"Can't the - hic - two - hic - of you - hic - fuck - hic - keep quiet?"
I whirled around, surprised at the sound of my wife's voice. It had been over an hour since she had retreated into our bedroom, carrying a bottle of rum, and I had been sure that she was dead asleep before coming here. My wife stood silhouetted against the dim corridor, a bottle in her hand. She leaned against the doorway, her untied robe sashaying about, her stout form almost filling the doorway, hair all tousled, and waving her hands in an unsteady fashion.
I said nothing.
Beneath me, squirming her torso without letting my shriveling cock slide out of her, my daughter leaned sideways to see the sorry sight of her drunken mother. For a second, I felt her muscles tense - and the quiver of her pussy as it continued to massage my cock seemed to revive an erection that had ebbed the moment I had realized who it was who had interrupted us.
"A woman - hic - can't even - hic - shet shome deshent shleep - hic - without - hic?"
"Go back to sleep, Mom. Sorry we woke you up." Even as she said this to her mother as sweetly as was possible with a straight face, my daughter started to knead my ass-cheeks, restarting at a slow pace our interrupted fuck. I nodded at my wife.
Although she was far too unfocused to see my nod, my wife seemed to answer with a nod, only to lose her balance when she moved her head, and almost fell down. Still leaning on the doorframe, she took a large sip from her bottle, said something that sounded vaguely like "Good night" and turned on her heels. For a few seconds, in the stillness, we could hear the sound of her feet shuffling unsteadily across the hallway.
"God," my daughter exclaimed, bursting out into loud peals of laughter, "THAT takes the cake."
I laughed along with my daughter, all the tension forgotten. Both of us knew the risk we were taking about getting caught, but to get caught and be let off like this had never even figured in our most optimistic dreams. I reached over her head and switched on the lights - the room instantly became as bright as day, causing my daughter to squint as she wrapped her hands around my neck and drew me to her breast...
Everything had been bright and rosy in my life for close to two decades in my life, since that day in high school when I had laid eyes on a beautiful senior of mine, Rosie. We hit it off almost immediately, and lost our virginity together - she was a year senior, but that hadn't translated into sexual experience - within six months. Even if that moment hadn't produced Suzie, our only daughter, I am sure we would have married each other one day. The moment she said she was pregnant, I asked her to marry me.
The honeymoon was postponed twice, once for the exams, and then when it was time for Suzie to join us. By that time, there was no more need of a honeymoon, and Rosie fit well into a triple role of student, wife and mother, earning a scholarship at the same college that I won a sports scholarship. Suffice to say that both of us made the best of our education to get good, decent jobs that we were content with.
The long period of happiness was however marred by a greater, shorter period of sadness, when Rosie had an accident while she was carrying our second child. At the expense of having any more children, I had a healthy Rosie back, and I couldn't have asked for anything more.
So it was that we started to spoil our only child, Suzie. She did not grow up into a brat, though, inheriting her mother's brains as well as her beauty. The only thing she seemed to inherit from me was my sense of humor and - although it was evident only later - my love for sex. The three of us were very close.
By the time Suzie was ten, I had resigned from my job and taken up painting. Rosie would often model for me, and I have to admit that few pictures of her in the flesh were ever completed, for obvious reasons. Rosie, meanwhile, was steadily rising in her career at Wall Street, and the few paintings of mine that were completed - mostly modern art - fetched enough for her not to feel the pinch of being the sole bread-winner for the family.
It was shortly after Suzie's fourteenth birthday, when I had come down to my parents' place for a weekend visit, when our idyllic peace was shattered. Three men broke into our apartment to rob us - they ended up raping my wife and sodomizing our little girl.
For what solace it offered, the cops hunted down all three, but it had scarred all of us.
Then began the period of therapy. Even I needed to see a therapist to get over my guilt of not being there for my family when they needed me most; but Rosie and Suzie pulled through, and it seemed as if, a year later, nothing had happened. Suzie regained her place at the top of her class, and Rosie seemed to be bringing home bonuses every other month.
It was two years since the rape, almost to the day, when Rosie was fired from her job. For a while, she seemed to brush it off, and we decided to move down to my parents' farm, a far cry from the maddening city. It was there that I realized how dependent my wife had become on alcohol to carry on with her daily activities.
My gravest mistake at that point was to assume that this was only a temporary binge and that my wife would get over her addiction. It was a picturesque location, and since we had only a little garden that we considered our farm, the rest of it having been sold out, my hectic schedule involved little more than painting and ferreting a very beautiful and vivacious almost-seventeen-year-old girl to and from her school. Unfortunately, as you noticed, it did not leave time for being by my wife's side. I just assumed that she would ask for me if she needed me.
By the time either Suzie or I realized the extent of her mother's drinking problem, it was too late to do anything on our own. We tried Alcoholics Anonymous too, and I even pretended to be an alcoholic at AA myself so as to provide moral support to my wife, but none of it worked.
When we moved into the city for a few weeks, her drinking became even worse. We returned to the farm.
It is to Suzie's infinite credit that she displayed maturity beyond her years in taking over from her mother. Her meals were even more wonderful than Rosie's, a combination of both her mother's and her grandmothers' instructions, and she proved to be a wonderful housekeeper. God knows where she found the time to pick up after her mother, join me at the garden and the workshop, cook, clean, laundry and keep her grades up. I know only that she did all this, and without ever complaining to me even once about it.
Suzie was about the only thing in my life which held me back from the depths of frustration. Although my daughter was a wonderful companion who would listen to me for hours, or just sit silently as I tried to capture the scenery, I missed my wife terribly. Rosie, who was still alive, was coherent, at best, for two hours a day, but they were never enough, for that time was spent in going to the nearest pub and back to stock up. Neither Suzie nor I could stop her from hoarding our cellar with liquor.
For a long time, Suzie and I cared for her, tolerated her. Suzie had never even spoken out against her, whereas I admit I was starting to lose my tolerance for Rosie. All that ended on Suzie's eighteenth birthday.
The party was well under way at our house, with Suzie looking absolutely magnificent in her emerald-blue gown that accentuated her curves and firm breasts and flaming hair, matching the color of her eyes, and the pearl necklace that hung from her neck could not draw any attention away from her sexy cleavage. With her heels, she was almost as tall as I, and with her smile, she paled everything else in beauty. Her presence that night was electric.
Rosie had promised me that she would stay sober at least on the occasion of our daughter's birthday, a promise that I knew she had violated as soon as she showed up just as Suzie was about to cut the cake - so preoccupied had I been with the arrangements that I hadn't even realized that she had visited the pub again. Sensing trouble, I moved closer to her, trying to steer her away from the crowd and into her room, but she pushed me away.
For a second, it looked as if she just wanted to wish Suzie for the occasion. A collective gasp went up from the crowd when Rosie just puked all over the birthday cake.
Suzie tried to keep a straight face, but the tear that flowed down her right cheek was obvious. She watched numbly as her mother dropped the bottle on the dinner table, sending plates to the floor, before hiking her skirt all the way up to her waist and peeing into the large bowl of punch.
A few minutes later, Suzie and I managed to escort a struggling Rosie into her room. Suzie was on the verge of breaking down, and it must have taken her enormous will-power to keep her emotions under control. I was seething with rage, and if it hadn't been for Suzie, I might have just slapped some hard sense into my wife.
As soon as we entered the room, I flung my wife rather roughly on the bed. Suzie let go of her mother limply before breaking down. I turned around to find her crying, her eyes red and swollen, and pulled her into a hug.
"Why, dad, why?" she kept asking. As I couldn't answer, I did the only thing I could - I continued hugging her.
Rosie pulled herself up and puked all over my daughter's gown, before going a step further and grabbing a strap of the dress. Before either of us could react, she tugged at the thin material, tearing it. The rip went all the way down to the slit at her waist, a part of the dress in Rosie's hand, the remaining hanging on Suzie by a single shoulder-strap.
.... There is more of this story ...