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!"
