve become some of my best friends as well.
Our second was born three years later, Dani. She was named after one of Daphne’s favorite outreach dogs that was finally surrendered and became part of our family. She lived for another happy, spoiled two years before we lost her while Daphne was pregnant.
We have eight fucking dogs running around here at any given time and sometimes more when she brings in a ‘foster’, but that word really means future permanent resident.
It’s fine. We have tons of room, we’ve added on and the place is always barely managed chaos as it is. After Dani was born, we decided our family was complete. I would have been happy with more, but Daphne had a hard time with both pregnancies. She was sick a lot and the last one she had super high blood pressure and it scared the mother fucking shit out of me, so two is fine.
Two is perfect. We are perfect.
Her Mom and Dad finally agreed to move out closer to us and I bought them a place just down the road so Daphne can see them or pick them up to come here whenever they want.
Walter has a big garage to tinker in and Joan bakes enough cookies to feed a small army. My waistline tells the tale, but Daphne says she’s into Dad bods thank fuck.
With some backing from my inheritance, James branched off and started his own custom shop which took off and he has three locations now and thirty employees. He’s still single but Daphne and Joan are bound and determined to find him his someone special whether he wants that to happen or not.
As for me, I work with James, but also with the outreach fund raising mainly but truth, I just love being a fucking husband and father. I’ve gotten pretty good at investing as well, so we are set up there which gives us freedom and time. Two things I thought I’d never have.
I grab the mail from the box then park the truck and I’m practically running by the time I hit the back door so insatiable for my wife it’s like I’ve been back in lock up for four years.
Through the back door, there she is emptying grocery bags on the counter and humming Chris Stapleton to herself as her playlist plays through the surround sound speakers. The kids are at school so there’s nothing between her and what I need.
I set the mail down then stalk up behind her as she heads into the pantry. She sets two jars of spaghetti sauce on a shelf then before she can turn around, I slap my hand over her mouth and push her against the opposite wall.
I hear her yelp into my palm, her body stiffens but as I lick my way up her neck, she softens. She likes it rough sometimes and whatever she likes, turns me the fuck on.
“Your greedy little pussy still wet from this morning?” I snarl. “Because you’re getting fucked up against this wall.”
I flip up her skirt with my free hand, then release my already swollen erection and get into position behind her ripe ass.
“I can still smell your teasing little cunt. You’re going to get what’s coming to you now doll. Maybe first in your pussy, then I’ll slide right into that tight little ass of yours. You’d like that wouldn’t you?”
Her hands dart out to grip the shelf as I move my hand to the center of her back and bend her over. I’m inside her in one drenched thrust.
“Good baby. You should always be wet and ready.”
I start pounding away, a bag of flour falls breaking open in a white puff on the floor.
Then, a couple cans of green beans fall, a bag of egg noodles.
By the time I’m done, she’s screaming, and we’ve ruined a good hundred dollars’ worth of groceries.
