The roar of the garbage truck echoed through the bedroom walls. Still sleepy, Annie nudged her husband’s calf with her foot under the covers. “Daddy,” she grumbled. “Trash day.”
He grunted in response. Too tired to argue, she cradled her head into his chest, letting her hand wander (as it customarily did) toward his cock.
“Daddy, there’s something on your cock,” she murmured, unconcerned.
“Yes, pumpkin,” his voice had risen half an octave. “Let her finish,” he continued, “then she can put the trash on the sidewalk on her way out.”