Dweeb Ch. 08 - Resolution

The moment she woke up, Suzanne Pomeroy knew that her dreams had not really been dreams at all. Touching her tender pussy, ever so lightly, she felt a delightful electric spark race through her fingers clear to her armpit and then into her chest. Her slit was thickly slick, her breasts were tacky with a sweaty patina and, in her mouth, a pungent essence invaded behind her tonsils. The evidence comprehensively confirmed that she had not imagined her dad surprising her in her shower, or fucking her in her bed afterward.

Smiling as she mentally recaptured the wonderful sensations that her father's fat hard-on had stirred in her body, the eighteen-year-old raised her sticky fingers to her lips and sucked them clean. Her fresh saliva reconstituted the semen residue drying in her cheek pockets and carried its delicious musky taste to the back of her throat. She clutched her free hand to her left breast and thought excitedly, "Yes, Daddy! Yes, I'll be your best girl! The best ever, you'll see!"

Suzanne rolled naked from her rumpled sheets and retrieved a Theodore Roosevelt High School Rough Riders sweatsuit from her bureau. As she scuffed into L. L. Bean heelless fleece slippers, she tapped her phone and noted its display showed four-thirty. Holding the sweats to her chest, she peeked through her Venetian blinds into the bright Saturday afternoon and saw her own gray Honda, parked with its nose up against the double garage doors. Other than that, the driveway below was empty.

Confidant that she was again alone in the house, Suzanne turned from the window with a soft sigh then walked unhurriedly along the upstairs hall from her room to the bath one door down. Setting her clothes down on the nearby closed hamper, she plopped a fresh folded towel from the cupboard above it onto the pile, turned on the shower and stepped through the frosted glass slider into the spray. Her initial shock quickly morphed into satisfying comfort as the briskly cold water warmed to her desired temperature. She soaped a cloth and languorously cleansed herself while the gentle spray soothed away her muscles' recently acquired aches.

With bubbly white lather flowing down her lithe body to the shower drain, Suzanne mused aloud, as if Edgar were back in the cubicle with her, "Daddy, you were sweet to ask if I was on The Pill... and so funny, too, to suggest that I could 'get fatter than I want' if we made a baby..." Suddenly, she dropped the washrag, slapped her sudsy hands against her cheeks with astonishment and cried out, "Oh my GOSH!" Swiftly shutting off the taps, she exited the stall and stood dripping on the bathmat in front of the fogged mirror over the sink.

Panic-stricken that, in her rush to get to cheerleader practice that morning, she might have forgotten to take her progestin with her orange juice, Suzanne opened the drawer where she kept her twenty-eight-day DialPak. Sure enough, the Day Fifteen pill was still where it wasn't supposed to be. "Darn! Darn! Darn!" She exclaimed with exasperation. Wiping the steam from the glass, she chastised her reflection, "The first time in four years that you don't take The Pill on time like you're supposed to, and it has to be today, of all days!"

Calming herself down with long measured breaths, Suzanne remembered what she learned in her Sex Education class about how progestin worked daily to prevent ovulation and, if it was interrupted, her body would try to correct itself immediately. Thus, even a single missed day, and especially one in the middle of the four-week series, could allow a fertile egg to float down one of her Fallopian tubes. She was also pretty sure that the teacher had advised, "If you forget to take one, take it as soon as possible after you discover the mistake and get back on your original schedule." What she was unsure about, was whether she wanted to follow that advice.

Suzanne chewed her lips while she recalled her instant first thought when her dad mentioned the possibility of pregnancy. She stared at her nude self, frowned and asked aloud, "Didn't I say 'would that be so terrible?' How better could I prove to Daddy that I'm his best girl?" Lowering her hands, she cradled her toned flat belly and continued, "If we haven't started a baby yet, maybe we will soon." Then, she decisively shut the drawer on her DialPak and grinned as she declared, "Your Buttercup's ready to be filled up, Daddy!"

Suzanne pulled on her sweatsuit pieces, pulled her Swedish-blonde hair into two long loose ponytails behind her ears, then gargled away the cum-taste in her throat and put on her favorite shell-pink pearly lip gloss. With her mouth minty-fresh and kiss-ably cute again, she returned to her room to tidy up all evidence of her afternoon delight with her father. As she collected her previously discarded clothes and tidied her bedding, a lyric couplet from Leonard Bernstein's West Side Story popped into her head:

"Tonight, tonight

There's only you tonight..."

Suzanne couldn't remember the rest of the song and didn't care. Inhaling deeply, then letting out a long slow sigh, she laid down on her newly made bed and plotted various ways to fuck her dad without her mother knowing. She would have been pleased to know that he was occupied with the self-same thoughts as he drove to the Polish deli to get the kielbasa for tonight's dinner. And her mind would certainly have been eased, had she known that her mom, in her own way, was actively working on the same conundrum.

In the CVS parking lot, walking to her Dodge Caravan, Bernice Pomeroy was pleased that she had so easily subjugated her daughter's eighteen-year-old ex-boyfriend. After tucking her newly filled birth control pill prescription into her purse beside the ten Durex Prolong condoms remaining from her Friday night purchase, she pressed her key fob and remotely opened the mini-van. As she started her engine, she thought, "Getting the supplies for protection was simple. The challenge will be keeping the stud on his leash." Then, grinning into her rearview mirror, she laughed aloud, "It's no trouble making him come, once I decide where and when I need him."

Just as Bernice parked the gold van beside Suzanne's Civic and set the handbrake, Edgar Pomeroy rumbled his big Ram 2500 up the drive behind her. He always debated with himself whether he should block his wife's, or daughter's, car, then inevitably, under the assumption that his daughter was more likely to want to go somewhere on the spur of the moment, he would square up behind the Caravan. Climbing down from his Crew Cab, he held up the butcher-wrapped sausages and called out, "Got your kielbasa right here, Bunny!"

Bernice looked over her shoulder as she closed her driver's-side door and replied, "Thanks, Sweetie!" Indulging herself with a flashing memory of Butch Carlson's cock pulsing on her tongue, she mused silently, "I don't think you do, Eddie, but don't worry... there's no supply problem anymore." Following up, she continued aloud, "Bring it on into the kitchen, I'll be there in a jiffy to start the potatoes."

Upstairs, Bernice knocked on Suzanne's doorjamb and said through the closed bedroom door, "Suzie, Sweetie! Dinner in forty... Could you set the table and pour the water, please?" Not wanting to hear any negative groans, she turned promptly and headed for the master bedroom. At the bathroom, however, she was distracted by the mess she saw through the open door. Clucking exasperatingly, she gathered the damp towels from the counter and floor, then tossed them into the nearly full hamper, thinking, "Four towels! Really, Suzie? Maybe it's time that you did the laundry!"

Meanwhile, in her room, Suzanne chirped, "Sure, Mom! Be right down!" She already had decided that it would be in her own best interest to be more cooperative and less selfish about little household chores. "No sense giving Mom reasons to get on me," she thought slyly. "It might get in the way of me getting on Daddy!"

Twenty minutes later, Suzanne walked through the arch from the dining room to the kitchen and crossed its multi-color confetti-flecked yellow linoleum. As she passed Bernice, she said, "The table's set, Mom." Then, while she reached into a cupboard for water glasses, she complimented, "The sausages smell great and the cream sauce looks perfect. Can't wait to get at it!"

"Thanks, Sweetie," Bernice answered. Turning her head from the pot that she was stirring, she saw her daughter momentarily stretched in profile and instantly noted there was no bra band visible behind her sand-color sweatshirt. The otherwise loose-fitting pants clung close to her tight round bottom and further revealed no evidence of underwear there, either. She frowned, but for the sake of domestic peace, only commented, "You're dressed pretty casually, this evening..."

Suzanne set the third empty tumbler on the counter by the sink and pivoted toward the refrigerator. "Yeah," she answered in a flat matter-of-fact tone. "Today was a real workout. Lots of new moves. My shower was really great, but I didn't feel like getting clothes-crazy just to sit home." She looked herself over and shot her mother her best disarming grin as she concluded, "I hoped you wouldn't mind. Do you want me to go up and change?"

Bernice sighed and replied, "No, that's okay, Suzie. I saw the how you left the bathroom and figured that you'd had a strenuous day."

Suzanne avoided her mom's eyes and said into the open freezer, "Yeah. 'Strenuous' is exactly the word." Returning to the counter with an ice tray, she twisted it sharply to pop the cubes and changed the subject as she chunked the ice into the glasses. "All my friends' parents have 'fridges with automatic ice-makers and water dispensers built in. How come we haven't gotten one yet?"

Just then Edgar Pomeroy came into the room. Appreciating his rear-angle view of his grown-up little girl's fit athletic body as she shook the cubes from the tray, he thought of another reason not to replace the trusty old white enamel Hotpoint. He coughed and answered, "Just because it's an older model doesn't mean it's outlived its use." Thinking of his dick, but pointing to the refrigerator and, then, the ice-tray, he asked, rhetorically, "It met your needs, didn't it?"

Suzanne couldn't help blushing as the double-entendre struck home and was glad her face couldn't be seen by either parent. "Umm, yeah," she admitted. "You're right, Daddy. When you put it like that, I guess I don't mind that it's old."

"That's very sensible, Sweetie," Bernice praised. Oddly, but unwittingly, on the same wave-length as her husband and daughter, though with a completely different interpretation, she thought, "The key is whether it meets the need." Moving the pot from the stove to a serving dish on the kitchen table, she advised, "It's all ready. Pour our water, Suzie, and let's go eat!"

As dinner ended, Suzanne suggested, "Netflix is streaming 'Star Wars: The Last Jedi'. Can I watch that on the big TV? I mean, would it bother you guys?"

Edgar quickly agreed, "It's alright with me. In fact, I wouldn't mind seeing it, myself."

Bernice shook her head doubtfully while she asked, "Didn't we already see that? At the AMC just last year?"

"Yeah, Mom, but it's way cool," defended Suzanne.

Bernice shrugged and replied, "Well, I do remember there were some interesting scenes. Give me some time to scrape the dishes and start them in the dishwasher before you load up the movie, okay?"

Suzanne excitedly exclaimed, "Sure, Mom! Dad can handle the set-up while I help you clear the table. We'll all have a great time!"

When his wife and daughter disappeared into the kitchen with the first round of used plates and tableware, Edgar went upstairs to the master bathroom. Opening a drawer filled with miscellany, he rummaged in the hodge-podge until he found a bottle with some old Valium tablets left over from a prescription Dr. Mann had given him a year ago when he had a bout of insomnia. Quickly, he wrapped two five-milligram tablets in a Kleenex, then used a cold cream jar as a pestle and pulverized them before stuffing the tissue in his pants pocket. Back in the living room, he tuned the wall-mounted Samsung screen to Netflix, then moved over to the wet bar.

While he was still alone, Edgar dumped the Valium crumbs in a stainless-steel cocktail shaker and poured a full shot of Cinzano sweet vermouth over them. Adding a double dash of Angostura bitters to the mix, he topped it with three ounces of Canadian Club whiskey, then stirred it rapidly with a long-handled cocktail spoon. As he watched the diazepam melt and then dissolve into the alcohol, he hummed The Eurythmics' tune, 'Sweet Dreams'. Adding ice, he vigorously re-stirred the concoction while the old song's refrain's first two lines looped in his mind:

"Sweet dreams are made of this

Who am I to disagree?"

Just then Suzanne and Bernice entered the living room. Edgar grabbed a chilled cocktail glass from the mini-fridge and strained the doctored heavy Manhattan into it as he greeted his wife, "Here's a relaxer for my Bunny." Then, nodding to his daughter he asked, "What would you like, Suzie?"

Bernice's long busy day was catching up with her and she had been debating bypassing her usual after-dinner drink, but when she saw it was already made, she smiled gratefully. Taking it, she dunked its cherry garnish by the stem, then twisted in in her mouth as she sucked the booze from the fruit before crushing its pulp to her palate. "Mmmm, scrumptious," she replied. Then, apparently not noticing either the extra volume in the glass, or the unbalanced whiskey-to-vermouth ratio, she took a long slow draw and chased the Maraschino down her throat, saying, "And that's tasty, too! Thanks, Ed."

Suzanne watched as her mother enjoyed her libation, then answered for herself, "Ginger ale, please, Daddy." While Edgar reached for a cold Canada Dry, she bounced to the windows and closed all the drapes to darken the room for their movie night. He poured two fingers of Canadian Club over ice into an old fashion glass, topped it with the ginger ale, then emptied the can into another ice-filled short tumbler. By the time he finished, Bernice was ensconced in an armchair and her drained drink sat on a coaster on the glass-topped pecan-and-cane end table beside her.

Edgar called to her, "Do you want me to build you another, Bunny?"

Bernice waved her hand limply in the air and declined, "No, thanks. I'm actually kind of pooped. Fair warning: I may not make it all the way through the movie!" She laughed weakly and pointed to a Pendleton wool lap blanket folded up on a nearby hearth seat as she added, "If you see me asleep, just throw that robe over me and leave me be."

Suzanne plunked herself down on the loveseat's left cushion and crossed her fingers while she crossed her legs into a half-lotus. Popping her hand on the cushion beside her, she said, "Sit here with me, Daddy." As Edgar brought their drinks, she winked broadly at him, pressed 'Play' on the remote, and added, "Don't forget to turn the lights out, so it'll be just like in a theater."

While the THX logo flashed on the screen in front of them, Suzanne rocked forward on her knees and pushed her soda onto a coaster on the coffee-table in front of her. Then, taking her father's CC-and-Ginger from his hand, she stole a sip of it as she put his drink beside hers. Settling back against the settee, she pivoted on her butt and softly ran her left hand up his near leg to mid-thigh while she snaked her right arm behind his back. The rumbling Bose surround-sound masked her words as she buzzed in his ear, "Let's save those. I'm sure we'll be thirsty later... you know, after Mom's asleep."

Worried for the unwanted attention that her antics might attract from Bernice, Edgar pushed Suzanne as far to the left as the crowded little loveseat allowed and hissed, "Behave!"

From five feet away, over John Williams' opening Main Title music, his wife said, "Hush up over there and settle down! It's starting. Don't make me call the manager!" She laughed to show that she was joking, then scrunched down into her armchair's depth. A warm fuzziness began to seep from all corners in her mind. Inhaling, then letting out, a long slow breath, she surrendered to her oncoming high.

On the settee, Suzanne was obediently quiet but disobediently impatient. As soon as she saw her mother's silhouette slump, she unfolded her legs and returned her attention to her dad's body. This time, however, as she curled into an 'S' and cuddled up close to his chest, her left hand didn't stop at mid-thigh, but cruised straight to his crotch. Pressing her palm's heel firmly against his bulging package, she croaked softly, "Hi there! Remember me? You're 'best girl'?"

Edgar bit back an emerging moan as he dropped his right hand from the armrest to his lap and fumbled open his belt buckle. At the same time, he draped his left arm along Suzanne's side and rubbed her soft thick sweatpants' jersey cloth over her otherwise bare haunch. She purred and pulled his fly's zipper to the end of its track then, reaching in, tugged his growing joint out from its confined space. As his cock rose through his blue-and-white-checked boxers' vent, he lifted his right hand to her head and quietly pushed her face to meet his meat.

Suzanne happily yielded to the pressure on her scalp and closed her full pink-glossed lips around her new favorite marshmallow. Edgar backtracked his left hand to her elasticized waistband, then drove under it and traced his curving fingers over her ass crack until his longest tip dipped into her puckered sphincter. She snorted her surprise then pushed her bottom up against the visitor while she tongue-teased his sensitive frenulum. He involuntarily lurched his hips and grazed his glans on her hard palate from her gums to her glottis.

Fighting not to choke or make noise, Suzanne relaxed her throat and took Edgar's length until her dimpled chin rested on his zipper's metal teeth. He grabbed a hank of her nearest pale ponytail and pulled her to his stalk's top before thrusting once more past her gag reflex. She clawed her left hand in his pants between his thighs and fished for his eggs. Meanwhile, he wiggled his marching middle digit into her rear halfway to the second knuckle.

Edgar couldn't believe how exciting it was to mouth-fuck his little girl with his wife only a few feet away and possibly still aware enough that she might catch him in flagrante delicto. He was sure that his dick had never been this hard or that he had ever had such a powerful urge to cum a gallon. He bucked his butt on the seat cushion as much as he dared while he held Suzanne sealed to his cock with one hand and aggressively reamed her rectum with the other. She squirmed like a hooked trout, but didn't seem to want to escape her fate.

In fact, Suzanne was also thrilled to be double-drilled by her dad while her mom sat in shadows close by; ignorant of her daughter's theft. With Edgar's nuts well in hand, she scratched her nails against his boner's base while she sucked madly around the upper section. His penis' central under vein pulsed strongly against her tongue while its fat velvet knob tickled behind her tonsils. Clenching her thighs, she squeezed her cunt lips onto themselves as the dervish in her ass brought on her orgasm only moments before a thick hot seed fountain threatened to drown her.

Edgar arched his back against the loveseat and threw back his head. As his semen flooded into Suzanne's throat, he wanted to crow his exultation, but he checked the impulse and gritted his teeth. "Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!" He perseverated with silent anguished ecstasy as shivering electric jolts ran from his balls to his brain.

In his lap, Suzanne had no choice but to swallow the first powerful cum injections, but as they diminished in strength, volume and time, she eagerly sucked to coax more. At last, when her own crisis had calmed completely, the log on her tongue lay limply inactive. Edgar relaxed his cramped bowler's grip on her head and pulled his probing hand out from her sweatpants. Freed from her restraints, she wriggled up and kissed him, then said hoarsely, "Now, I'm ready for my ginger ale and the rest of the movie. How about you, Daddy?"