Chapter 2

I started to work the first thing Sunday morning. With the amount of beer Tom drank the night before, I knew it'd be some time before he dragged himself out of bed. I had a lot to do before my birthday on Saturday.

The first thing I did was switch the regular and decaf coffee. Tom's a coffee drinker, and I didn't need him overstimulated. After I made a pot, I rearranged my room. My bedroom was right across from his, so I put up a full-length mirror so he could see into my room, and, more importantly, I'd have a direct view of his bed.

Then I fixed my door. That was simple. I knew that if it wasn't closed, it would swing open, so I got the top of it wet and when it dried the wood swelled up so it wouldn't fit the door jamb. After Tom went to work on Monday, I'd fix his, too. Then I put on a sheer white blouse and my thinnest skirt and waited for Tom to arise.

Around noon, Tom lumbered into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee, then staggered into the living room, which I'd kept darkened by leaving the shades drawn. He was still wearing the pajamas he had on the night before and I could see the faint stain on his shorts from his ejaculation last night. I was sitting across the sofa with a book in my lap. I pulled my knees slightly up so he could see, if he looked hard enough, that I wasn't wearing panties. Even in his hungover state, he noticed right away. His bloodshot eyes were riveted to my crotch.

I slid my legs down and smiled up at him. "Good morning," I said, "or is it afternoon? How're you feeling?"

"Ask me tomorrow," he grumbled. "I think my head is about to fall off."

"I know what you need," I offered, "Did you take any aspirin?"

"Uh-uh. You know I hardly ever take pills."

"Let me get you some. Then I'll make you something to eat. Do you want breakfast or lunch?"

"I'd better have lunch," he said. "I don't think I could even look at an egg."

This couldn't have been better. I went to his bathroom, got a washcloth and some water and soaked down the top of his bedroom door. Then I went to the medicine cabinet. Sure enough, Margaret's tranquilizers were still there. I took a handful and wrapped all but two in a piece of tissue paper. I got the aspirin, dropped the tissue pack in my bedroom and went back through the living room into the kitchen. I put the two tranquilizers behind the toaster and got a glass of water.

"Here you go," I said as I came back to the living room. I bent over him to give him the aspirin and water, practically pushing my breasts into his face. The blouse was perfect; my stiff nipples were clearly outlined by the flimsy, practically see-through material.

His eyes lingered on my chest before looking up at my face. "Thank you. You're wonderful," he said. I looked down. It was working like a charm. There was a growing bulge in his shorts.

We sat and watched movies on TV all that day. I waited on him hand and foot, being sure to show off my body at every opportunity. In the late afternoon I told him that since he hadn't gotten dressed that day, I wanted to be comfortable, too, so I went to my bedroom and changed into the skimpiest nightgown I owned.

As I started out of my bedroom, I caught a glimpse of myself. My breasts were clearly visible and I could see every hair on my pussy. I realized that if I went out like this I'd go too far, so I put on a bra and a pair of red panties. That was better because it looked ever sexier, but didn't look as obvious. When I walked back to the living room the effect was immediate. If I kept on like this, he probably wouldn't even last until Saturday.

We had a late dinner. I made sandwiches. I crushed up the two tranquilizers I'd hidden earlier and put them into the mayo on his bread. As we ate, I mentioned in passing that I had an appointment the next day with the school psychologist.

"What for?", Tom asked.

"Oh, I think it's something everybody has to do. You got to admit, though, that my home life ain't exactly normal, living with an older man and all." I grinned.

"Not exactly the typical high-schooler's lifestyle, eh?", Tom said.

"Actually, it wouldn't surprise me if it didn't happen more often than we think," I replied. I smiled and stared deep into his eyes.

Tom pulled his eyes away and stared down at his sandwich. "Well," he said, clearing his throat, "if you need anything from me, let me know. But you know that, right?"

"Yes... I do." I said quietly.

We finished the sandwiches, then sat down to watch another movie. About a hour after dinner, Tom started fading.

"I think I'm going to bed," he said, his voice getting thick.

"This early? But the movie's not over yet. Why don't you just lie down here on the sofa?"

"Uh, yeah... I guess..."

"Good." I got up and let him lay down. "Is that comfortable?"

"Mm-hmm." He was already almost out. It was too early. I had to remember to dose him later in the evening. I didn't feel good about drugging him, but it was the only way I could keep him from masturbating after keeping him hot all day.

Right after he passed out, I sat on the floor in front of the sofa and, being sure not to wake him, pulled his cock from his shorts, put in my mouth and began sucking. It grew in my mouth, but before it became hard enough for him to ejaculate I stopped and put it back. If I had my way, by Saturday he'd have enough sperm in him to impregnate a women's softball team.

Just to be safe, I decided to let Tom sleep on the sofa that night. While he was asleep, I checked the doors to the bedrooms, and, sure enough, there was no way they'd close. Then I sat in the chair next to the sofa and stared at his tenting shorts while I fantasized about his cock inside me. I fondled myself to orgasm four or five times before I fell asleep.

The next morning I was awake before he was. I waited to wake him until he'd have only enough time to shower and shave before he had to go to get to work on time. When he went to his room to change, I heard him curse softly as he found that the door wouldn't close. I made him coffee, and he gulped it down, then grabbed his briefcase and kissed me on the cheek.

"Oh," he said, stopping suddenly. "Sorry. Habit, I guess."

"Don't be sorry," I replied, "it was nice."

I went to school, but I was much too excited to keep my mind on schoolwork, so I skipped my last two classes. I got home and started thinking about what I was going to wear that night. I hoped I didn't wear out my most enticing outfits too early, but I really didn't have to worry, because I knew that guys usually didn't notice if you wore the same outfit twice in the same week. I decided tonight to wear a tight tank-top and a thin but loose pair of shorts, without panties or a bra, of course. I started dinner and made tranquilizer-laced Jell-O for dessert.

He got home and it was pretty much a normal night, the first one we'd really had since the kids left. Except that I kept on sliding my bottom around on the sofa so that the crotch of my shorts would slip to the side, giving Tom a open view of my damp pussy lips. When he went to his bedroom to change, he was so hot he was sweating. I quietly followed behind and went to my room. I sat on the bed and slyly glanced at the mirror so I could see what he was doing, turning my head so he couldn't tell I was watching him. I picked up the phone and waited.

Sure enough, he was sitting on the bed in his pajamas and was rubbing his crotch. I started loudly talking into the phone as if I was talking to one of my girlfriends. He saw me in the mirror's reflection, quickly pulled his hand away from himself and, sighing, got up and started to the living room, his cock clearly sticking up under his shorts.

Before he moved out of the range of the mirror, I turned my back to the mirror and removed my shorts so he got a shot of my full bottom. I think I heard him moan. I changed into the same outfit I did Sunday night, except I wore a pair of sheer light panties so that the dark hair on my pussy was faintly visible.

When I entered the living room, he moaned again.

"What's the matter?", I asked.

"Uh, nothing," he lied, "it's this show. It's sad."

"What," I said, "something's sad on 'Murphy Brown'?

"No, uh, I mean, uh," he stuttered, "it's so predictable, you know?"

"Yes." I smiled. "I know. What're you reading?"

He had a magazine in his lap that didn't quite lay flat. He looked down at it. "Oh, just an article about the deficit."

I went to take it. "Can I see it?"

The magazine twitched in his lap. "No," he said, grabbing it, "not until I'm done with it."

"Okay, fine. Be that way." I said, feigning a sulk. I plopped down on the sofa and crossed my legs under me. He sighed yet again.

"I went to see that psychologist today," I said. "She wants to see me again tomorrow."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I just started talking and talking and the time was up and still didn't say everything I wanted to."

Tom looked concerned. "What'd you talk about? Is there something bothering you?"

"Not really. At least I didn't think so, but we started talking about what happened just before I moved here. I never told you my mom's boyfriend tried to rape me, did I?"

"No, but I thought that was why you were upset."

I reached over to him to touch his arm, purposely leaning so my loose top gapped open. His eyes went right where I wanted them. "And you took such good care of me then. And I'm going to make it up to you. Let me get you dessert."

I got up and brushed in front of him, practically pushing my ass in his face. When I brought the Jell-O, I gave it to him from behind his chair, and I brushed my breast against his shoulder. He jumped. "I'm sorry," I said. "Did I scare you?"

"N-no," he said. "W-Well, yeah. A bit."

"I'm really sorry," I said, breathing the words into his neck.

"T-that's okay. Really." His breathing was getting really shallow.

He was never going to make it until Saturday.

After about an hour, just like the night before, Tom started getting groggy in his chair. When his eyes started fluttering closed, I told him he shouldn't sleep in the living room two nights in a row and he ought to go to bed.

"Mm-hmm," he replied.

"C'mon, sleepyhead," I said and, pulling his arms, helped him out of the chair. We wobbled down the hallway to his bedroom, his hands on my shoulders as I walked backwards, guiding him. His cock stuck straight out under his shorts, and I was really tempted to press myself against it, but I didn't want to chance waking him.

"Dunno why... so tired... ," he mumbled as he hit his bed. I pulled the covers over him and kissed him on the cheek.

"Habit," I said.

"S'okay... s'nice...", he mumbled just before he started to snore.

The rest of the week went pretty much the same way. I'd tease him mercilessly, then drug him. Near the end of the week, he was in a state of perpetual arousal. He had a bulge in his pants even before he walked in from work. I don't know how he even made it through work, though he told me later that he thought he was getting some pretty suggestive looks from the girls at the office.

I made sure he didn't have either the time or the opportunity to relieve himself. The only close call I had was on Thursday night. I guess I'd gone too far. I decided to wear a a different nightgown, one that wasn't so see-through so I could get away with not wearing a bra, but was so low-cut that all I'd have to do is move a bit and my nipples would show.

I'd insisted we watch a movie on the cable channel and I sat crossed-legged on the floor in front of his chair. I'd chosen the movie because I knew there was a really hot sex scene in it. When it came up, I leaned back against his legs, parting them so my head was almost resting in his lap. When he looked down, he had a perfect view of my quivering breasts and my stiff nipples. I'd pulled my gown up, put my hand between my legs and was fingering my pussy.

I guess when he saw that, he'd had too much. He pushed me forward and practically ran into the bathroom, slamming the door. I had to think fast. He wasn't about to dump all my hard work into the toilet. I went to the kitchen and flung my arm across the counter. Some pots and plastic glasses fell off, making an unholy racket. Then I dropped to the floor and started crying, "Ow! Owww!"

As easy as that. He came right out of the bathroom, oblivious to the fact that his cock was practically poking out of his shorts, ran into the kitchen and kneeled down in front of me. "Are you hurt?", he asked, breathless. "What happened?"

"I slipped on something," I cried, "and fell on my side. I think I'm okay." I moved my leg. "Ooh," I yelped.

He took my leg, one hand on my ankle, the other on my thigh. I stifled a gasp. He bent my leg at the knee. "Does that hurt?"

"No," I replied. "I don't think anything's broken, but I think I bruised my side." I pulled my nightgown up over my hip and flashed my bare bottom at him. "Does it look bruised?"

He started shaking. "Hh-uh, N-no," he gasped, "it looks f-fine." His fingers on my leg began to twitch.

"Good," I said. It's already feeling better. Here, help me up. I was getting us some ice cream." It was definitely time for dessert.

The rest of the evening went fine. By this time, when I led his drugged body into the bedroom, he held onto my hips for support, and his stiff cock brushed up against me. By the time we reached his bed, he'd have his hands cupping my ass and his rigid pole pressing hard against my belly. Either he was really out of it, or he'd stopped fighting the inevitable altogether. When I got him to his bed, though, he put up no resistance when I reluctantly pulled his hands from my body.

The crisis came on Friday. He called and said he was going to be late coming home. After work he was going to Dooley's for happy hour with a couple of co-workers. A female voice in the background told him to tell me not to wait up.

I cursed my stupidity. A suitable amount of time had passed since Margaret's death, and Tom was handsome enough. Of course, there'd be plenty of women who'd want him. As horny as Tom was, all a girl would have to do it look in his general direction, and he'd jump her. Damn it, after I worked so hard to prime the pump, I wasn't going to let some barren old slut suck it dry.

I put on a pair of loose-fitting jeans and a baggy T-shirt, put my hair in a ponytail and went down to Dooley's. I figured if I acted like a spoiled adolescent and make a nuisance of myself, I could drive away anyone who'd "take Daddy's attention from me". It would probably set me back in Tom's eyes quite a bit, but I'd just have to work harder tonight and tomorrow. Better that than losing him completely.

When I walked in, a man at the front door asked me what I wanted. I said I was looking for my daddy. He said that he'd be my daddy if I wanted. I guess I didn't look as young as I'd hoped. Or, maybe I did. I told him he was a pervert and to get lost.

As my eyes got accustomed to the dim light, I started looking for Tom. I finally found him in one of the darker corners, sitting at a table with some bleach-blonde bimbo. It looked like I was too late. They were clenched in a lip-lock and Tom had a fistful of tit while the woman kneaded away in his lap. That clueless cunt was going to pull him off! She had no idea what kind of a hair trigger he was on.

I resigned myself to the fact that no matter how I went about breaking it up, I was going to look bad, but I had to do something. Otherwise, this little bitch was going to end up in Tom's bed instead of me. Possibly forever.

As I started toward them, Tom's hand dropped to the table with a thud and as Miss Peroxide came up for air, Tom's head lolled backwards. He was asleep!

"Daddy?" I said.

"You Mister Sleepwalker's kid?", the bimbo snapped. "You better take him home. I feel sorry for a guy who can't hold his liquor. Jeeze, one beer and he passes out." She got up and straightened her skirt. "At least," she continued, looking down at his crotch, "I know I can arouse the dead. Too bad I couldn't keep the rest of him interested. Good luck getting him home, kid. I got other fish to fry." With that, she wiggled off to the bar.

I had the waitress get him a cup of coffee, then I woke him and made him drink it. He fell asleep again as I drove us home, too. Obviously, I'd given him too much of the tranquilizers. I only hoped he'd be alert tomorrow for my birthday.

When we got home, the first thing he said was, "Man, I'm beat. I'm going to bed." It wasn't even seven o'clock. It was much too early for him to be asleep. He might wake up too early, and throw off my schedule. Worse, he might masturbate while I wasn't looking.

"No you're not," I scolded, "You're going to eat something. That's why you're so tired. You sit in your chair, and I'll make you a sandwich."

When I came back with sandwiches and coffee (the real stuff, not decaf), he was snoozing. I looked at his pants, and the bulge was gone. It was the first time in days he didn't have an erection. I hoped I hadn't broken him. One way or another, though, I'd fix it.

I shook him awake. "Here," I said, "wake up and eat this. You'll feel better. Besides, there's good stuff on TV tonight."

"That's all I ever do anymore," he sighed, "sit around and watch TV."

"Tomorrow you're taking me out for my birthday, remember? There's a lot of stuff I want to do, so you might as well rest now because tomorrow I'm going to suck you dry." I smiled, knowing just how dry I would suck him.

Since I couldn't resort to the pills if he got over-stimulated, I went easy on him. The only overt move I made was when we went to our rooms to change. I positioned myself in front of the mirror and, being sure he was watching, I undressed as slowly and as seductively as I dared.

First I pulled the T-shirt over my head, letting the fabric slide slowly over my breasts, then I unzipped my jeans and wriggled my hips to let them fall to the floor. While I stepped out of them, I undid the hooks of my bra and slowly let that slip off of me. I rubbed under each of my breasts, moving my hands up to caress my nipples, then I slid my palms down all my sides to my hips and slipped my thumbs under the elastic of my panties. I slowly slipped them off, lifting my legs to be sure the mirror reflected a good view of my lower lips. Then I sat on the bed facing the mirror and, closing my eyes, spread my legs and rubbed my pussy a bit before reaching over and slipping on the longest, thickest flannel nightgown I owned.