Sparks By Fire

FUCKED BY MY FATHER IN-LAW

I’ve always loved these family camping trips, or at least that’s what I tell myself to survive them. The crisp night air in the woods, the crackle of the fire, the stars peeking through the canopy like distant promises, it’s supposed to be relaxing. But tonight, as I sit on a log surrounded by Fidelis’s family, the tension coils in my gut like a snake ready to strike.

Fidelis, my husband of five years, lounges beside me, his arm slung casually over my shoulders. He’s not a bad man, not really—just average. Soft around the edges, quick to laugh, but even quicker in bed. The kind of guy who thinks missionary with the lights off is adventurous.

We’ve been trying for kids for years, and every failed test strips away a little more of his patience, turning it into resentment he tries to hide but can’t.

Across the fire sits my father in-law Victor, Fidelis’s father. God, where do I even start with him? At 52, he’s a force of nature—tall, broad-shouldered, with salt-and-pepper hair that falls just right over his forehead, and a jawline that could cut glass.

He’s built like he spends his days hauling logs or wrestling bears, muscles rippling under his faded flannel shirt every time he moves. His eyes, deep brown and piercing, always seem to find mine across the flames, holding a secret promise that makes my thighs clench.

Unlike Fidelis, Victor exudes raw masculinity. He’s the kind of man who commands a room, or a forest without saying a word. Divorced for a decade, he runs the family construction business with an iron fist, and I’ve overheard enough stories from Fidelis to know he’s no stranger to taking what he wants.

Women flock to him, but he brushes them off like lint. Except when he looks at me. Those glances linger, heavy with intent, making me wonder if he knows how often I fantasize about him pinning me down and fucking me senseless.

The family chatters around us. Fidelis’s sister, Maria, is here with her husband and their two kids, who are roasting marshmallows and giggling about ghost stories. Victor’s brother, Uncle Tom, cracks jokes about the fish that got away earlier today, his belly laugh echoing into the night. I join in, forcing a smile as I sip my hot chocolate, the warmth doing little to ease the chill of dissatisfaction that’s settled in my bones.

“Remember that time we camped by the lake, and Fidelis fell in trying to catch a frog?” Maria teases, poking her brother in the ribs. Everyone erupts in laughter, including me. Fidelis grins sheepishly, pulling me closer.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. At least I tried. Unlike some people who just sit around complaining,” he shoots back playfully at Maria. The banter flows easily, the fire popping and sending sparks skyward. For a moment, it’s nice—normal. But then Victor chimes in, his deep voice rumbling like thunder.

“Ah, kids these days. Back in my time, we didn’t have fancy tents or air mattresses. We roughed it. Built character.” He winks at me as he says it, and I feel a flush creep up my neck. God, that wink. It’s like he knows exactly how to make my pulse race.

Fidelis nods enthusiastically. “Dad’s right. Toughens you up. Speaking of which, Wendy here could use a bit of that toughness.” He says it lightly, but there’s an edge. The laughter dies down a notch, and I feel eyes on me.

“What do you mean?” I ask, keeping my tone even, though my stomach twists.

He shrugs, poking at the fire with a stick. “Oh, nothing. Just… we’ve been married five years, and still no kids. Maybe if you weren’t so… I don’t know, useless in that department, we’d have a family by now. Barren as a desert, right?” He chuckles, like it’s a joke, but the words land like a slap. Maria gasps softly, Uncle Tom shifts uncomfortably, and the kids go quiet. Victor’s eyes narrow, but he says nothing.

Useless. Barren. The words echo in my head, igniting a fire hotter than the one in front of us. Tears prick my eyes, but I blink them back. I’ve heard variations of this before, in private arguments, whispered disappointments, but never in front of the family. It’s humiliating. Rage surges through me, and I stand abruptly, shrugging off Fidelis’s arm.

“Excuse me,” I mutter, my voice tight. “I need some air.”

“Wendy, come on, I was just kidding,” Fidelis calls after me, but I don’t stop.

I storm away from the circle of light, deeper into the woods, the underbrush crunching under my feet. The sounds of the family fade behind me—the laughter resuming awkwardly, someone changing the subject. Good. Let them pretend everything’s fine.

I find a secluded spot by a cluster of trees, far enough that the fire is just a distant glow, but close enough that I can hear faint voices if I strain. My hands shake as I pull a cigarette from my pocket, a habit I hide from Fidelis, who hates it. I light up, inhaling deeply, the smoke curling into the night air. It calms me a little, but not enough.

The anger simmers, mixing with the ever-present ache between my legs. Fidelis’s words replay: useless, barren. Fuck him. If only he knew how fertile my fantasies are, how often I imagine Victor bending me over, filling me with the kind of passion his son could never muster.

The thought sends a spark straight to my core. I lean against a tree, the bark rough against my back, and glance around. No one’s nearby. The cigarette dangles from my lips as I hike up my skirt with one hand, my fingers slipping under my panties. I’m already wet just thinking about Victor does that to me. I close my eyes, inhaling smoke, and picture him: those strong hands gripping my hips, his mouth on my neck, whispering filthy things as he thrusts deep.

My fingers circle my clit slowly at first, building the pressure. God, yes. I imagine his broad chest pressing against me, his cock—thick, veined, unyielding—stretching me wide. Unlike Fidelis’s fumbling attempts, Victor would know exactly how to make me scream.

I dip a finger inside myself, moaning softly around the cigarette. The risk of being caught only heightens it, Fidelis could wake up, wander out here. But right now, all I care about is the fantasy. My eyes flutter shut, hips rocking against my hand, smoke trailing from my lips as I chase release.