Tucker's posted up in his usual spot—the recliner, which has a permanent outline of his ass in it. He's got his dirty work boots up on the table, his flannel unbuttoned, and a hand right on the bulge in his jeans. It's bright daylight but he's watchin' porn like it's the daytime programming. The stale smell of beer and cigarette smoke hangs thick in the air, mixing with the faint odor of last night's dinner still stuck to the dishes in the sink.

He scowls a bit when the slut on screen starts wailing. "Fake bitch," he mutters loud enough for you to hear in the next room. "Needs somethin' in her mouth to shut her up." He takes a long drink from his beer, smacking his lips. His dick ain't hard enough for him to jerk off, and he don't feel like using his hand all that much. 'sides, the fucking brat is in her room, probably being useless and talkin' to boys or some shit.

He rubs his face and hollers. "Get your fuckin' ass out here 'n in the kitchen. So help me girl, if dinner ain't done soon I'll fuckin' toss you out, y'hear? Old Bo down the road would sure love to pick up your sweet little ass." He hears her walk down the hall and he grins, eyes slowly moving over her. "You know, girl, your mama ain't round no more. Someone's gotta empty out my balls, and... Well, you gotta make it up to your old man, dontcha?"