Chapter One: Russell

“Hey, where are you off to?”

My wife’s drooping eyelids and slumped shoulders answer the question. Goddammit. My plans are in jeopardy before they even start.

“Bed,” Andrea says around a yawn, clutching her laptop to her chest. “I know I’m done when the words get blurry.”

Andrea’s in a polygamous relationship with me and her job as an editor at a publishing company, and I’m third place in this throuple. No surprise she brought work on our vacation.

I hide my resentment behind a smile and raise the two glasses of wine in my hands. 

“Wanna have a drink with me on the deck before we turn in?”

She shakes her head. “Not tonight. I’m dead on my feet after the long drive and working on this book. Cheryl asked me to help out at the bar tomorrow too. I don’t want to deal with a hangover.”

“One glass won’t affect you.” But the special ingredient in it will. “Come on. We drove up here for a vacation. Let’s get started on it.”

A scowl replaces her tired expression.

“I don’t want to drink tonight, Russell. Besides, I know what you’re up to.”

I stiffen, my heart beating faster. Does she know?

“What do you mean?”

“You want me to get tipsy so you can crawl all over me.”

Tipsy is the tamest result if you drink this wine, honey.

“You make it sound like I’m trying to take advantage of you,” I say, even though she hit the nail on the head. “I’m your husband. Why does it matter if I hope our time together leads to more? For Christ’s sake, we haven’t had sex in six months!”

Andrea sneers. “Too bad you picked the wrong time to come begging for it. I’m going to bed. You can sleep on the couch. Good night.”

She leaves the living room and storms up the stairs, her heavy footfalls likely waking the others. I sink into the couch and set the glasses of wine on the coffee table. Looks like this four-day weekend at her sister’s lakeside home won’t bring our dead bedroom back to life like I hoped.

Cheryl’s German Shepherd, Bruno, relaxes on his bed in the corner. His head raised, he watches me. I scowl. What are you looking at? I get the feeling that the dog isn’t really looking at me. He’s seeing into my soul, judging me for the darkness lurking inside it.

“Man plans, and God laughs,” I say.

Bruno rests his chin on his paws, ignoring me.

I doubt the Big Guy Upstairs finds any hilarity in my wicked plans for my wife tonight, but I’m sure He agrees a marriage shouldn’t have an endless dry spell. Isn’t there a biblical rule that a spouse shouldn’t deprive sex from another?

Andrea and I used to have a great sex life, but we’re only intimate twice a year these days, no matter what I do. I romance her with dates and gifts, and in the rare times she lets me fuck her, I go above and beyond to give her pleasure and she seems to have fun. Yet, once we’re done, it’s another interminable wait before we make love again.

Lack of sex isn’t just bad for my marriage, it’s terrible for my morals too. It’s made me devious, desperate, and despicable. The longer I go without it, the greater my need for it, and that need has gotten perverse. Lately, I’ve been more aware of the alluring aspects of a beautiful young woman constantly in my presence: my sweet eighteen-year-old daughter, Sabrina. 

I pay more attention to my daughter’s breasts bouncing under her loose shirts as she walks around the house. My gaze lingers on her plump, perfect ass whenever she bends over to grab something from the fridge or off the floor. Often, when she smiles at me or calls me Daddy like she always do, dirty images of her pretty pink lips wrapped around my cock flashes through my mind. 

Every time I take care of myself, I fantasize about doing disgusting things to my little girl. These thoughts probably already condemned my soul to the deepest pits of hell.

A few days ago, I had drinks with an old college friend who offered me salvation. Marcus is a chemist who works at a pharmaceutical company. His team created an anaesthetic that doubles as an alternative to physical restraints for psychiatric patients and prison inmates. However, Marcus stole company resources to make an oral form of the drug for his personal use.

“These babies guarantee a good time,” Marcus had said with a smug grin. “Once these are in play, women can’t resist you. Literally.”

Marcus explained how the tablets worked, bragging how often he used them. There wasn’t an ounce of guilt or shame on the bastard’s face as he confessed his extremely unethical and illegal activity either. As a father, it horrified me what Marcus was doing to other people’s daughters, and a part of me wanted to call the police on the spot.

But when he offered me some of the tablets, instead of telling him to keep them to himself, I accepted without hesitation. In that split second, the tablets were the solution to my problem. I could fuck my wife whenever I wanted, whether she wanted me or not.

Unless she refuses the damn drink.

I can’t give Andrea that glass of wine another time because it’ll be flat. If I mix it with a fresh pour later, she’ll deny it again. She already assumes if I offer her alcohol, I’m scheming to get sex. I don’t know how long the drug is effective after dissolution either.

No more mistakes. Marcus only gave me three tablets as a sample. If I want more, I’ll have to pay an arm and a leg for it. He also said alcohol was the best solvent as it enhanced the drug, but any drink will work. I’ll be smarter next time and put it in a cup of tea.

Pissed off that my wife denied me sex and demanded I sleep on the couch, I pick up the remote control and stab the on button. The TV floods the dark room with light. I flip through channels, finally settling on a police procedural rerun.

Footsteps coming down the stairs make me and Bruno perk up. Sabrina appears some moments later.

“Hey, Daddy,” she greets.

“Hey, sweetheart. I thought you were already asleep.”

She makes a face. “I can’t and I don’t know why.”

“Maybe it’s because you’re in an unfamiliar bed,” I say.

She nods. “Yeah, that’s probably the reason.”

Her gaze shifts to Bruno and she goes to him. After tucking some of her dark, wavy hair behind her ear, she squats to pet the dog’s head. Her sleep shorts ride higher, revealing more of her smooth thighs. Jesus. I’m so starved, I would give anything to caress that part of her with my hands and my mouth.

She stands and faces me. I quickly return my gaze to the TV and reach for the safe wine glass, taking a big gulp of the dark red liquid. Sabrina comes over and sits on the couch beside me. She points at the other wine glass on the coffee table, amusement in her brown eyes.

“Are you going to drink that one too?”

“No. That was for your mother but she didn’t want it.”

“Well, no sense in wasting it.”

Before I can say a word, my daughter picks up the glass of wine I laced with a paralytic drug and takes a sip.