Possibly my slowest Phil Phantom tribute, in that there's less actual sex in this story which takes place over ten years than there are in others that take place over weeks or days. But it's one of my favorite 'types' of his story, where everyone knows where it's going but there's a slow, gradual progression, and when I had the particular idea I had to go with it.
Advance warning can be a funny thing. I had nearly a decade to get used to the idea that a much older man would be fucking my baby girl, but somehow it never quite prepared me for how it would actually be.
It started when Alice was nearly three. Nothing sexual started then, mind you--even he's not that perverted--but it was when he dropped the bombshell. We were sitting in the backyard, at the tail end of a barbecue we held for a few friends. Charlie, who was our neighbor at the time, invited himself. I hadn’t liked him, not since he moved in and he said, “Nice tits,” before “Hello.” Don't get me wrong, I appreciated the compliment, but the delivery offended me. His crudity that first meeting amused my husband, and so he never made an effort to be any less crude around me. Quite the opposite, often he'd say worse, like he was trying to piss me off.
Still, that day, he was sitting on a lawn chair beside me, and we were coexisting peacefully. The beers in our hands probably helped that. I had my little angel in my sights, of course, but had calmed down. All afternoon Alice was wandering around, practically a bundle of energy, running all over the yard, thankfully not screaming much, and I was just about tapped out from having to chase an overstimulated toddler all day. So now, I sat, and every so often, I would yell out an instruction to stay away from a certain area, but as long as she wasn't in any immediate danger, I needed some relaxation time. Pick your battles, as they say, especially if you don't have help. That's what grandparents are for, but I wasn't as lucky as others to have them on-hand at all times... both sets of our parents lived far enough away that inviting them for a casual party was more trouble than it was worth. And they would have cramped our style among friends.
I may have had a moment's rest, but that wasn't really the same as joining the party. Phil, my husband, was somewhere inside, playing pool with Suzanne, while her husband Bob snoozed off under the umbrella of the patio table, and our other guests had left already, so it was basically just the Charlie and I, if I wanted adult conversation. Which meant mostly we didn't talk.
Finally, Charlie did speak up, stood up at the same time. “Well, I should be going.”
“Goodbye,” I said simply. I didn’t like him, but my husband did, so I still tried to be polite for his sake.
“Thank you for the invitation.”
There was no invitation, not from me, in fact there was a request to my husband not to invite him, but that didn’t stop him from showing up. “Goodbye,” I said again.
Just then, my angel ran past, and Charlie bent down, scooped her up into his arms, and stood again. “And it was nice seeing you again, too, cutey.” Back her hair was a short mousy brown and if she wasn't in a girl's sun dress you might mistake her for a boy... but Charlie certainly hadn't, even if he didn't let on.
I stood my weary bones up then, almost by instinct... sensing that he was some kind of danger, even if I never consciously thought about what. I simply pulled my giggling child away from him and held her against me. “Come here baby.”
I guess I hurt Charlie’s feelings, yanking her away like that. “No need to be rude,” he said. “I wasn’t going to hurt her. I’d never hurt Alice.” Then he spoke the words that would change my life, and turn the next decade into a slow countdown. “After all, ten years from now, she’ll be the mother of my children.”
Alice was two, so in ten years she’d be twelve. There was no missing that... in my eyes, the guy basically just admitted to being a pedophile, right in front of me.
I stood there, open-mouthed, as--like what he said was nothing unusual--he stepped into the house for a moment to say goodbye to my husband, and then left. I was still standing there a minute later.
Of course I told my husband about it, but only after stewing about it for the evening. Finally, before bed, he asked me again what was wrong, and I felt up to telling him. "You know what that son-of-a-bitch did?"
"Which son of which bitch? I know a lot of bitches with sons, you're going to have to narrow it down." Ha-fucking-ha.
"Charlie," I said. Really, I spat the name like it was a bad taste. "That son-of-a-bitch."
"What, did he try to grope you again?"
"No. Actually, yes, he did, but you know all about that. He's done it in front of you enough times and if you're not going to say anything, I'm not going to bother you with the details." Phil'd seen unsubtle gropes on my clothed boobs, wasn't quite aware that I'd let Charlie rub suntan lotion on me when I needed some relaxation time, where he gave my ass a good grope before asking me to turn over and spreading a lot of suntan lotion on areas that weren't exposed to the sun on account of still being covered by a swimsuit or, being a finger's depth inside my body. I didn't like him any more than we first met, but my courtesy could extend that far.
"Then what's the big deal?"
"The big deal is that that... man... suggested that in ten years, he would be raping our little angel."
His eyes widened. "He actually said that? That he'd rape Alice?"
"No, his exact words were that in ten years, she'd be the mother of his children. Ten years. She'd only be twelve."
I could tell by the way he relaxed that Phil was ready to blow it off, and that's just what he did. "Oh, he was probably joking. And Charlie's never been good at math, he probably figured Alice would be 16 or 17 by that time."
"As if that makes it better."
"Look, don't worry about it. What are the odds that we'll both still be living here in ten years anyway?"
Pretty good, as it turned out, but at the time I thought he had a point. Still, I was disgusted enough that I kept stewing slowly, thinking back on it, gradually whipping myself up into a motherly rage. It was still brewing the next day, in fact. I woke up in a good mood, but mid-morning I remembered what he'd said and, rolling the words around in my head, I couldn't get them out. I tried masturbating... a good cum always relaxes me when I'm getting worked up about something, but I couldn't finish... it's hard to masturbate when you've got a two-year-old running around. But I kept hearing those words, and finally I found myself pacing, thinking what I should say to him the next time I saw him, and then convincing myself I shouldn't wait, I should go give him a piece of my mind right then.
I couldn't--not then--but I could once I left Alice with a neighbor while I "ran out for a few minutes." That few minutes turned into an hour, and my rant at Charlie turned into him leaving me an exhausted, cum-filled wreck on his couch.
I guess I should explain that a little, even if I don't completely understand how it happened myself. Or didn't at the time, at least, although now I've started to put some pieces together. I'm a passionate person--it runs in the family--and I guess it's easier to turn one type of passion into another than you'd think. I was there yelling at Charlie, calling him every foul name in the book, threatened that if he ever touched my daughter I'd tear his balls off, and suddenly, his balls were in my hand. Not just his balls, but his cock, too, and he had a huge cock, fascinatingly huge, more impressive in length than thickness, although above average in both. Once I had it in my hands, I had to stroke it a little, test it out, I was half-convinced it was a fake that would come away with a slight tug. Well, tug tug tug, and the only thing that came free was the clasp on my bra... quite a trick, that. Charlie'd leaned over me and did that while I was distracted with the piece of meat in my hands.
Pretty soon his strong hands were all over me, too, and he was pulling off my clothes along the way, and I let him, which violated a rule I'd held despite the liberties I allowed with his massages, because then I only let him touch behind a swimsuit but never actually see any of my married, naked body, which seemed like a reasonable boundary at the time, but he'd pushed through that boundary just like he'd pushed through the last. Now I was letting him strip me and stare and feel me up as he did, so I held onto my last shred of dignity by looking away and just passively accepting his fingers, his eyes. Well, he did have nice fingers, so that was easy to do, but he must not have liked my looking away, because when they stopped feeling me up one hand went to my face, pulled it back towards him so I couldn't help but look in his eyes, and then closer, towards his mouth, and this crude neighbor, this man who was not my husband, he kissed me, sticking his tongue deep inside my mouth, and I let it in.
This wouldn't have happened if my husband came with me, I remember thinking, and suddenly, I was mad again, but mad at my husband. He really should have been there, should have marched over here that first night, instead of taking it all casually when molestation of his daughter was involved. Maybe he was right and Charlie didn't really know what he was implying, but Phil had a responsibility not only as a husband to back me up but as a father to make absolutely sure. So, I decided my revenge on Charlie could wait until he did something more than a vague threat about what he might do ten years in the future, and I'd take revenge on my husband with a little infidelity. I'd never cheated before, not officially cheated, nothing with tongue-kissing or penis-penetration, the only things that counted in my book, but this seemed like a great time to start.
An hour later, I walked out of his home on unsteady feet, officially a cheater in anybody's book, streams of fuck running down my legs. I'm sure there were nosy neighbors who saw, if not the cum, then the way I tugged my skirt down like a woman who'd just been fucked and hastily put on her clothes--which I was--but I didn't care. I wasn't thinking about the neighbors, much, I was thinking about the last thing Charlie said to me, after he'd pulled out of my asshole (I was leaking from two holes, but the ass was most recent).
Actually the last thing he'd said was, "But, until then, get out." But just before that, that rude, crude, vulgar man with a cock just as vulgar as he was, grabbed me by the cheek before my rectum had a chance to reclose, and with a shove to my face that was rough without hurting, pushed me onto his nearby couch. As I struggled to regain my physical balance and get upright, and my mental balance after he'd switched from passionate though rough lover to callous brute, he said, "I hope you didn't leave your daughter unsupervised. You'd best be getting back, because I'm depending on you to raise her right. In ten years, that girl is going to be the mother of my children, after all." And then he bent over me, leaned in close, close enough to kiss, and said, "And if you've got a problem with that, then you can come over tomorrow and yell at me some more."
Picking up Alice was mortifying, more because I was sure Suzanne had seen me coming out of Charlie's house with that 'fucked hard' look, but she didn't say anything, just gave me a smug smile that turned into a huge one when my daughter ran up and hugged my legs and gave me a hello kiss that was cute in other contexts but with what had been running down those legs was downright obscene, obscene-squared when she pulled away and licked her lips in the way kids do. Obscene to me, but to my red-faced chagrin, Suzanne turned away and looked like she was barely suppressing laughter.
At least she let me use her bathroom, where I cleaned up what I could before returning home with my daughter.
It was a lapse, but it wasn't a one-time one. I sweated that first day... Phil and Charlie were friends, and it would have been just like Charlie to tell my husband he'd fucked me, but I had no sign my husband was aware of my infidelity... and somehow when you get away with something once, it instills in you an urge to try again. By the time the first 24 hours had passed, I was certain I'd be going back to see Charlie again, to fuck him, to cheat once more. I think it's because I knew I was wrong, and I wanted to get caught and punished, but it had to be a fair catch. My husband had to find out rather than me confessing. Just letting it be a one-time thing would be like letting me get away with it so, for my conscience's sake, I had to keep cheating. That's what I told myself, anyway, while working up the courage to go back to see Charlie again, which, despite my decision, took a while to actually happen.
The next day I just rubbed my kitty on and off all day, thinking about the possibility of doing so. The day after, I finally tried... but he was out. Charlie, for a man who didn't have a job I was aware of, was remarkably busy. But I came back the next day, knocked on his door, and when he came out, shouted at him and told him what a disgusting pervert he was, that I didn't want anything to do with him, and before I could say anything else he threw me on the bed. He'd picked me up over his shoulder when the word 'disgusting' left my lips. For the next hour after being slammed on the bed, I had nothing negative to say about him, but my lips were often pretty busy with other things.
So that was how my affair started. Not just cheating, which you might do once or twice, but when you know you're doing it over and over again with the same man, I guess you officially have to call it an affair. I don't know if this is the case for other cheaters, but an affair put an excitement back into my life I could hardly believe I was capable of. I'd say it was a sexual reawakening, but when I looked back to my life before I'm not sure I ever was awake, just sleepwalking. Sex with Phil was nice, sometimes. He's competent, attentive. I don't mean to disparage him. But sex with Charlie blew my mind, left me feeling exhausted, used, like a new person. Anal was always a no-go area before, but with Charlie I was an anal slut, and more, discovered kinks for submission and degradation and being covered in cum. I still hated the taste of it, always had, but even that I'd compromise and get off on being forced to endure him... although I mostly preferred when he squirted on my face. Even my glasses got more cum on them than a glory hole floor. I spent more on cleaning and hair products than I ever imagined possible, especially considering how much also went inside me.
Lots did. I never insisted on condoms or asked him to pull out. Maybe I should have, but after Alice was born the doctor said I couldn't have kids anymore. And part of the thrill was letting a man cum wherever he wanted, like it was his right, like he had commandeered my body for his pleasure and I just had to take it, and take the pleasure that came along with it. You have no idea how exciting that can be. I certainly hadn't, not before I was in the middle of it, until literally every other part of my life seemed to be only pretend, marking time, between the two poles reality had narrowed down to... being a good mother who's looking out for her daughter, and being Charlie's on-demand slut.
The two were not, as I might have initially expected, mutually incompatible, though I had some guilt about trying to navigate around them. Gone, for the moment, were the worries about what Charlie said. He was a crude, disgusting pervert, but I loved that about him now, loved what he could do to me with that perverted nature, and thought I understood why he kept saying such outrageous things. Yes, he kept saying the same kind of shit that got me pissed at him the first time. "In ten years, she's going to be the mother of my children." Or related observations that should have raised any mother's hackles, or eyebrows if nothing else, like when he said he hoped Alice took after me when she started growing boobs, because he liked them 'small but pert'... or, sometimes when I was gagging on his cock, making ugly noises, he said something like, "Shit if little Alice ever gets this good at blowjobs I might forget to dump my load into her baby-maker where it belongs."
Awful, disgusting, but in the moment... a huge turn-on. And that's what I understood about our relationship, that he was saying this provocative shit to get a reaction out of me, to get me angry and turned on. It was our thing. For the first few months, our sexual encounters still usually started with some variation on "In ten years, she's gong to be the mother of my children," or my taking offence at that. It was a ritual, rendered safe and meaningless by repetition.
I even wound up relaxing my rules about letting him anywhere near my daughter. There was day care, and friends who might watch her, but I needed Charlie, or needed to be available for him, more often than I could reasonably get parenting help. So, sometimes, I brought Alice when I went to Charlie's place to get fucked, sometimes I called him over when Phil was out at work and Alice was at home. I was white-knuckling it, the first few times, but he was friendly and polite to her and that was all. Alice was still one of my two poles, so I made damn sure to be on my guard, but Charlie was a perfect gentlemen in a way I didn't want him to be when he was with me. He never gave even a hint of actually being interested in touching her inappropriately, outside of dirty talk to start us off. Back then, that is.
I was in over my head. I see that now in retrospect, but I was addicted to him and willing to make excuses as long as I could tell myself it was just a game. Which didn't mean I wasn't being a bad mother in many ways. I can't tell you the number of times Alice must have heard us fucking. Almost never watched, that first year, though I always had a monitor on her (I might be a horrible mother but I'm not a negligent one) and sometimes if she made a fuss I'd rush out in a robe and she might see some of the aftermath of fucking if a glob of cum dripped out of me and onto the floor beside one of her toys. Or she might see if Charlie came out of the bedroom sporting a hard-on to come drag me back to bed, but that was incidental, occasional, distant. One time he did more, got a little more in Alice's face, but that was my fault, I had cum all over my glasses when I heard her crying 'moooom' and I since I can't really see well without them I tripped on my way to get to her, and Charlie came out to help me to my feet, and stood, fully nude, not a foot away from the front of my child while he cleaned my glasses for me, and by the time he was done, he was hard. At least, that's what he said, I couldn't really see, but he didn't seem to have touched her, just let her see a lot more than a little girl should have of male anatomy. Even there, I don't think she understood what she saw.
What she heard, though... well, she probably didn't understand that, either, but it was much more frequent, and I really dropped the ball there. I'd just hoped she was sat safely in front of a television or in a playpen, busy with her own childish interests while I explored a very adult one, but you can only shut out sound so much, especially if you need to keep an ear open in case your kid got into trouble. That was the price of having a lover, I thought, when you're a young hot mom... your kid might overhear. I told myself she would never understand that the sounds--moaning, squealing, rough slapping of slick skin against skin--or what they all meant, and probably even believed it. Back then it might have been true, for the most part.
And anyway, after a while I started using a gag. I was never that into bondage stuff before Charlie, had to get one special ordered, but, sometimes as a parent you know you have to make changes. Especially after your little now three-year-old angel tells her dad, "Oh fuck yes don't you dare fucking stop" when he was pouring syrup on her waffles for breakfast and proved she was at least picking something up she could repeat, although luckily Phil thought it was from other kids at daycare.
I was firm after that, though, Charlie had to keep his dirty talk to a soft whisper, and since I obviously couldn't control myself, I wore a gag, which he seemed to like anyway. I guess I liked it too, but that wasn't the first bit of kink he exposed me to and it certainly wasn't going to be the last.
Phil seemed to have no idea what was going on, but in the neighborhood it was kind of an open secret and although I started out wanting to get caught--that's why I was so open--before long I regretted how brazen I was. I began dreading the day someone decided to take pity on my husband and tell him what his wife was up to while he worked. Because when he did, either it would mean a divorce, or it would mean I'd have to promise to end it and keep it ended, and I didn't really want either option. I just wanted to be a happy housewife who was for the first time in her life thoroughly sexually satisfied. And if the neighborhood knew and disapproved, they could at least keep it to themselves.
Not all disapproved... I started to enjoy gossiping about it with some of my Mom friends, at least about the sex. None knew about the ongoing game Charlie and I had about Alice and her future destiny, but I would talk--brag even--about some of the stuff Charlie and I would do in my marital bed, the things my husband cherished that I would use to spice things up during or clean up after. That's a great stress reliever, by the way, if you ever get an occasionally-annoying husband. It was incredibly calming to remember that I sat on the pillow he sleeps on at night while cum dripped out of my pussy, or used his favorite shirt to wipe my face, or shoved his stupid bowling trophy up my ass to get Charlie hard enough for another round before he got home. Probably good for our marriage, too.
The stories I told were probably embellished, of course, to cover for the stuff I was leaving out, but I did start enjoying the persona I was creating of a cruel cuckolding bitch. The truth was that it wasn't really about Phil at all. Sure I was often angry at him and I blamed him for getting me into this (after all, if he'd just yelled at Charlie when I first brought up what he said, well, his ass might have been sore once instead of mine on a regular basis)... but I wasn't getting that much of a charge of the cheating itself. It added an extra spice to the sex, but it was a spice I could leave. If the worst happened and Phil left me, but I kept having great sex with Charlie as a single mom, I knew I'd be okay with that.
The weird perverted game Charlie and I were playing around my daughter, though? That, I'm ashamed to say, did get my heart pumping a lot more. These comments about Alice's future weren't always a ritual before, to get us started, sometimes we skipped right to fucking and he might say something about it right in the middle, at a perfect moment to get me to cum, or right after, like a joke. But it was still a game, I told myself, and like any game, whatever emotions it stirs up aren't really anything to worry about. Just like the dumb games Phil plays during his work downtime, just because he murders people all the time in those, I have no fear that he'd ever hurt me. In the same way, as exciting as it was to hear Charlie talk like that, to sometimes imagine he wasn't joking, as long as it was just a game, it was okay. I was still a mostly good mother, first and foremost.
Until the first time I started to think maybe it wasn't a game, not for Charlie, and my two poles came into direct conflict.
That happened on what seemed like an ordinary evening. Alice wasn't there, and Phil was at an overnight conference at work, and so I called Charlie over for a rare evening session. He brought some beers and a pizza, and we enjoyed that and watched some Netflix in my marital bed and rode his cock while he slapped my ass. In retrospect, it was much more date-like than most of our encounters. Maybe that was why he tried it, although it was probably just that it was right time.
During the fuck he did one of his usual oblique comments about Alice, saying something about how that was one thing I had over her, my taste, since we were watching one of the superhero movies he liked... which isn't the most adult material but I don't expect much sophistication from Charlie. Then he added that he wasn't looking forward to fucking my daughter while she watched some tween shit.
Again, just dirty talk to get my motor running, and in this case, working two ways, not just the deliciously naughty--but just pretend, I was sure--idea of him fucking my daughter and telling me he was going to do it, but also inspiring me to make it good for him, show my worth, squeeze his cock and ride like I assumed--even when she was twelve--my daughter would have no idea how to do well, all winding up in a fabulous orgasm.
After, I lay on his chest a while, then got up to go to the bathroom, and he said, "Where is Alice, anyway? Her bedtime already?"
It would have been, were she there, but she wasn't and so I couldn't even be sure of that. "At her grandparents," I explained. Sometimes they let her stay up late and I felt like a hypocrite for complaining about that with the stuff I let Charlie get away with. Or sometimes encouraged, as I did now, hoping his cock would twitch to life as I jokingly said, "As if you care."
That was when he said it, almost what I was baiting out of him, but also so different. "Of course I care," he said. "I want to be sure she's safe. After all... in nine years, she's going to be the mother of my children."
One number can make so much difference. I stared at him, stunned, although he didn't seem like he thought what he'd said was any big deal... almost as though it was an accident, a slip of the tongue. But I did some quick math in my head. It was almost a year since the first time he fucked me in his house, after that pool party that so enraged me.
Almost was key. If it was exactly a year, or just over, I might have told myself, "Oh, this was a fucked up way to announce the anniversary of our affair," and just rolled with it. Even found it sweet. But it wasn't, the actual anniversary of that backyard party was still over a month away.
Nor was it her birthday, which was a couple months into the affair, one of my first big slips, in a couple of ways. I'd told Charlie it was coming, not really an invitation, though of course I knew Phil would invite him if I didn't, but I was in his bed, just talking after sex, mentioned that I needed to buy a cake. "Buying a cake? You're telling me you're not going to bake a cake for your daughter? The future mother of my children?" He slapped my side playfully, and as usual back then, I called him disgusting, hoping he'd prove how my disgust certainly wasn't enough to refuse his cock. Instead he retorted with, "But at least I know how to bake." News to me. "Come on, we'll get some ingredients, and I'll help."
The ingredients consisted of a store bought cake mix, where you just add a few household supplies almost everyone has, which looked easy enough, and Charlie's help was mostly moral support and a lot of touching. He had to keep his hands clean for that, so I guess I couldn't blame him for not helping. But it got him into my house, while Alice was there, which may have been what he wanted, even if he didn't do anything to her directly. Three-year-olds can walk, of course, and are almost always underfoot, and although I made sure she was distracted with a favorite game on her tablet before we started, while I was mixing the batter, she did toddle out to see Charlie standing beside me, thrusting up against me. Almost certainly didn't see his cock, probably wouldn't have understood it if she did, but she did see a pretty aggressive slapping together of our bodies, said, "Mama?" with a quizzical look.
"We're just doing paddy cake." I said, thinking quickly. "To make your cake." And for a three-year-old, that was enough of an explanation, and she listened when I sent her back to the living room. Maybe listened after, too, to the moans I was making, as I said, I tended to be loud, although after realizing how close we were to getting caught, I did my best to reign it in... this was before the gag, I thought I was good at controlling myself. Still, after a few more thrusts, I turned, squatted down, and took him in my mouth to finish, although he pulled out too early and splooged on my face. I leaned into it at the time, still finding that a powerfully erotic act, and considering I wasn't able to cum I was still fucking horny and touching myself, but immediately after I pushed him away and told him to get out. I was angry at him, but more at myself for being so sloppy.
No excuse for the next part, either, except that, after Charlie started back to his house, I had the wooden spoon in my hand as I wiped my face to try and clear the obvious damage. I realized I'd gotten Charlie's cum on the spoon (also partly mixed batter on my face, but that was less of a concern), then, at that point of arousal where you do stupid things, said 'fuck it' and mixed what I could scrape off my face directly into the bowl. Cum wasn't going to hurt her, my daughter'd already tasted some, once, and, in ten years (I told myself with that kind of gallows humor that I can only get away with in my head), she'll be taking it inside of her anyway.
Baking with cum is not a good idea, by the way. Both for the guilt of what you've done when the horniness fades, but beyond that, it does something to the texture. Or maybe I'm just a shitty baker, even with a box mix, but it was bad enough that at the birthday party the next day, Phil commented on it. "Geez, where'd you get this cake, at the dollar store?"
"Hey, don't knock dollar store cakes," Charlie said, who was visiting at the birthday party. "I've given more than a few girlfriends a buck-cake and they've always been very appreciative." I'd told him about what I'd done, to get him turned on enough to fuck me in the free time we had alone before the party. God did that get him charged up, so now he was grinning like he was in on a private joke, although he avoided the cake. Alice though, she didn't seem to have any complaints, shovelled handfuls into her mouth because she wasn't great with a fork yet, but I think that was more the frosting than anything else. Put enough frosting on it and a kid will stick anything in their mouth.
Anyway, I distinctly remember that when I told Charlie what I'd done, he called me a naughty bitch, but then said, "Then again, in ten years when she's the mother of my children, she'll probably be swallowing a lot more of it." And yes, fucked me. But it was the words important here, which I remembered because it was almost the same thing I'd thought, and the number was still ten years despite her birthday. And for months after it was still 'ten years.'
So clearly, her birthday wasn't a trigger for the change.
It also wasn't close to his birthday or mine or any other event I could rationalize away as deserving a special change to the joke. It was just out of nowhere, bam, one year down, nine to go. Because of that I had a sinking feeling that whatever fantasy he had in his head that he'd shared with me, tried to infect me with, was deadly serious, and we'd just passed some milestone only he knew. That the outrageous words that I had come to rely on as a fun lovers ritual wasn't rote to him.
It was a countdown.
No matter how people might judge me for what I'd already done, or have done since, or for that matter plan to do in the future, know that, here, my motherly instincts won out. I can't even remember exactly what was said, I was incandescent with rage, but I vaguely recall him not backtracking, not trying to claim it was just a joke, and so I threw that bastard out and told him I didn't want to see him again and that if I caught him near my daughter I would call the police.
I'm not proud of a lot of my decisions over the last decade, but I can be proud of that night, when I gave up the best lover I'd ever had to protect my daughter from his interest in her. And if you'd ever been driven to orgasm with his cock inside of you, a gag in your mouth, and a hand around your neck with just enough force to make it exciting, you'd know how big a sacrifice that was. You'd be a very lucky girl to get that kind of experience once in a lifetime, much less regularly, over years. And I was willing to give it up for my family.
But god, I missed that cock. Missed having regular orgasms. By the end of the first week after he was forbidden from our house I was practically going into withdrawal. (I passed the 'No Charlie' order along to Phil as well, but without being willing to be specific about what happened Phil actually grew something of a backbone and said he wasn't going to just abandon his friend, which I was okay with as long as he hung our with him nowhere near our home or Alice... I figured if Charlie told him about our affair then, he had more to lose than I did).
Before too long I decided that there was no way back to being a non-cheating housewife once you've cheated, so why suffer? I started having affairs, trolling for cock on Tinder, going out on 'Girl's Night' which was an excuse to hit the bars and go home with some guy, and so on. I dated widely... sampled different races, tested whether married vs single men were more exciting, even tried a few (legal) high school boys for which I was a dream come true. None really lived up to Charlie, but quantity has a quality all its own, as they say, and variety is nice. Sometimes I'd drag someone into the house and take a malicious glee as I thought I saw the curtains move in Charlie's house, watching how quickly he was replaced.
Yeah, quite a few of them I did it at home, in Phil's bed. I tried to be better about it, for a while, but eventually I just felt like I needed that spice of danger, the thrill of being blatant and shameless and even cruel about my cheating, and so had them just come directly to the house, or bringing Alice along to their place as cover, watching videos in their living room while I got my heels pinned behind my head in the bedroom. Having a child with you is a perfect cheating alibi.
None of the men I was with confessed any lewd long term plans about my daughter Alice, at least on their own. Some I teased out of them, just baiting them with comments like, "I don't know how long I'll keep you around, I bet you'll cheat on me with my own daughter when she gets old enough" or "You realize you're closer to my daughter's age than to mine..." but most of them didn't pick up on that I wanted them to play along, not reassure me. One of the high schoolers caught on, a little, and when prompted about the youngest girl he'd fucked talked about his now fourteen-year-old cousin he'd ass-fucked every family event since she was twelve and he was fifteen (which, I suppose, made him seventeen, but I thought he was eighteen when we started fucking and that was all that mattered). To hear him tell it, he turned his cousin into a huge butt-slut... she loved it she kept bugging him for it every time they got together, even though he wanted to stop doing it because he was worried his uncle would catch him one of these days. I had to assume his story was a lie, though, because his ass-fucking didn't live up to expectations... he was just above average. Still, I appreciated the storytelling effort.
Despite being neighbors and him remaining a friend of my husband, I saw Charlie very infrequently and shot him sour looks every time. I knew that even if he had some jealousy when I brought somebody home, he wasn't exactly hurting for companionship either... I saw my friend Suzanne coming out of his place more than once--and that ended that friendship--but she wasn't the only one. I don't think I was the only one who had high school students over, either. Not often, and for all I know it could have been for completely innocent reasons, or not-so-innocent but not illegal. They were plausibly eighteen. I guess.
I could have called the cops on him for the ones that might not have been, I suppose. Thought about it. Would be one way to solve the problem, at least if I got lucky and they burst in on him fucking an underage girl. Alice would be safe.
Assuming he went away for it. If not, I knew she might be less safe, and I'd have to be tops on his list of suspects for who called them in, no matter how anonymously I tried it. We'd had a conversation once, about snitches, watching a mob film. Charlie thought they were the lowest of the low and needed to be taught lessons, and I didn't want to find out what lessons.
I'm justifying again, I think. I was then, trying to make excuses for the possibility that I wasn't ready to give up, that some day I might get back to Charlie, who I still considered something of a sexual soulmate, as ridiculous as that sounded, particularly considering my sexual soulmate seemed like he seriously wanted to impregnate my daughter. I had to stay away from him, for her sake.
I was a good girl about it too. Well, again, 'good girl' notwithstanding the wide variety of cocks I let into my family's home and every one of my adulterous holes, but with respect to Charlie, considering how much I still craved and missed him, I'd say I was a remarkably good girl.
For about two years.
I ran into Charlie at, of all places, the grocery store. There was a reason I was surprised that time--years earlier--he claimed to be able to bake (and I still have doubts about that to this day). I'd been to his house many times, and rarely did he have more than a jar of pickles in his fridge... at least in terms of food, since he often used the shelves for beer and other drinks. But that was one of the reasons I kept having him over at my place, since sex with him worked up quite an appetite and I knew I wouldn't find much there that satisfied anything but my pussy. He kept himself fed either by phone or freezer, relying on frozen, microwaveable food and take-out, and sure enough, the cart that pulled up beside me that day contained a few frozen microwave burritos and a six pack of beer.
I noticed it pulling up beside me first, didn't know who was pushing it... but I think I sensed it, smelled his pheromones, maybe, or maybe subconsciously saw him in a reflection somewhere, because my I noticed my nipples were already stiffening even before he said, "Haley."
It was so casual too, like we were neighbors just passing each other in the grocery store. Which we were, I guess, but there was so much more, and the way he said it was like neither our affair or the two years of no contact hadn't happened, that he saw me in the store, said hello in passing, like everything was good between us.
"Charlie," I said, and tried to put chilly disdain into my voice, to cut off the interaction, but somehow I was already slipping, already falling for his charm, his lack-of-giving-a-shit. That same casual disregard for how much I made it clear I despised him the last time I met must also have been what let him make such perverted plans for my daughter. I already had come to peace with how much that had turned me on.
"How've you been?" Again, like nothing happened. I just stared at him, trying to hold my resolve. "I'm not bad, myself. Have some more free time on my hands, since I got bored of Suzanne."
Was that a little bit of a hangdog look? Was that what sparked this, him sniffing around his ex (if we were ever a thing) because he was short one girl to fuck. I wanted to volunteer myself, knew I should kick him in the balls, compromised with a disdainful snort and said, "Probably she found out who you are."
"I'm not so bad," he insisted, then looked around. "Hey, how's Alice doing, anyway?"
He was doing so well, too, but he tripped over my hot button... my other hot button, I mean. "How dare you!" I whispered through gritted teeth. "I'm never going to let you hurt Alice."
"Hurt her? Who wants to hurt her?" he asked. "I'd never hurt Alice. After all, in seven years, she'd going to be the mother of my children."
He was exactly on schedule--or at least within the fuzzy range of my best guess at 'exactly' since I still didn't know when he scheduled the cutoff for dropping the countdown by one--but Alice was five, and five and seven make twelve. And Phil had suggested he couldn't do math.
"What the fuck is wrong with you? I could turn the police on you right now."
"For what? To tell them I'm going to do something they might not like in a few years? Haven't done anything yet. Less than you, anyway." He was probably right. I was the first one to expose my daughter to his cum, if accidentally. I brought her over to his place knowing what he'd said, and the reverse. That's what kept me silent, mostly. "And you were all right with me talking like this for the longest time. Frankly, I was really hurt when you suddenly did an about face."
"That was before I knew it was a fucking countdown."
"Smart thing to do would be reassured by that." I just stared at him, knowing that I was letting his easygoing confidence work its magic on me. "You know what I've got planned, and my timetable. Any of the other fuckheads you bring into that house, you don't know what they're going to do. Fuck, you don't even know what your own husband might do when you're not around. At least with me, I tell you up front what my plans are."
"I'll stop you."
"Maybe," he said with a shrug. "Personally, I'm hoping to to turn you by then, get you to hold your little girl's legs apart while I put a baby in her." What was wrong with me that him telling me that made my knees want to buckle? "I guess we'll find out. It's up to you whether we have a lot of fun in the next few years before we do find out, or we don't."
"Seven years," I repeated.
He shrugged, which should have been a red flag. "More or less. If you're afraid that you can't hold out more than a couple years without being willing to give me your daughter, I understand. I don't think you will either."
"You don't know me at all. There is no way I'll ever help you. Your cock is good, but not that good."
"Sure it is. If you want to take this conversation outside, I could prove it. Could prove it right here but I don't want to get thrown out of here before I've got my beer." He held up his six-pack, smiling.
I fumed at him, but it was at least half for show. "Let's take this outside then," I said, angry, determined that I could prove to him that he didn't have some kind of magic brainwashing cock, knowing I was at least half-responsible for falling gullibly into exactly the trap he'd planned for me, but believing that knowing it made it not gullible at all.
He put his beer and burritos in my cart and then walked with me to the checkout, got me to pay for his stuff, and then instead of going to my car he took me to the alley behind the store and reminded me of what I'd been missing these two years.
In many ways I was like an addict, trembling with anticipation of something I'd been denying myself for so long, and needing it so much I was breaking all the rules I'd normally kept. I just let him push me up against the wall in public, where anybody could see. I thought being blatant about my affair was not hiding when I want to his house or had him come to mine, but this was a whole new level, anyone who looked in that direction could have seen me cheating on Phil, cheating on him with Charlie, could have recorded it on their phones even, but I didn't care. I let him pull my jeans down, and pound into me like he'd missed it as much as I had.
That might have been the most intoxicating thing, even if it was an act... or not even an act, a self-deception, because he never said anything like that. I just convinced myself I felt it in him, in the intensity of the situation that had me almost ready to cum in a few minutes. But intensity could come from the fear of discovery, the long deprivation, the humiliation of having gone back on my vow to myself, or even the dirty talk.
Because regardless of whether he missed fucking me as much as I missed being fucked by him, Charlie was a pervert and trying to make a point about how easily I could be swayed. "I miss your bed," he said, grunting right up into my ear at the end of my thrust, and that was probably where I first got the idea in my head that he meant he missed me, but he'd never said that and his next words implicitly put me in the back corner. "It's comfortable, warm. I think it'd be a great place to knock up your daughter." And God help me I squealed with audible pleasure, like those words were a second cock pushing into my heart when his real one had bottomed out. He pulled out and slammed me again. "But maybe this is what you want for her instead? You're such a dirty slut, maybe you want the same for your daughter in a few years? Is that it, Haley? You want me to have to go around you, fill her baby womb with cum in a dirty alleyway, like some bitch whore?," he continued, and somehow, in just that moment I could see that not as a threat, not as a bad thing at all in fact. "I can work with that, if that's what you want. The middle school Alice will go to's got a space by the dumpsters I could use." I didn't question, then, how he knew the layout of the middle school my daughter would eventually go to when she'd just started elementary school and I knew he didn't grow up here, though it occurred to me later. "You don't honestly think you're going to get her to stay away from me?" I moaned, which he took for a yes, I guess, but even I wasn't sure what it meant. "Telling her not to... that'd just make her want it even more."
Plausible, based on my own middle school experience, which I flashed back to in what almost felt like a slideshow of pictures, some real, some remembered fantasies, that somehow expressed a long story in a few seconds. I'd always rebelled more against the stuff my parent forbid... in my case the big problem turned out to be underage drinking in my later teen years, but I could easily see it being sex with an adult man when I was much younger, if any of them had been willing to pursue. I remembered when I was thirteen realizing that one of the neighbors was looking through my window, and for a year straight I undressed knowing he was watching, and after he moved I continued that kink with sending pictures to strangers I was flirting with on the Internet. Both were pretty dangerous activities, but that didn't bother me back then. My first masturbation experiments, even before the voyeur, involved fantasies of faceless strangers grabbing me and forcing me to do sex stuff I barely understood, and I'd walk through parks alone telling myself I wasn't scared but really half hoping it'd happen. And it never did, but if it had, it was even possible it would have been Charlie... he was more than five years older, and seemed the type to rape a younger girl. But of course we didn't even live in the same city back then.
Even if Charlie was statistically unlikely, looking back I'm surprised I didn't get molested somehow. It didn't have to be Charlie, or some Charlie-like stranger. It could have been anybody. Strangers might have scared me but if a family member or trusted friend did it, I doubted I'd have told anybody. Not to mention all the crushes I had on teachers on that age. Little Haley was a perfect teacher's pet just waiting to be asked to do more than hand out test papers to everybody, even volunteering to stay after to help with something, although I was always being turned down. It was a good thing schools did such good background checks, because, really, I was perfect underage molester bait back then. Or maybe it was a bad thing, with Charlie fucking me so good now, it was hard to tell if I was missing out back then. Thinking back I was starting to feel a little cheated.
Either way, if my life had been a little different, I could absolutely picture myself fucking an adult man at that age and never telling my parents, even without extensive grooming. If he was good enough to make me cum with his fingers first, I could picture myself losing my virginity somewhere disgusting and dangerous, just to chase that next high. Alice was still practically a toddler, so when my imagination drifted to the next obvious place and I pictured Charlie fucking her in an alley, I was still mostly picturing myself at twelve, looking at me from an outside perspective. Still such a little girl, maybe hurting from something far too big for her but not willing to give up. Little Haley'd be too excited to be doing something naughty, getting one over on her parents and the teachers supposedly looking out for her, and when she should be running she'd instead be standing on her tiptoes to meet his cock. Maybe Tween Alice, with an active predator this focused on her, would get to experience the stuff I'd only fantasized about. Even behind an alley. "But shit, who am I kidding, I wouldn't do it behind some middle school dumpsters like she's a whore. She's special, and this is my kid we're making. My bed's not as nice as yours, but it'll do. I'm sure Alice will just tell you she's studying at a friend's house." Yes, that was plausible too. I was more of a romantic at that age. Little Haley could be dragged away and raped, maybe enjoy the thought of that, but she'd have wanted someone to make her feel special, make love to her, and if somebody offered that, she would have lied to my parents to meet him. Did, when she was a little older and it was just a boy I met off the Internet, who turned out to be my age at the time but didn't have to be. Meeting a stranger online was always forbidden by my Mom... and the combination of that very prohibition and Tommy's romantic words drew me out better than any of the real molesters who were luring me with sometimes quite lewd offers. They may have got pictures, but Tommy got my virginity. "You'll never know when she actually is studying, or when she's with me." Uncertainty like that would probably drive me crazy, I knew. "Well, maybe you'll hear me, even from here. I wonder if Alice will scream like you do? What do you think, should I get her a gag like you used to have, or let you hear her beg me?"
By now I was already being pretty vocal, almost drowning out the words he was whispering in my ear, as this crude, perverted, criminal older man was fucking me hard in a dirty alley, rough but not uncaring, with a certain gentleness and consideration, a hand reaching around to play with my clit like it was an instrument he was an expert at. Which he was. He knew how to play me. Every question he asked, I started answering with a yes, even if the answers contradicted each other, and soon I was answering questions he wasn't asking, making up my own questions, ones that may have been implied but I'm reasonably sure he never spoke out loud. 'Or would you rather watch?' Yes. 'Big moment in a daughter's life, it'd be a shame for mommy to miss it.' Yes! 'The price for watching is helping, you good with that?' Yes! 'You going to guide my cock into your daughter in seven years?' YES. 'Milk me into her womb?' YES! 'Why not right now then?' "FUCK YES LET'S DO IT RIGHT NOW."
It was wrong, of course, but I was cresting into my own orgasm them, and at that moment there is no wrong. Alice was just five, and there was no way I could do something so horrible. But I could think it, use it to get myself off. And if I could do that, then waiting seven years seemed, by comparison, far less horrible.
No way that's going to happen either, I told myself as my heart stopped its frantic pound, my eyes unrolled from the back of my head, and I became aware of Charlie's hand slapping me. "You're a kinky bitch." Then he grabbed my hair, pulled my torso back and up close for a whisper, mouth right in my ear. "I can't believe you'd suggest that about the future mother of my children." Oh god, he might not have asked, but I'd said he should do it right now while he was talking about having sex with my daughter in seven years. Well, there went all my moral authority. He lost some of his, too, because he didn't stop fucking me despite what I said, but not as much as me, because I was still squeezing on him and wriggling, struggling to get another cum out of him in this dirty alleyway before he finished. "I guess my cock must be that good, huh? Or is it just you?" he asked. "You know, I better not see any strange men coming by your house anymore." It was a whispered growl, almost a threat, but it felt like more than that, like he was claiming me, or reclaiming. Actually, he was making a point, "You know what I'll do and when... but who knows what you'll allow some other guy to talk you into when you get horny?" Point taken, and a rush of guilt taken along with it. I was still horny, but I gave up hope of cumming a second time, not this fuck... from the way his fingers dug into my asscheeks, Charlie was just about dumping his own load inside of me. I tried in vain to get what pleasure I could get from his spewing cock before the ride was over, then became aware of two people watching us from the end of the alley, an elderly couple who looked scandalized, and one grocery store worker from the other end, a pimply faced teen who looked like this experience just made his whole minimum-wage job worth it. That exposure was enough to push another wave of orgasm over me, not my best, but enough. I'm not sure if it would be more intense or avoided completely if I believed that these people heard and understood the whole conversation, but he'd mostly been whispering, even if I wasn't, so I felt like it was my dirty little secret.
Charlie couldn't be, not to them, but he pulled away, right as I was cresting, and with no support and my weak-legs I tumbled into the ground and what felt like a rotten banana, felt one last squirt on my neck. Without any apparent shame at the observers, he zipped up, then helped me to my feet and said, casually, "Great catching up with you, Haley. If you want to do it again, you know where to find me." He went to where we'd left the shopping bags, retrieved the stuff I paid for, and started off. Then, stopped, turned back, and added like it was an afterthought, just a friendly invitation, "Bring Alice, be great to see her again."
Maybe it was a friendly invitation, if he was absolutely serious about not doing anything until Alice was old enough. Maybe he just cared about the kid and wanted to see her. But regardless of whether that was true or not, it also felt like a message. The next time I wanted to ride the Charlie Express, bringing Alice was the ticket price.
I don't think most people can comprehend how humiliating it was to realize how easily I'd fallen off the wagon like that. To give you an idea though, I went back into the grocery store almost right after, Charlie's cum still dripping down my legs and making a visible wet spot on my pants, as well as some on my neck from that last squirt, just out in the open. I didn't want to shop like that, but when I put my bags in my car, I remembered that I hadn't actually finished my shopping and forgotten to get these digestive cookies my daughter liked, a few other necessary odds and ends that weren't crossed off my list. And I had to add a new one... for some reason I felt I really needed some Kleenex before I sat back in the car.
Not everybody there saw what happened in the alley. But the older couple were there in the cookie aisle, the wife nudging her husband and whispering. No idea what, it could have been "There's that shameless slut," or "You really need to fuck me like that." And I felt eyes on me from the staff as well, so either the stockboy's story had gotten around, or he wasn't the only one to see part of the show. I thought about taking off my glasses, just so I'd look a little different and I wouldn't have to see every stare, but I needed it to read the brand names.
So I was a champ about that. I walked through that grocery store, got the stuff I needed, head held up high. It was an act, but it was one I could perform, even when the girl at checkout handed me the box of Kleenex I'd just purchased and said, "You've got a little... something on your neck." Her eyes said, 'Clean yourself up, you whore.' Of course I knew she was right, I felt it, but I took a Kleenex and wiped the now cool cum from my neck, knowing I'd have to do more in near the car, and I did.
There, alone, I used the Kleenex in two ways, both to clean up, and to dry my tears. For the first time since I was a middle schooler, I literally cried from humiliation... but it wasn't that scene, in the grocery store, that I was thinking about. That barely even registered. I was thinking about how I'd just fucked a man who I'd swore never to see again, a man I knew wanted to impregnate my daughter. In seven years, when she was twelve, but still, what kind of mother would do such a thing? How weak could I possibly be?
And more than that, what did it say about me that Charlie had a point? A few, really, but the one I was thinking about was what I said--what I agreed to--when I was too turned on to say no, and the possibility that some other guy could get me to say yes to letting him do something to my daughter, even at her tender young age. Maybe it was just a dirty fantasy in the heat of the moment, one I'd never actually go along with... but I'd thought the same of being with Charlie again, that after I figured out his plans I would never, ever be with him again. Look how long that lasted once I got horny enough.
So maybe he was right. Maybe I couldn't trust any other men not to talk me into something worse. Maybe I had to give up cheating on my husband, just for my daughter's sake, removing the temptation entirely.
I wasn't sure I could quit cock cold turkey like that.
By the time I made it to pick up Alice, the shame and humiliation had faded... that's one of the dirty secrets, it tends to do that, especially when you're the only one holding yourself accountable. One moment you're thinking "I'm a disgusting freak for even thinking that, I'll never do that again." and before long you're thinking about doing it again. And as I pulled up back at home with Alice, looked over to the neighboring house where Charlie lived, I thought about going to see him again.
He made a lot of sense, after all. His single-minded goal to impregnate my daughter in seven years rendered him a known threat, compared to anybody else and what they might talk me into. The devil you know, as they say. When I was young and my mom didn't have to drag me to church, I'd always thought that phrase was silly... why would anyone want to deal with the Devil at all? But now I knew, people made deals with devils because they abided by the rules, and maybe because the Devil had a big dick they couldn't resist. Charlie wasn't the Devil with-a-capital-D, but he fit both those categories, which meant he was a devil I could potentially deal with.
Several years of fun, before he tried what he was going to try. That's what I kept reminding myself. Years of regular, mind-blowing orgasms, and all I had to do was not let him convince me into helping. Because that was how you beat the Devil, you refuse to be corrupted. I could break off the affair at any time, the moment he made a move against Alice, the moment I sensed it was approaching. Demand Phil move us away where she'd be safe, or divorce him and do it myself.
Seven years was a hell of a safety margin, too. In a way, it could be like endurance training, working myself up to being able to resist him. He'd gotten me to say an unforgivable thing in the heat of the moment, but I had seven years to practice saying no instead of yes, seven years to get sick of his cock. Most marriages wane after seven years, right? Mine certainly got long dull before then.
By the time I sat down for a family dinner, my husband complimenting the meal with the same unimpressed voice he used when telling me he loved me in the morning, our daughter playing with her own food between us, I made the decision that if I'd fallen off the Charlie wagon once, I might as well fall a few more times, while it was safe.
I went over the next day. No, not with Alice, I had some dignity, and I needed to hash out a few things. And despite saying I should bring Alice, he let me in, grabbed a beer and offered me one like I hadn't paid for it. I took it, but didn't open it, wondering to see if we'd just start fucking, but instead he just leaned against the wall by the fridge and waited for me to say what I'd worked myself up to say.
"I'm never going to let you touch my daughter," I said. He looked skeptical, but didn't reply. "Despite what I may have said in the heat of the moment, saying and doing are two different things. Rest assured, I will move my family away before I let that happen. I will cut off your balls with a carving knife before I allow that." Maybe I should have started with the threat to him, instead of making it seem like a half-hearted afterthought. He certainly didn't seem scared. "But if you really think you can corrupt me into changing my mind... I can give you a couple years to try." He smiled widely at that. "It won't work, but I figure to even have a shot, you're going to have to make me very happy, and I might as well get some use out of your cock before I have to cut you off."
"Fair enough," with that irresistible confidence. I could tell from his eyes, the way he took a sip of his beer--like we'd just agreed to a friendly bet of twenty dollars, not my daughter's womb vs his manhood--that he thought he was going to win. He sat down at his kitchen table, and when he patted his leg I slid up on his knee, my own parted, and let him undo my pants and slip a hand into my underwear, let him warm me up for a fucking I could have without guilt, because we'd reached a deal. Almost. "One thing, though," he said, two fingers already inside me, my arms around him. "I need a promise, you don't get in the way of my access to Alice."
I tensed up so much my pussy walls clenched against his fingers, trapping them. I was sure he'd made a mistake, reached too far and blew the whole deal, which was going to be disappointing to both of us. "If you think I'm going to just surrender right now..." Did he really think his fingers were that good?
"You can tell her not to do specific things with me, but you can't forbid me from being around her at times you'd normally let another adult be around, or warn her to stay away from me. That doesn't work for me. In return, I'll tell you and get your permission before I do anything with her you might not approve of. That's the deal. If I can't convince you, I can't convince you, but you know you're turned on by my trying... and if you won't let me even be around the future mother of my children when it's appropriate, I might as well not tip my hand and just do what I need to do when you're not looking."
Well, what would you do? Bad question, maybe. What should a person do? I mean yes, obviously, get out of the situation, call the cops or something, but we've established I'm not that strong. But if it's a choice between a molester promising to get your permission for anything, while you keep him and yourself satisfied, or leaving him horny and yourself horny and in the dark about what he might decide to do when you're not around if he gets too horny. What's the best call there? My pussy told me that this was the best deal I'd get, allowed him to keep finger-fucking me, all my tension leaving me when I considered the offer... well, not all my tension, obviously, but the extra tension that would have made it impossible to do anything about that other tension.
After I agreed in principle, he made me shake on it, or maybe I made him, but it made the whole agreement official, and possibly lost me the whole ball game, if you can consider my daughter's eventual virginity a type of ball game, but once the deal was made I could replace his fingers with that wonderful cock, and so, yeah, I made the fucking deal.
The next day, when my daughter came home from kindergarten (I had a deal with one of the other moms to pick up each other's kids a few days a week), Charlie was at the house, and I introduced him to my daughter as Uncle Charlie.
She remembered him... not just from seeing him, from a distance, as a neighbor, but to my surprise she called him 'Paddy-Cake Man!' which proved she remembered something of our previous affair. But the little darling was super excited that he was her Uncle Charlie, like it was something she knew she was missing from her life, and rushed up to give him a big hug.
Charlie was a perfect gentleman with her, too, that time. And for quite a while after, but that time was special, the first, and came right after he was most certainly not being a perfect gentleman with me. His hug was chaste, almost sweet, and lasted only a second, but he patiently let her show him his room, listened to her talking about that stupid fucking movie she'd watched a zillion times, even watched it with her without complaint. Honestly, it gave me hope... he was still a crude, disgusting man, but interacting with a child, he seemed like he had natural parental instincts, and I found myself hoping my then five-year-old could have a safe five years with Uncle Charlie and who would mysteriously disappear before the seven years were up.
It didn't work out quite that way. But it changed pretty gradually.
I had probably a year of guilt-free, completely unproblematic cheating sex with Charlie. Okay, only mostly unproblematic. The whole arrangement was questionable, obviously, as was Charlie frequently reminding me of the countdown, whispering in my ear the things he'd like to do to my daughter... in seven years. All the while, me getting off on hearing it. It didn't just end with being the mother of his children, he wanted to the right to use every one of her holes as his personal cumdump (after I'd showed her by example of how to properly suck a cock or take one in the ass)... he wanted to fuck her with me watching, fuck her while she ate my pussy, cover her in cum and watch me lick it off her body, bring friends over to use her mouth or ass or (once she was good and pregnant) her pussy, and so on. He admitted that some of that was just dirty talk, but refused to clarify exactly which, thinking I'd be hornier if I didn't know, and damned if he wasn't right.
With Alice, he continued to be a perfect gentleman, a perfect uncle, really. At least perfect from Alice's point of view, as he probably swore a bit too much to be an objectively perfect uncle but for a little kid him not playing by all the usual adult rules might have made him even more perfect, a signal that he might let her get away with stuff too. He'd often bring her a little gift, a toy or some sweet or a code to some digital merchandise in the game that I barely even remembered the name of but that Alice loved and somehow Charlie grew to know an awful lot about.
It was grooming, obviously, but it felt pretty hypocritical to get mad about that when I'd already agreed to let him try, as long as he didn't do anything, and he never seemed to... and believe me, I watched them like a hawk. But if you took out the goal, if some completely asexual person had performed exactly the same actions, had the same demeanor around my daughter--without any intention of eventually impregnating her--you wouldn't describe it as grooming, you'd describe it as being a perfect uncle. So why not call it that, as well?
Pretty soon Charlie was her favorite adult. When she had a birthday or there was a holiday, Alice would always ask if Uncle Charlie could come, and Phil, who was happy that our feud was over and he got his buddy back full-time, would usually agree, so I was seeing a lot more of him, had to get used to pretending that he couldn't bend me over and fuck me practically any time he wanted, although I lost some of that edge and stopped fighting back at gropes and lewd comments in public (as long as Alice wasn't watching).
So when I say that first year was completely unproblematic, I'm using a very narrow definition, and a lot of it is by comparison, but I mean that I could easily jump back and forth from being a completely normal mother raising a child normally and a slut whose lover was an aspiring child molester. They were two separate worlds. Our sex was usually nowhere near Alice. Usually.
School helped an awful lot with that, providing a regular interval where I could get the carnal satisfaction I needed and yet not expose my daughter, although we didn't only do it during school hours, by any means. Sometimes we'd leave Alice with Phil, or on a playdate with a friend, and do it then. And, sometimes, I'd drag her over to Charlie's house or he'd come over, and I'd get my old gag out and we'd do it with only a wall separating me from my daughter.
That was actually harder than it used to be. There was always a risk before, of her wanting to interrupt, but it was usually because she wanted her mother's attention, or to kiss a boo-boo or fix a snack. Now that she loved Uncle Charlie, there was much more of a risk that she'd want to come in just because he was there, to show him something that had happened in her game, or just because she got curious about what he was doing. What he was doing was fucking mommy up the ass, dear, but we couldn't tell her that. Poor Alice faced a number of locked doors where her mother had to take the gag off to tell her to go back to her game, Uncle Charlie and I had some adult business we needed to finish, and then put the gag back on while she stormed off and had a tantrum.
Mommy had to be the one to tell her, because I couldn't trust Charlie to... he always wanted me to handle it. Sometimes, Charlie would use the opportunity to whisper another suggestion to escalate things, like, 'you should let her come in and watch,' or 'hey, why don't we mix some of my cum into her lunch today' but it was usually after we'd gotten back to the sex rather than when Alice was right at the door, and he always respected my no, even if just given with a shake of my head.
We did wind up mixing cum into her birthday cake batter again, when she turned six, but that I considered a one time exception, tradition that we'd just skipped for a few years. Cake still tasted awful but Alice seemed to like it. And this time all the baking happened while she was on a playdate, and I just jacked my lover's cock directly into the bowl while he talked, fantasized aloud about getting my daughter addicted to the taste.
That was my one big slip of Year Seven, if we can call it that. In my head, I was calling it that... sometimes I accidentally mixed things up, when someone asked Alice's age and I'd say, "Seven," but I really meant, "In seven years, she'll be the mother of Charlie's children." Or not, if I did my job, if I won our little power struggle. Which I thought I was going to, at that point--handily--despite what might seem like a surrender in terms of counting time.
A part of me was even disappointed at that easy a victory. Which was probably part of Charlie's plan, if he had a plan. I was starting to think he didn't, he was just a kinky fucker who had gotten a regular fuck-buddy who could share his fantasies and, occasionally, feed his sperm to her daughter... but I wanted him to push harder. I still wanted to win, but I wanted it to be more of a fight.
Year Six, it started to become one. That is, again, six years before she became the mother of his children, but coincidentally she was also six when it started, which was very convenient for me. That was also when I learned more exactly the date where things switched. Somewhere around March 15th. I spent about a day trying to figure out what was significant about that date.
Finally, I asked Charlie. The day after the number on the countdown dropped. On the day I heard the new number itself, when I heard the change, fuck, it got me so turned on. It was like one of those times where Charlie'd just gotten back from having to go away for a few days, and I'd gotten to be so in need of a good fuck that we did it three or four times in a row... only this time there was no dry spell before, it was the number itself that turned me into a beast and we just kept fucking until finally I realized I was late to go pick up Alice (and my friends' kids, as it was my turn) and had to rush out the door.
The next day while she was at school, he was over again, and this time it was after the fuck he said it. Again, the countdown stood at six years, so I asked him, what was so special about that date. "Nothing," he said. "Nothing special about the date at all. Just that that was the day it was when I found out you couldn't have any more kids, so, I figured... gotta knock up your daughter instead."
Our affair was sexual, not romantic, but that was the most romantic thing a man could say to me about impregnating my preteen daughter.
"If it was you, we'd have been done by now. I hate having to wait so long, but, hey, if I didn't have standards, I'd knock up any old slut."
"What happens if I win?" I asked him. "Last the whole ten years?"
"You so sure? All I have to do is not give you permission, right?" I was testing him, since he had promised not to do anything without telling me first and getting my okay. Maybe he'd confess he had no intention to follow that rule he agreed to and I'd... I didn't know, actually, whether I'd throw him out of bed and out of Alice's life, or just continue on and decide to be more vigilant.
"Then I'll just focus on other options, I guess. Be a shame to lose all that time I invested. Course, it has been an awful lot of fun investing it."
It was the right answer, at least to me, right then, allowed me to relax, just go along and enjoy the fun. Even be generous. I thought about offering something, in celebration of the year going down. It seemed like something worth celebrating then, like any birthday. We might have established a tradition already about Alice's birthday and mixing Charlie's cum into her cake, but there was no way I was making another cake for no reason. Instead, maybe I'd start my own game. I had this idea that I might, the week after the number drops, commit to agreeing to the first thing Charlie suggests about doing to Alice, no questions asked, see how many years it takes him to catch on, take advantage to win. The thought was shamefully exciting enough that I climbed on top of him as though his words had turned me on and got me ready for another go. But it wasn't his words, it was the idea of surrendering without telling him, of leaving it up to, fate, almost. Maybe I'd make that resolution a vow before God... I'm not particularly religious, but it felt like if I did that, and Charlie made requests, it would be His fault.
After all, it had been a while since he'd asked for anything, what were the odds he'd do it in this magic week?
That vow never got made though... probably only because Charlie did not make me shout "Oh God," because it was one of the rare times he refused me. The man was a stallion, but his stamina was not limitless and, sometimes, he'd not give a damn about my needs. Which was often a turn on in its own way, to want him so badly and be refused... it's hard to describe. This was one of those times, and he complained that he didn't have time for another go, and in doing so he lost out on a guaranteed path to victory.
Not that he needed my help, but at the time I thought he did. Thought for sure we wouldn't be able to keep the passion up that would be required, for a full six more years, that would be needed for him to turn me away from my motherly instincts, and, fresh off a refusal that cost him an advantage, I was sure enough that I'd win.
Sure enough to offer a consolation prize. Or rather, the offering itself was the consolation prize... since I was no longer prepared to grant him any request on this countdown anniversary, I brought up one of his other, older requests, a safe one, and next time I was sucking cock and I thought he was getting close, I pulled away and asked, "Want to save it for Alice to drink later?"
I wasn't going to feed it to her directly, of course--she was at school--but at that age she was prone to drinking these yogurt drinks afterwards. I thought they were sort of disgusting, almost cum-like themselves, which gave me the idea. I certainly didn't want to swallow the load myself. So that day I led Charlie by the dick into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and got out one she'd half drunk and milked his cock into it the remainder.
He had such a grin on his face I had to rein him in some. "Don't get the idea this is going to be a regular thing," I warned him. "This is just because you made it through another year." And so established the tradition, I hoped. On birthdays and to celebrate March 15th, I'd feed my daughter his cum, indirectly.
Charlie didn't get to see the results of that, in person at least. Only I got that pleasure. Charlie wanted to stay, pouted when I wouldn't let him, pointed out that it meant that technically, he had to trust that I fed it to her at all. He had a point. It would have been so easy for me to chicken out and dump it in the trash... and I thought about it. I knew that if the situations were reversed and he was the reluctant neighbor I was trying to eventually sway into fucking my daughter (or whatever, if I was a guy and Charlie the mom), I'd damn well be sure to watch her swallowing it.
I decided to compromise and film it on my phone. He'd still have to trust me, because it would have been easy to just swap out that bottle for another one, fill it with something else, but at least this way he'd get to enjoy the fruits of his labors, so to speak.
Alice didn't think there was anything unusual... about my filming, anyway. Like many mothers of our modern age, I was often making videos of her for random reasons, so if she did something cute I could share it on social media and everyone would know what an adorable child I had and, therefore, what a good mother I was. But I had to keep a straight face and I worried she might think something was up when I had my phone up and pointed in the direction of the fridge when she came in, as she often did, looking for something to fill her tummy before dinner. "You've still got one of your yogurt drinks you didn't finish," I reminded her. Nothing unusual about that reminder, either, as I was always warning her about waste.
What she did notice as weird was the taste. After she took one gulp her nose wrinkled up and she looked at me. "I think something's wrong with this," she said.
"What do you mean?"
"You probably just left it too long, and it absorbed some smells from the fridge. It's probably okay. Does it taste bad?"
She took another sip and I almost lost it when she licked her lips after. "No, just weird."
"If it doesn't actually taste bad you should finish it. I certainly don't want to drink it, and if you want me to keep buying it for you..." I left the threat unfinished and she guzzled the rest of the bottle and wiped her lips. "What's for dinner?"
I didn't want to cook and decided I probably owed it to make it up to her, so I said I was going to get McDonald's which put a big smile on her face, but then she ran off to watch TV and I went to my room to send the video to Charlie.
"Looks like she liked it," he texted. "All smiles at the end."
"That was from the McDonald's."
"Good plan," he texted. "Give her a reward for drinking up. Taste already probably reminds her of birthday cake, and you just made it another happy memory."
Was that what I was doing? Oops. "Well, don't get used to it," I warned him. "One-time thing."
Of course it wasn't. But I cooled off for a while. In fact I'm pretty sure the next time she tasted his cum was on her birthday again, when she turned seven, months later. That time we did two loads, one for the batter and another mixed into the frosting. Good thing that she had enough friends over that none of the adults got to try any of the cake. And if I was accidentally conditioning my daughter to Charlie's cum, well, at least I was spreading the love around. I was also starting to feel like I'd gotten better at the whole baking thing.
By that time, Alice knew what cum was, although I'm pretty sure she hadn't yet associated it with a particular special birthday flavor. If she had, I imagine she would have asked about it when cum milkshakes started being a regular feature of Uncle Charlie visits. But I'm getting a bit ahead of myself, that was a Year Five thing.
She knew what cum was because Charlie had convinced me, not to do anything involving her, but merely to be a little less vigilant. We were caught, a few times. And being caught, that requires some explanations, particularly when you're caught taking a facial. Caught riding on Uncle Charlie's cock, which had already happened by accident, that requires some too, but kids at that age can accept most explanations at face value. "We're just doing some special exercises to keep fit," was a good enough explanation for that. Or "I'm just playing an adults-only game with your Uncle Charlie," was even better. She totally understood as Charlie was really good at giving her horsey rides too, only she was on the other side and both of them were clothed, so Mommy's variation made perfect sense to her.
I'd say that I worried that it might get back to her father, but in all honesty, that was part of why I did it, played with fire and let Alice catch us (or didn't take enough precautions to prevent it... I maintain that I didn't specifically decide to let her walk in, at least not in Year Six), because, my reasoning went, if Phil found out about the affair, then he would solve my problem for me. At the very least, Charlie would be forbidden from the house, or maybe Phil would divorce me, but then I'd have to move, wouldn't I? I'd take Alice with me, and then... well, I could go on listing things that didn't happen all day.
Only two of those are important in Year Six, that Phil never called me on any of the shit I pulled, and that Charlie didn't do anything inappropriate with my daughter. But I did have to explain to her what cum was, what cumshots were, and that some people, when they're old enough, really like getting a blast in the face. It's just like how sometimes she had fun playing in the mud, I explained to her, sometimes adults like getting dirty, but only in very special ways.
Of course, despite making it very clear that this was something for adults, for people who were old enough, Alice did ask if she could try having a cumshot from Uncle Charlie too. But no, she was way too young for that, and I lied to her that if she was too young it would hurt... which I didn't think was a lie, actually, because people always told me sexual activity hurts kids, but it felt like one, and she pouted and stomped off and had a tantrum.
Charlie didn't push, then, just gave me a shrug, but I sent him home and did some mother/daughter activities Alice liked to try and push her out of her sulk, and repeated my lie/not-lie but promised that if she kept it a super secret I'd let her try one as soon as she was old enough that it wouldn't hurt, which I promised was before she was a teenager. Because either Charlie would have won or he'd have lost and Alice wouldn't be interested. And it satisfied her, some... at that age, she didn't really know much about ages or how long time was... a year might as well be a week or a century, but she had a sense that when you're an adult was a super, unbearably long way away, and when you're a teenager was a really long way away, but before you're a teenager was vague and still in the could be any day now range. But I tried to make clear, again, that she couldn't talk about the games Uncle Charlie and I played, or he would have to stop coming over. I even did this little gesture... mimed zipping my lip, then turning a lock in the middle and throwing away the key, and made her repeat it. I wound up making that gesture for a lot of things over the years.
If I had to nail down the sin that was most responsible for all of this, it was that one. Not cheating, that just got the ball rolling. Not the unforgivable stuff I let Charlie do later, either, by that time I'd already surrendered... but that choice to convince my daughter to keep my secrets. My mom used to always tell me "Kids shouldn't keep secrets, and they aren't usually very good at it." Of course, she was saying it to try and get me not to keep secrets from her, but once I stopped being a secret-keeping teen and had a kid of my own, I believed it as a general principle. I've since decided she was wrong. Sometimes kids have to keep secrets and it's true they're usually not good at it... but it's like any skill, if you get them started early they can develop a real talent for it. At the time, though, asking Alice not to say anything seemed like sticking a finger in the dyke: an obvious, but tiny precaution to try and hold back an overwhelming problem, something that seemed like it was the only thing I could do, so I did it, even though it felt like it shouldn't possibly work.
I kept waiting for her to blurt something out accidentally, and maybe she did but people either didn't understand or snickered to themselves at the kid who innocently exposed her mother's affair... whatever she might have revealed didn't seem to require any urgent action. So many people in the area already knew that one particular juicy secret and I think keeping what they thought was my deepest, most shameful secret made them feel superior to me. Sometimes they got catty about it, particularly Suzanne who must have been jealous that I had Charlie again, but it wasn't strong enough to blow up my life and lose that moral leverage.
Still, the cattiness hurt and I did feel a little excluded from the mom community. I certainly had friends, women who appreciated my stories, who lived vicariously through me, but to a lot of them I was the slutty mom they put up with because their kids were friends with my kid. Which is probably why I had no guilt about feeding Charlie's cum to their kids in a birthday cake (and frosting) at her birthday party.
Again, not like any of those kids knew what they were tasting, even Alice who knew what cum was. And again, enough frosting, some scoops of ice cream... kids weren't going to notice anything off.
It did get Charlie worked up, which of course was just as important to me--more, really--than the spite. Despite giving me two loads for the cake, he gave me another one while he stuck around to 'help me clean up,' while Phil went to bed, having enjoyed a few too many beers at the party. One of the few times I actually fucked Charlie with Phil in the house, at that point, though it grew to be pretty frequent later.
That man couldn't stop talking about Alice enjoying her birthday cake... not just that day, but for a few weeks anyway, he kept randomly bringing up how adorable it was... and I knew what he was hinting at, but I held firm, deying all his requests, both spoken and unspoken... except for ones that might lead to Alice catching us playing adult games again. Feeding her his cum... that I resolved to save only for special occasions, though Charlie was around for a lot of special occasions to supply a special ingredient. Thanksgiving, I mixed it into the gravy (Phil doesn't like gravy, but Alice and I do, so I make it). Christmas, I gave her a special eggnog. Both were also produced with Phil in the house, but since I was just jacking Charlie off or letting him fuck my mouth and my husband was distracted watching football or wrapping the last minute presents he bought, we could be quiet about it.
The countdown hitting five was another special occasion of course, and that counted, and I remembered the previous year's idea of just giving Charlie anything he requested, but again, I went for the lesser evil and just suggested something myself, something she'd already done, but with a new twist. Alice had lost her love of the yogurt drinks, but there was a treat she liked and asked for every time we went to McDonald's, but I'd never made it at home. Except, I could, easily.
So, one afternoon, just after the countdown hit, Charlie was still visiting after Alice was home from school. And she was giving him the usual favorite uncle treatment, trying to monopolize his attention, show him stuff she did in school, and so on, which was one of the reasons I usually didn't like to spend my Charlie time with her in the house, but this time it fit right in with my plans. So I told her, "How would you like me and your Uncle Charlie to make you a special home-made milkshake?" Her eyes lit up like that, although I suspected that she doubted her mother's ability... after all, my burgers never seemed to be a treat like the ones from McDonald's were, the fries I cooked never held a candle to whatever magic they pull with theirs, so why wouldn't this be the same way?
Well, she'd never tasted my special milkshake recipe yet, but must have thought that a subpar milkshake was better than no milkshake, and so readily agreed to my terms, that if she stayed in her room and worked on her homework, Charlie and I would make a milkshake for her.
In the kitchen, I put the blender on the floor, got on my knees, and sucked on Charlie's cock, with gusto, hoping to remind him that yes, I might be donating his cum to my daughter's milkshake, but there was no way she could get as much of his cock in her mouth as I could, not for far longer than 5 years. And she certainly would have gagged when it hit the back of her throat, but not me.
I almost went too far, got carried away... which wouldn't have been the end of the world, of course, if he came in my mouth. Like I said, I never liked cum myself, so it was always an effort of will to swallow anyway, even if I sometimes make it seem automatic, or forget I'm not supposed to like happened when I was making the Christmas eggnog. I could just as easily hold it in my mouth and spit it out in the blender, call it a snowball milkshake.
Charlie had his eyes on the prize though, and pulled my hair back until I was off his dick, said, "That's for your daughter, not you," and I gave him a messy smile, dripping with my saliva, trying to say 'Yes, I know,' with my eyes, and directed his cock to the blender, and finished him off there.
Then just added milk, vanilla, and ice cream (lots of ice cream, ice cream makes anything palatable), while Charlie wiped his slimy cock on the rim of one of Alice's favorite big cups. He had been paying attention to her habits, after all, and I guess didn't want to waste any bit of flavor.
Soon it looked like any other milkshake, poured into any other kid's cup, and we walked up to Alice's bedroom to give her the special treat. It was a treat for Charlie too, because he got to stay to watch her drink this one. I looked at him while he watched it, more intently than he ever did the cum-cakes, maybe because this was liquid. Once she'd had a good gulp, he asked if she liked it with big vulnerable eyes, and a "I helped make that, you know." I thought at first might have guilted Alice into saying it was good, but she drank the whole thing without prompting or complaint. I suppose it was significant, in a way, the first completely full load he got to watch her drink in person--no sharing with other kids, none swallowed or spilled on my hand as in many of our previous times--but it was sort of imaginary significance. Mostly, it was just a happy interaction that I knew wasn't going to hurt her. A special occasion.
What I was not prepared for was her to keep asking for milkshakes every time Charlie was over. I tried making her a normal milkshake once, gave it to her after Charlie left, but she took one sip and asked, "Did Uncle Charlie help you make this?" and I had to tell the truth, and she said "I want the kind Uncle Charlie helps with. It tastes better!"
Well, what was I to do?
I mean, yes, besides stopping indulging Charlie in these perverted games, dump his ass, move away, yadda yadda yadda. We all know I didn't do that or you wouldn't be here.
Instead, we made it a habit. A special treat. Not an everyday treat certainly, we couldn't do that--I was concerned about the sugar more than the cum--but once-in-a-while. If she was good. If Charlie was good, too. Both were pretty good. In fact, I'd almost say drinking his cum regularly helped bond them together.
I resented it at times, different aspects of it depending on whatever I was most insecure about at a given moment: that my husband didn't seem as attentive with his own daughter, that my daughter was happier to see her uncle than me, and that Charlie gave some of the cum that was my right to my daughter. All of those details pissed me off at one time or another, although the last was easier because Charlie liked it even more when, instead of jacking him off into the blender full of milk and ice cream, if he shot his cum inside of my pussy and I squeezed it out.
That was pretty fucking dirty, I guess. It was also a lot more work, and I didn't want Alice to walk in on me helping to make it that way, like she had with Charlie adding his contribution to the mix.
Yes, I'd had to punish her for that already by that point. I'd made it very clear that the rules were that she had to stay in her room while we made her milkshake, but seven-year-olds don't always listen and she stormed into the kitchen to see Uncle Charlie's cock squirting on the scoops of ice cream already in the blender. "Hey sweetie," he said. "Just adding the secret ingredient."
I panicked, and did that thing that parents sometimes do where we're a little harsher in our punishments because we know we're the one who's done something wrong. It wasn't like Alice was deliberately trying to see how the milkshake was made--I think--she just got overly excited about something in her game and wanted to tell her Uncle Charlie. But I laid down the law, got in the way of her view of Charlie's cock, and said, "You know the rules, you're supposed to stay in your room." I pointed, and she pouted and went off. I also sent Charlie home.
She called back a few minutes after she heard the whine of the blender, asked, "Is it done yet? Can I come down?" like the secret ingredient hadn't bothered her at all. But then at her age, the significance might have been lost on her.
I told her she could come down, and she asked for her milkshake, and I told her, "No, this is Mommy's milkshake. Only girls who follow the rules get milkshakes made for them." And I drank it in front of her.
Not bad, if I do say so myself, by the way. I mean I'd had little bits of the taste before, but never a full milkshake. You can definitely taste the flavor if you know what it is, but it's much subtler, made pleasant by the sugar. Clearly I'd been tasting cum the wrong way my whole life. Or maybe cum just tastes better when you know it was intended for somebody else.
Alice did not take that well. She watched, maybe hoping that I'd relent and give it over to her after drinking half, or reveal a second milkshake that I'd then give to her. Which, to be fair, was often my punishment style in those days, to try and make her think I was going to come down hard on her and then relent when she showed contrition. But it was a habit I knew I had to get out of, and she did apologize and pouted and I told her I accepted her apology but she still hadn't earned the milkshake, and when I was completely done and there was nothing waiting for her, she huffed, stomped her foot and said, "You're so unfair, I hate you."
I guess every parent gets the 'I hate you' now and then, no matter how good (probably especially if they're being good), but it still was like a dagger in my heart.
Another in my gut, because I was aware that she still had enough to sink me, if she got mad enough... even if Alice herself wasn't aware of that. When Phil was home, every time he was alone with Alice, asking her about her schoolwork, tucking her in and kissing her goodnight, I tensed and prepared for him to come back yelling as Alice revealed exactly what I was milking to help make her milkshake. That same mix of dreading it and hoping it would happen. Leaning a bit more towards dreading, because if my marriage blew up in such a way that I couldn't keep Alice with me when I left... well, I trusted Phil but not enough that I thought I could leave him as sole parent without him trying something eventually. At least with her 'Uncle Charlie' I thought I could manage to keep him in check, and it wouldn't really be incest--at the time, I had a big hangup about that. So could I risk leaving her with Phil? Especially if he found out his wife had essentially been conditioning his daughter to enjoy drinking cum?
I'd never really thought about it like that before that night... I mean, not deeply, anyway. The thought had popped in--when I did it during a happy occasion like a birthday party--that I was probably accidentally conditioning her, but it was something like a private joke. But since I'd started making a regular, non-birthday habit, I wondered if I needed to take the 'accidentally' out of that joke and maybe even consider that it wasn't a joke at all. It's basically what I was doing, at that point, even if I didn't go into it with that intention. Even that day's misadventure, in denying it I may have made her crave it more, even knowing the source, the milkshakes were a treat she earned with compliance, and if she ever wanted to turn it into a taboo, stolen treat, now she knew the secret ingredient, or who to ask for it.
I actually had sex with Phil for the first time in a few weeks that night. Waiting in bed, just in case Alice had alerted him, I was thinking about what I was doing, like that, as conditioning my daughter to enjoy my lover's cum. I played with myself a little, thinking about that--turned on is better than terrified--and when Phil slipped into bed beside me and said nothing, well, he was my husband. Charlie had never demanded I not sleep with him, so I pulled my husband's hand over to feel me and how wet I was. Phil seemed surprised, but after years of marriage he took his opportunities where he could get them, and we got to humping. Again, pleasant, but not that exciting... maybe a little better than usual from my relief at having escaped detection and the dirty fantasies running through my head.
And the next time I suggested a milkshake to my daughter, she stayed the fuck in her room without complaint. Though I thought I noticed her eyes staring at Charlie's crotch as she drank it. If she still liked it that much, knowing where it came from, I wondered how long before I started giving it to her direct from the source.
Still a couple years, as it turned out. But she sure drank a lot of milkshakes. And I took a little more control of it, again, reminded her it wasn't an every day treat. I mean, Charlie himself wasn't an every day treat for me, and I didn't want all of his cum going to her when I still had a few years left to enjoy him. Alice quickly picked up on the fact that if she bothered me when I wanted to be alone with Charlie, her chances were much lower.
I still really didn't have any intention of letting Charlie win the big prize he wanted. Drinking cum was, as I said, harmless, and if it kept Alice from seeing more of the stuff she'd already seen but shouldn't, a small price to pay. And if I fantasized about giving it to her "right from the tap" now and then, I still firmly considered it one of those dark fantasies that everybody has but would never act on.
But as school let out for the summer, and Alice's eighth birthday was inching closer, I started to worry that the cake wouldn't be special enough, since the secret ingredient was already in the milkshakes. I suppose that her friends would share her cake might have been a nice treat. As weather got nicer, sometimes she'd have friends over--well, she had friends over from time to time the whole year, but it started to become more frequent because we had a pool--and obviously, sometimes Alice would ask me to make milkshakes for her and her friends. If Charlie was there... or, once in a while, if he wasn't, but she knew he was home next door. "Just ask Uncle Charlie to help." I relented, twice, but each time I made sure that only Alice got a milkshake with the 'special' ingredient. I mean, mostly, I used the same blender and made Alice's first so there were probably a few sperm cells lurking around in the other glasses, but not a whole load. Charlie certainly can't produce cum to fill the milkshakes for the whole neighborhood. I tried to explain that to her, without using the word 'cum' even though I think that that point we both knew exactly where it came from. All I had to do was get across the idea that it's a special, secret ingredient and there's not enough for all her friends, just her and me.
"But I don't see you drinking milkshakes. Do you have them when I'm not here?"
"There are other ways to enjoy it," I said, then wondered if she remembered the times seeing Charlie explode on my face, put it together, if she thought I was wasting perfectly good milkshake ingredients, or if the gears in her head were turning in another way. Maybe she was wondering if there were better ways to enjoy it that she was missing out on, that she could ask for. Maybe she remembered my promise for something she'd get to experience 'before she was a teenager' and would ask for that, for her birthday.
That possibility gave me a number of anxious nights, even though I was still pretty sure I'd refuse if it happened. The anxiety came from other sources, worrying that she'd get mad at me, or that she'd ask her father when I said no, as she often did for things... not to mention the anxiety from what it meant for me to masturbate thinking about saying yes. I even avoided asking about what she wanted for her birthday in the weeks leading up to it, just to avoid having to make a choice.
Of course she told me what she wanted for her birthday without asking, and of course it was innocent. She was turning eight, and despite my head being filled with inappropriate ideas thanks to Charlie's countdown, she still loved kid things. And like usual, it wasn't just one thing she wanted... toys, shirts, stuff for her games. Kids are expensive... it's a good thing Phil makes a good living.
There was only one thing that gave me pause. She wanted to go to a movie with Uncle Charlie. Without me. We'd gone a few times, the three of us, and it was always kids movies and I always wanted to leave halfway through just because they were so dumb (mostly... a few were watchable). And one time Charlie took me to fuck me in the bathroom while my daughter enjoyed the movie (another mother was there with her kids so we could get away with it), but we nearly got caught and thrown out and banned from ever coming back... but that's another story and suffice it to say we're still welcome at that theater but I get the feeling that every time they see me they assign an extra usher to make sure nobody wanders into the wrong bathroom.
Leaving my daughter alone with another mother for a bit of me-time was risky... but it seemed like letting Charlie take her alone was even riskier. We were still in Year Five of the countdown. The halfway point, really. Depending on whether Charlie lived up to his word, it could be completely safe, or an unforgivable slip of attention. As I said, I'd always kept a close eye on the two of them together. Giving up the security of my attention was terrifying.
On the other hand, it was a public movie theater. And so far, Charlie had given me no reason to doubt his word. How brazen would he have to be to finally try something there, where he'd inevitably get caught? Alice knew to scream if anybody touched her private areas without her permission. I'd told Charlie that. Really, the smart thing for him to do would be nothing, to keep building trust. Besides, if he was going to break my trust and do something like molest her the first chance he got her alone, I told myself, it was probably best for it to happen there. He could get arrested, I could look mostly innocent and uninvolved, and yes, it would probably be traumatizing for Alice, but she could get over it, probably repress it.
And it was her birthday. So I said yes. The very next weekend after her party, during the day at a crowded theater (I made sure of that) they went to see a movie that frankly I was dreading having to take her to (I did eventually have to see it because Alice wanted to see it again... kids).
Nothing happened, of course. At least, nothing I ever found out about. Although when I took Alice to the same movie later, my mind did wander to thoughts of Charlie molesting her, maybe making her suck his cock or even doing more... not because the thought appealed to me, of course. I mean, on one level, yes, and I did masturbate later, but mostly, it was motherly suspicion on overdrive, because why else would Alice want to see that terrible movie again? How else could she be just as enthralled on a second viewing, unless it was explained by a perverted 'uncle' taking her on a first viewing and doing something that absorbed all of her attention? But the problem with that explanation was that I'd seen the same type of behavior, that same rapt attention, on other horrible movies I'd watched with my daughter multiple times. According to the best evidence I had, Charlie was, as always, the perfect gentleman with my daughter.
I did start to worry though, especially when my daughter announced that she was going to marry Uncle Charlie one day. I guess that's not uncommon a declaration for kids that age, who don't know any better, but most kids that age don't actually have an adult in their lives with a detailed timeline for impregnating them. Still five years away, but I was already feeding her his cum and most kids her age don't have a mother doing that either, I assume.
I could feel myself losing the battle for my daughter by inches, and more, feel myself starting to want to lose, not just to milk victory for all the enjoyment I could before I turned Charlie out on his ass and started instructing Alice on how to protect herself from predators. That was still the plan, but it was a plan I, more and more, wanted to change, maybe even give up on.
So I panicked. Not in a running-down-the-street screaming sense, not even in a straight line of raising tension until I finally broke, it was bouts of complete anxiety interspersed with calm acceptance. I let Uncle Charlie take Alice to more movies or other fun events without me (always where she'd be supervised, except sometimes in the car ride) nervously waited out each one without intervening, and quizzed her thoroughly after. Not immediately after, sometimes with a pause in which we prepared another of Uncle Charlie's special milkshakes, followed by a third degree about what they did after Charlie left. One time, I fucked Charlie and then broke down in sobs and told him about Alice saying she was going to marry him and called him a son-of-a-bitch pedophile brainwashing her.
That time, he soothed me in the weirdest way. "Hey, she didn't get that idea from me. I'm not going to marry your daughter, Haley, Christ..." he said. "I'm not really a marrying type, and that would take too long. I just want to enjoy making some babies with her. I'll have a talk with her if you want."
I couldn't imagine that talk with Alice. "You know I love you kid, but you gotta stop talking about getting married to me, you're too young to even think about getting married. But in five years, you will be the mother of my children. I will cum inside your little pussy instead of your milkshakes, get you addicted to feeling my cock instead of the taste, and in time you'll make all the screams and moans of pleasure you hear your mommy making, but you'll just be a very happy little underage fucktoy for your Uncle Charlie, with no marriage, you got it?"
So I had the talk with my daughter instead. No, not those words, just that she couldn't get married to her Uncle Charlie, that he was too old for her and she would eventually find a boy her own age to marry. She accepted it, but that didn't make me feel much better.
Finally, the anxiety grew too much for me, and I broke and told Phil.
Not the whole story, mind you. Not about the countdown. Certainly not about the cum-infused milkshakes. Just that I was fucking Charlie. One sleepless night it was the only solution I could find, blow up my whole life and force me to get out of this twisted relationship with Charlie, one way or the other. Getting caught had been my secret ace-in-the-hole all along to protect me from myself, only more and more it seemed like my husband was the most oblivious man on Earth and so that that card might never come into play unless I put it on the table myself.
In bed one night, I elbowed my snoring husband until he jolted awake, and as he was still foggy eyed and reaching for the light, I just blurted it out. "I'm fucking Charlie."
I wasn't prepared for his response. "Yeah, what else is new?" He turned the light off again, tried to roll over and go back to sleep.
Of course, I shoved him until he was awake. "You know?!"
He sighed, hit the light one more time and got his glasses, then turned back to me, giving me one of those 'do we really have to do this now?' looks. "Of course. I'm not an idiot." News to me. "Why do you think I keep working late?"
I'd almost say it rocked my world more than anything, but Charlie had already done that in so many ways, starting with his assertion that he'd be impregnating my daughter in ten years. Five years, at this point. "You're okay with this?!"
"Haley, I love you, but we've settled into a comfortable arrangement where sex isn't a big part of our relationship. Most marriages reach that point. There's nothing wrong with that. We get along and our job right now is to raise our daughter. But there's no reason to deprive ourselves, either. So if you want to have fun, I'm happy for you, as long as you're reasonably discreet. And I'll keep doing the same with the women I meet at work. Honestly, I thought this was just understood."
You can call me a lot of things, but a hypocritical bitch... is probably one of them. I was incensed that my husband had just admitted to having affairs behind my back, despite the fact that I'd just confessed to a large one. In time, I'd come around, see his point of view, particularly since his affairs were never rubbed in my face like I'd done with mine in his, but my gut reaction was fury at his betrayal. Cold fury, mind you... I've never been a violent person. But vindictive, sometimes, and I expressed this vindictiveness by deciding not to tell him about Charlie's designs on our daughter. I'd done so once, and he dismissed them, if he wanted to ignore the danger because he was happy to have guilt-free affairs with floozies... well, maybe he'd wind up with a pregnant preteen daughter before he knew it. No, I wasn't ready to give in, but I could get aroused viciously thinking of my husband's outrage when he discovered that his good buddy had taken his little girl's cherry. Which was unfair to Alice, but this wasn't a plan, just a revenge fantasy.
Either way, that admission should have brought us closer, but it wound up making me more isolated. Now that Charlie wasn't a secret, Phil was no longer my escape hatch. It wasn't only vindictiveness, I couldn't confess Charlie's interest without admitting my own sins... unless I wanted to lie, maybe, but it was a lie that could easily come undone.
"Fine," I said to him, ice in my voice. "I'll just keep fucking him then."
"Sounds good," the bastard said, and turned off the lights. "If you ever want him to spend the night, just give me some warning. We can work something out, I can always find someone... or hell, I'll even spend a night on the couch once in a while. But don't call him tonight, I've got work tomorrow and I really need some sleep."
He seemed to sleep pretty soundly. I didn't, stayed awake staring at the ceiling until dawn, another reason I was pissed at him, but it was the kind of pissed where you also admire the person a little. That was my husband, the boring, straight-laced dependable guy who was apparently totally fine with me taking a lover and even enjoying him in his bed. By the time he got up for work, I was just low-level hostile at him, the kind where I 'accidentally' flush the toilet while he's taking a shower but also thinking more about the new possibilities opened up, both to Alice's benefit and detriment.
After all, my husband knowing about the affair meant I no longer had to worry about making excuses. Over the past few years, I'd taken Alice along on excursions I know I shouldn't have, just because there wasn't really a way I could explain being away, or being alone with Charlie, other than something that involved her. So I dragged her along with a promise of a milkshake or a trip to McDonald's if she played along that she had a school play or something, but really we went to Charlie's house, or sometimes the park, and had some risky sex where Alice could probably tell what we were doing, even if she wasn't actually watching. Especially in the most recent years. Now, I could just say, "I'm going out to see Charlie, you watch Alice for a few hours." If Phil was home at the time, anyway. We could go to a bar, or a sex club, which we had a few times--without my daughter. Hell, we could probably go off on a beach vacation.
Or, we could just fuck at home, whether Alice was there or not, whether Phil might be at work or not. I'd said before that the thrill of cheating wasn't what our relationship was about... but it sure added a spice. And being deprived of it suddenly... well, you might not think salt is that important to you, but when you suddenly have to cut back, I bet you're going to be doubling up on others kind of spice to make up for it.
Alice, she was always the biggest part of the spice of my affair. And I needed a new escape hatch. If my husband was cool with my having an affair, maybe he'd put his foot down if he learned his daughter got to see it. Well, she'd already seen plenty, but always accidentally, or at least I was trying to hide it.
Charlie had often asked that we leave the bedroom doors completely open when we fucked. If Alice ever blabbed, he'd have shot himself in the foot. It now seemed to me that was the best thing I could do, to help him screw up what he'd been working for.
I didn't do it right away, or all the time, but over the next few months I was more and more careless with the door. It took a while for Alice to see anything, probably because I'd trained her to either stay in her room or be a lot more discreet in snooping, for fear of losing milkshake privileges. But she also wasn't promised a milkshake every time Charlie came over, and on a few of those occasions I noticed a shadow on the wall outside the door, trying not to be seen while getting an eyeful of her own.
I always let her and let her think she'd been far sneakier than she was, half praying for her to tell her father and at least make him institute a 'not in the house' rule, half praying for her to keep her mouth shut. At least one of those prayers was answered, which is a good thing about wanting contradictory things.
Alice's voyeuristic adventures were not constant. She wasn't watching and masturbating or anything lewd like that, she was too young for that, mostly it was just peeking in and then after a while getting bored and going back to her room.
One day I caught her in a way that wasn't easy to deny. Usually I made a point to not be looking at the door, especially if I knew she was there. But sometimes I looked when I didn't know that, just to check if she'd started... like I said, knowing my underage daughter was watching added a certain spice. And one day, I was riding Charlie's cock, in my ass, rubbing my pussy to help me get closer to orgasm, imagining my daughter watching, but I didn't think she actually was. I wasn't even facing the door.
But there was a mirror, angled so I could look in that direction. Except, this time when I looked, there was my eight-year-old daughter, not her shadow, creeping carefully into the room. Our eyes locked, in the mirror. There was no hiding that either of us saw the other.
She looked as guilty as I did, in the instant before she rabbited out of the room, and that was probably why... I'd caught her in the act, not of peeking, but of creeping into the room to get a really close look at what was going on. I couldn't yell at her to get out, because of the gag, and I couldn't even tell Charlie to stop. I mean, I could, but safety signals are sacred and I didn't want to devalue ours by using it just because I was ashamed at what my daughter had seen and needed to have a talk with her. And that was only half-true, anyway. So I just finished up, or waited until Charlie did anyway... but I was pretty finished by then anyway.
After that it was time to take the gag off and have another talk with my daughter. That was the half that was true. Not the first inappropriate conversation I'd had with her and it certainly wasn't going to be the last, but it was memorable.
I'd already explained to her about cumshots, and adult games that required adults to be naked and on top of each other, all of which she'd accepted, and which required a little explanation about orgasms, but in a very generic sense. 'It feels really good, for adults. For us it's better than ice cream.' But the mechanics were still something of a mystery to her... the mechanics of sex, anyway. She knew guys had a thing that got hard and eventually squirted out milkshake ingredients (at least, I had to assume she put that much together, although we'd never directly talked about that). But that part of what felt good including sticking that hard thing in your ass, or pussy, or mouth, that wasn't part of the previous explanations, and I don't think she ever got THAT close a look in those days, except maybe the mouth work. I feel like her impression was that it was just bouncing up and down, which, at her age, was itself enough to make something fun.
Her recent spying probably exposed her to more, and this time there was no denying she saw my asshole stretched and full of cock. So I tried to explain it at a level she could understand, told her that when people grow up their holes grow stretchier, and it feels good for women to get them stretched, and that for men it feels good to stretch them out, and that both felt good with rubbing and nakedness, and finally that Uncle Charlie and I liked to help each other out that way because our parts fit together really well.
That seemed simple enough for an eight-year-old, but she was interested in one thing in particular. "Is that why you keep a ball in your mouth? Because it feels good?"
Well, simplifying is one thing, but I didn't want to lie, and this required a nuanced answer. "Sometimes," I said. It was more about the degradation of it than the feel, which frankly gave me a sore jaw afterwards and I would happy to do without, so I added, "But mostly I wear it because Mommy can be loud when she's getting stretched, and this is a very private thing, so I don't want people to know when and how often I do it. Besides, the noises can sometimes sound frightening." The gag didn't perfectly muffle the sounds I made, but they helped, and almost more importantly, they made me much more conscious of them and able to tamp down.
"I won't be frightened," she said.
"But it's still private." And she pouted, so I relented some. "But since you've already seen everything, I'll make you a deal. I won't wear the gag anymore if it's just us in the house. That way you'll know not to come in and interrupt." Again, after a moment of brightness at the first part, she didn't seem entirely happy with that, but I wasn't done yet. "Or if you're curious, you can watch, since you're probably going to be nosey anyway. I said watch, not interrupt, you have to be silent as a mouse... I can extend my privacy that far, if you'll help to keep it. But if I hear you told anybody about anything that Uncle Charlie and I do, then it ends, no second chances, locked doors from now on, and no more milkshakes either. So..." And I made the zipped-lips-locked-key motion again, which she copied immediately after promising.
A promise from an excited eight-year-old cannot be relied on, but it was comforting to have anyway particularly when you're doing shit that might get you thrown in jail or your kid taken away. It wasn't my best parenting moment, but it was better than any alternatives I could see, like happened far too often. It was a weird slippery slope that letting things get a little worse always seemed like the best choice left. Because this compromise sure seemed a lot better than risking Alice telling everyone at school what she'd seen.
So what if my daughter wanted to watch me have sex, now and then? Maybe she'd get so bored of it that it would lose any allure, and Charlie would have a harder time talking her into it. So was my hope, anyway.
I got a promise from Charlie, too, to cut out any of the dirty talk involving Alice if she was in earshot... though the promise did leave me with a lingering suspicion that she'd already heard some of the things he'd said about her... I may have been gagged, but Charlie never was, and although he didn't bring the topic up every time we were together I couldn't dredge back through my memories and be certain that the times he had and the times Alice spied didn't overlap, particularly when I didn't know all of the latter.
I have to say though, any of the spice that I'd lost when I realized my husband knew and approved of my affair was made up in spades by allowing my daughter to watching it. Not every time, but now and then, and always quietly, like a mouse. Sometimes it was just peeking in when I got loud, sometimes she stayed by our sides the whole time, from the moment we got undressed to when Charlie's spent cock pulled out of me (but with a video game on her tablet because apparently as interesting as watching your mom get fucked by a stud was, it still had its boring moments). Our deal also allowed us to have the fun of doing it outside of the bedroom more... after all, if she was probably going to watch anyway, why not do it on the couch? Or in the kitchen? Once, even in her room. Not the first time we'd done it on her bed, but the first time she was home and we'd gotten her permission first, instead of hiding we'd done it after. Yes, if I'm not hiding my affair from my husband, acting like I didn't have to hide it at all was the next logical step. Flaunting it--to one person who absolutely should not have seen--made cheating sex exciting again, gave the whole ritual some variety, and you know what they say about variety and spice. Not to mention the ability to get vocal again, which I'd missed... moaning in pleasure was a good way to draw my daughter out of hiding to watch.
Among the other things my daughter got to watch start-to-finish, along with oral sex, anal sex, vaginal sex in loads of different positions, was how we made her special milkshakes. The 'you must stay in your room to get a milkshake' rule didn't make much sense to enforce now, and she didn't seem at all surprised by the process. She was a little surprised by the offer, but when she walked in on me naked on the kitchen title, Charlie's cock in my mouth, I realized that she had been pretty good for a while and I hadn't made her one, so I asked her if she wanted one. Her eyes lit up and she nodded eagerly, so I asked her to get the ice cream, then got up, got the blender, and before her eyes sucked and milked Charlie until he squirted a load that Alice knew by now could easily have gone inside me, but was going to go inside her, instead. Put in the ice cream and milk, blended it up, and gave it to her.
No hesitation, it was still a treat she enjoyed, and if confirming her suspicions made her any less eager to try it, it didn't show. She still asked for them now and then, maybe a little less, but I think that was maturity rather than disgust, she realized that she was taking something, a limited resource, from me and was grateful that I shared at all. Or maybe I was projecting.
She did ask for a cumshot to the face though, without any prompting from me--or from Charlie, I think. If I knew he had prompted it, it never would have happened.
Thus far, as far as I could tell, he'd kept his word and hadn't done anything to her without getting my okay first. And that was mostly things like a hug or a kiss on the cheek while he was fully clothed. Alice started to ask for more things too because of this... she was a big hugger, and more than a few times she found she had to ask me if it was okay if Uncle Charlie gave her a hug or a kiss goodbye when he went back to his own place. Of course I always said yes, and eventually told him hugging was just okay in general when clothed, if she initiated, half-preparing myself for a day when a hug would include a lewd grope on her ass or a kiss might include tongue, but so far they didn't. What she'd seen might be unforgivable, but in terms of physical contact, everything was perfectly innocent.
Or almost, anyway. There was one questionable progression in that area, but then, that was my fault. I was in the kitchen getting a snack, when I heard from upstairs, "Mom, can you tell Uncle Charlie it's okay if i sit on his lap while he reads to me?" She liked getting him to read to her when we weren't busy fucking. I wasn't thinking, and I just said, "It's okay if she sits on your lap."
When I came upstairs I saw my eight-year-old daughter sitting on his lap all right... she'd neglected to mention that he was still naked at the time. Alice herself was just in a t-shirt and underwear.
I was enraged, for a moment, but they were just reading, and it could have gone a lot worse. After all, it was my own fault for assuming he'd have dressed--when I left him he certainly wasn't--and when Alice asked, she never specified. Considering I still thought Charlie was serious about impregnating my daughter in five years (closer to four, but not yet officially March 15th), he could easily have taken the advantage to kick the grooming he probably needed to do into high gear. Even with my permission only to sit on his lap, one could interpret that as "you said it was okay, which means it's okay even if both of us were naked and, well, a hard cock's got to go somewhere while she's sitting." Or even if not naked but just her underwear slid to the side. Or her sitting on his lap while he buried his fingers in her panties and gave her a little massage. And I might have been angry but, picturing those images in my head, particularly the one of him sliding my daughter up and down on his lap... as long as she wasn't in obvious discomfort, I might have had to concede that that any of that did count as a form of lap-sitting and that I should have been more careful before granting my permission.
In these hypothetical situations I was sure I'd withdraw the permission for future encounters... our agreement technically may not have allowed me to withdraw a permission granted once, but as long as he simply took advantage of the one-time lapse--for as long as that lap-sitting session happened to last--and didn't try to repeat it without securing my permission again, I wouldn't have held it against Charlie.
Considering that magnanimous position went through my head while imagining what was essentially a slow anal rape (perhaps only statutory, but still rape, and it would have to be anal to qualify as sitting, I imagined, and her tiny pussy probably would have painfully tore it he went for that), it seemed pretty silly to get worked up over something that was, while still inappropriate, certainly far less than all that. My daughter had underwear on, and a shirt, he wasn't touching anything but her shoulder, and he wasn't even hard. Well, not fully hard, but regardless, out of the way. Alice's feet touched his penis now and then but that was it, and certainly while I watched Charlie wasn't going to allow any more.
Still, it was another step toward Charlie ending his countdown in a victory, another step that seemed meaningless at the time but I'd allowed a lot of meaningless victories and hadn't made much progress in learning to resist Charlie. So I should have been furious, or maybe terrified. Instead I was just worried whether this meant that Charlie felt he no longer had to ask if my daughter could sit on his lap while he was naked, just like he no longer had to ask to let her hug him while they both were clothed. And what was I going to do, tell my daughter she couldn't sit on her Uncle's lap? Couldn't give him a hug?
I did remind her that she wasn't allowed to touch his private areas, or him hers, and that she was not allowed to even get close to either if both of them were naked. In fact, she wasn't to be naked at all when he was in the house, something she'd tried before a few times, to play off as casual, and I needed to put a stop to that. That, surprisingly, got pushback. The two of us were naked all the time, she complained, why couldn't she?
Well, firstly, because it wasn't true. We weren't naked all the time. Just during sex, and after, which sure, meant pretty often with the two of us, but I did put on clothes when it was clear we weren't going for another round for a while and I thought my daughter had satisfied all her curiosity about what it looked like while things were dripping and I could clean up. Charlie, well, he was naked a bit more than that. I accused him once of trying to normalize the sight of his naked body for my daughter, and he admitted that was a benefit but that he liked walking around naked. He said he did so at home when he was alone and that it should be normalized for the both of us, and for Alice too.
I snorted at that. Fat chance of that happening. Well, chance got fatter as the countdown shrank, but at the time I didn't think I was going to give in on that one anytime soon.
I did put my foot down at the time, both with Charlie and my daughter, and so while it wasn't the last time she saw either of us naked, my daughter stayed clothed right until the first time I jacked off her Uncle Charlie in her face.
That happened as the countdown reached Four, but wasn't because of it. Or it was, but in a 'two birds with one stone' sort of way. See, I'm not a totally neglectful mother, and in one way my affair with Charlie, right in my daughter's face, turned out to be a good thing, when I realized that it wasn't curiosity that led my daughter to be taking closer and closer looks as Charlie fucked me. Or at least, not just curiosity. For a while I thought it was, that she wanted to get close enough to smell sex, not just see it, maybe even to taste... or at least push the boundaries as far as she could before I inevitably had to put on the Mom role. But then I started putting things together and took my daughter for a pediatrician appointment and we discovered she was inheriting my nearsightedness. Like me, she'd been good at faking it in school, and even previous routine eye tests--remembering the order of letters on the chart, probably without realizing she was doing it--but the time had come where she had to get glasses.
And sometimes kids get depressed at that. Not glasses specifically, but at any sudden, mandated change to their appearance that's thrust upon them. I knew glasses would help her and in time she'd be grateful for them. Maybe she'd prefer to have perfect eyesight without them, and when she grew up maybe that would be an option, but until then, I knew her being able to see better would improve her life. I also knew that for someone who was just starting to define their own preferences with regard to how they look (which was tights over dresses, bright colors over darks, and long hair over short), suddenly saying, "Here! Now you've got something that will be stuck on your face that you can't control" was pretty disheartening. Same thing can happen with braces. I tried to cheer her up on the ride home, pointing out all sorts of attractive celebrities who wore glasses, and of course, myself. Getting glasses made us look more alike, which I was happy about and hoped she was still young enough to care about. It did seem to brighten her mood, but what really perked her up was when I said, "In fact, having glasses can be a lot of fun."
Now what I meant was things like being able to change your whole appearance in a moment. The classic sexy librarian move, where she pulls off her glasses and shakes her hair out is a classic for a reason, and even though the 'sexy' part of that might be too adult for a girl Alice's age, there were more innocent applications. Playing Supergirl--flipping between her powered identity and Kara Danvers--was more what I had in mind.
Maybe I'd used the word 'fun' in connection to what me and Charlie do in the bedroom too many times though, because what was on her mind was something totally different. "Does this mean I can take squirts in the face from Uncle Charlie now like you like?"
Good thing Phil worked so it was just me and her in the car. Doubly good that she didn't come up with this in the doctor's office. Still, I almost ran a red light hearing that, looking back in the mirror to see her previously glum face suddenly look excited at that prospect. I told her I'd think about it, which by this time my daughter assumed meant yes, so I tried to temper expectations, warning her that it probably wasn't going to be as fun as she thought, she was still too young to really enjoy it. When she asked why, I think I might have invented 'cum pores' that women get when they're older that make it feel good when you take a load of cum to the face. I was trying to make an analogy to what I'd always told her about taste buds developing, which was why certain foods that tasted bad to kids wouldn't always, and I was a little flustered and not entirely sure what I was saying. Hopefully she didn't spread that misconception around.
I was hoping she'd forget my not-actually-a-promise, but it soon became clear she wouldn't and I realized that we were awful close to March 15th, so... why not use it for my own private tradition? I told Alice not to say anything to Charlie, that I'd have to talk to him and convince him. As if I needed to convince, but, I hoped it would be a trap of sorts. Sure, he might get to cum all over my daughter's face, but at her age it certainly wasn't going to make her want more. Most likely, it'd just convince her that adults sometimes had strange tastes, or that Mommy was really weird.
Both of which are probably true, but I'd forgotten kids and their tastes can be pretty weird too. There's this song Alice sometimes played, sounds like a rabbit having a seizure set to music, it was some meme thing she found on YouTube. I couldn't even understand the appeal for anybody, but she would play it and laugh repeatedly until I wanted to slam my head against the wall or just turn her over to Charlie and say, "Do whatever you want to her, turn her into your own personal sex slave just keep her from playing that song ever again!" I mean not really, but thinking it helped me stay sane.
Thinking about jacking off Charlie in her little face, getting her new glasses glazed up with cum... well, I'm not sure sane is the word, but it did help keep me occupied, since it was one of those weeks where Charlie had to go away for a few days and Phil was usually too busy with his own extra-curricular activities to help out in a pinch so I had to take care of my own needs. More and more my submissive side wasn't fantasizing about stuff a lover might make me do to degrade me, but around him doing stuff to Alice. Probably not a good sign, but, just fantasy, except for this one-time exception. And all the other exceptions.
Finally Charlie came by. While Alice was at school, so I could enjoy him first on countdown day. Which it was actually a couple days past, since he was gone for the actual day. I was a little scared he'd forgotten, and that I'd have to remind him which seemed... weak, somehow. But regardless of the actual day, the real countdown day, the real celebration, for me, was always the moment I first heard the new number that confirmed his goal for my daughter was still foremost in his mind and I was almost an afterthought, a useful means to an end. It sounds strange, but that can also be incredibly exciting, that you fundamentally don't mean anything to someone other than being useful. Deep down, sometimes that's how I thought Charlie saw me. Maybe he had some feelings, but... he'd never mentioned, much less celebrated, the first day we had sex. Yet he still always had his eye on the eventual day he'd knock up my daughter.
Until then, I could enjoy the best of both worlds, act like I was the one foremost in his mind, and he treated me like a lover he couldn't get enough of. Whether he was living his fantasy of my daughter through me, the reverse (only wanting to impregnate her because he couldn't me), or even if he was just cynically aware that the only way he got his perverted goal was by keeping me satisfied, the moment I let him through the front door he pushed me up against the wall, thrust his hips at me like he could fuck me through our clothes. As though all the time he was away he was missing me.
But it wasn't all-out sex, just a little making out, and calmed down after that initial burst of activity... maybe he wanted to save it for when Alice could watch, or maybe we just needed an additional spark, so we sat on the couch, my legs over his lap, shirt undone, and exchanged pleasantries, the "how was your day" type thing that really I should have saved just for Phil but Charlie and I had drifted into after a few years, especially since it could lead to talking about Alice and talking about Alice could be the spark we needed to launch into an unrestrained fuckfest. He was evasive about his trip when I asked, as he always was since I'd started to notice. Usually he just gave a rote reply of "Just had some business to take care of," or "It went okay." Sometimes "went better than I thought" or "didn't go so well," and corresponding shifts of mood, but those were rare. I was curious about it, but didn't think our relationship was one where I should pry, which is silly since he was using our relationship to slowly pry my daughter's legs apart.
I wondered if maybe he had another mother, another little girl he was working on, long term, maybe a string of them all at different stages. It would account for his confidence of success, if this was a time-tested technique, but the thought, as appealing as it could be when I was at particular stages of horniness, wasn't really as satisfying as the notion that this was his only try at child impregnation.
In any event, once I realized I was getting everything I was likely to get about his trip (without prying), I moved the conversation to Alice. "Alice is at school right now, so if you want to get really filthy, now's the time." Because yes, I did allow my daughter to watch us, but only for the relatively vanilla stuff, oral, anal, vaginal, cumshots... anything kinkier than that I still tried to keep to when she wasn't watching. And I also tried my best to restrain myself even for the vanilla stuff, not shouting out every filthy thing that came to mind (particularly when it involved her), and trying to limit the swears (of course, if I was much good at that while getting close to an orgasm, I'd have never needed the gag in the first place).
"How's she doing, anyway?" Charlie asked. "With her glasses and all?"
In some ways it was a caring question, because he'd heard about my daughter's concerns, talked to her on the phone about them, tried to tell her that lots of men liked girls more with glasses. Maybe he really wanted to know how she was. But him asking anything about her was one of the in-roads to the ritual, the one I hoped would end in the countdown, the 'surprise' revelation that it was no longer Year Five, but Year Four. If he remembered. "As if you care," I said, doing my part and holding my breath as I playfully kicked him.
"Of course I care," he said. "In four years, she's going to be the mother of my children, after all."
Yes, four years, still on track for when my daughter was twelve and about a half. I tried to picture her at that age, starting to get taller and gangly (though she already seemed to be legs and arms), her hips starting to widen to bear that first child, her belly swollen obscenely, belly button popped out like a turkey timer on Thanksgiving. Probably another bad sign that when I pictured my daughter at twelve, I was picturing her pregnant. But it was just picturing.
I pushed myself up to a more seated position, started crawling over Charlie's body, first to grab his shirt, pull him right close to me like I was pissed at him. "You're sick," I said. "I can't believe you're still keeping track." I would have been more pissed if he'd forgotten to lower the countdown. "I don't know why I put up with such a perverted freak, I should throw you out on your ass and call the police."
He didn't look worried that I might, his face just made a cute "I don't know, I guess I'm just adorable" expression like a teenager or maybe an intelligent puppy.
And I could feel his dick get hard and ready to give me the fucking I needed. But it might still get harder, the fucking might get more intense. So I said, "Well, you made it to Four. Don't expect to make it to Three." I said similar things at previous years, with different numbers. But this time, I had a little extra. "You want to cover Alice's face with cum in a couple days, to celebrate?"
Yup, that got a pleasing lurch, and he grabbed me by the arms and twirled me on the couch, so I was beneath him, and then held me down, spanked my ass and called me a disgusting whore. But you know, in a loving way, and it came with a hard cock shoved inside me, and him holding me down like I was a little girl being raped by her favorite uncle. I never had an uncle but I figured he had to be a favorite to get away with that without me telling... or maybe he'd just have to make me cum.
That, I still instinctively knew was the big danger, the point of no return. What Alice saw, how much cum she drank, what kinks she thought might be fun to try out... all of that was bad, but it didn't have to be catastrophic. I could put my foot down at any time, and I had faith my daughter would obey me. At least until she was a teenager, but by then she'd probably be too busy fooling around with boys her own age to want to seek out Charlie's particular brutish lovemaking style. On the other hand, if I ever let Charlie make my daughter cum, then I didn't think I could stop him from taking whatever he wanted... or from her giving it. If Alice was anything like me, she'd probably fall right into being his little cumslut. Just like I broke my marital vows, risked my own child's innocence, because of the intense pleasure Charlie gave me, my daughter might decide that listening to Mom was overrated, because Mom didn't give her orgasms.
I was still feeling ambivalent about letting him cum all over her face before that... not enough to not make the offer (again, the lure of a good orgasm when I really needed one), but worried that it was a step too far. But just after my second orgasm ripped through me and Charlie pulled out after one of his own, I thought, yes, I'm still totally in control of this situation.
He gave us a minute or two to catch our breaths, came back with a beer and I came back to a more-or-less seated position, and he asked, "So, you want me to cum on Alice's face then?"
"She wants it," I explained. "One of the only thing about her glasses she's looking forward to." A smile crossed my face at the absurdity of it all, but then I snapped back to duty. "You don't touch her, she doesn't touch you, and just a one-time thing, to take the sting out of it."
"Yeah? A one-time thing?" he asked, a little smirk on his face, probably because I'd said the same thing about the cum milkshakes and now my daughter has one on average once every week. Since we started about a year ago she'd taken more than fifty cum loads down her throat.
So I was realistic that it might not be a one-time thing, but I certainly couldn't admit that. And this, I thought, was different, no sugar, no ice cream, just nasty cum on my daughter's face, an experience to satisfy her curiosity. "A one-time thing." Or at most, a once-in-a-rare-while thing. I'd told her it was an 'adults eventually like it' type thing, so she might want to try again in a few months or years to see if she'd grown up enough for her 'cum pores' to open. A little white lie that could wind up helping Charlie.
"So when do you want to do this? Today when she gets home from school?"
"I mean, if you want. But since this is going to be your only shot at it, you might want to wait a little and build up a really good load for her." Charlie was a prodigious cummer but his best efforts today were already inside of me, except for the bits leaking out and staining the couch.
So we agreed on two days, which gave me two days of 'best behavior' from my daughter (since, obviously, I told her that the whole thing was off if she wasn't good). Two days of having to be satisfied with Charlie's fingers since he didn't want to waste another load, but his fingers were only a disappointment by comparison... he knew how to use them. In fact it was probably a good thing that 'best behavior' for Alice included her not spying on us because seeing her mother cum on her uncle's fingers might give her ideas. I was counting on his cock being too big to comfortably fit inside her to discourage any experimentation (and warned her that it would be painful at her size), but she might think fingers were small enough to be worth trying.
Finally the day came. We did it on a Saturday because Phil was out of the house playing golf (now I had to wonder every time if his hours-long efforts to sink something in a hole was an excuse for hunting for affairs, but I was trying not to begrudge him that while I had Charlie over).
I made sure Alice had any homework she needed to already done, something she usually waited for on weekends (Charlie helped, though, on Friday afternoon), and all her chores as well, or it wouldn't happen. And I played with Charlie's cock some, got a few strokes inside me just to warm him up (and, okay, a little fun for Mommy too, even if his load was destined for Alice). So I called Alice down, "Alice, do you want to come and show your Uncle Charlie your new glasses?" Which was ridiculous, because he'd already seen them, several times over the last few days. But it was a signal, I'd arranged with my daughter, letting her know when it was the time all her good behavior had been leading up to, time for her to get her first facial.
Little slut almost screwed the whole thing up by coming down buck naked, except for the glasses of course.
I mean, I guess it's understandable, since I was usually naked when Charlie came all over my glasses and face. But still... Charlie had never seen my daughter naked (unless he'd taken some liberties while alone with her), and I intended to keep it that way right up until I told him never to come around me or my daughter again, which I still planned.
Kids often screw up your best plans, and little Alice walked into the kitchen without a stitch of clothing on her, confidently almost like a model, if models got to be eight-years-old and only advertising hairlessness below the neck as a fashion statement. Didn't even cover her private parts with her hands, making her tiny slit not very private at all.
She had to see Charlie's cock grow at the sight of it. I, holding it in my hands, certainly felt it, but dropped the dong and stood up between my lover and my daughter and said, "Out. This isn't happening."
"Nobody said you could show off your private parts." I had intended that this was going to be a very dignified jacking-off-of-a-large-cock-right-in-the-face-of-my-daughter. There really should be a better shorthand word for that but I guess it doesn't happen often enough for one to exist. I'm going to call it a spoogelestation, because it's not quite a molestation but it's in that area. It almost never happened at all, though, and thus didn't need a word. Naming it should give you a clue that I eventually relented.
"But Mom!" she said again, allowing me to usher her out of the kitchen and towards the stairs that led to her room. "This is how you do it!"
I'm not completely unsympathetic, of course, but I had to show a strong front, and make it an object lesson. So I marched her to her room while she cried, "You promised."
"I promised if you were on your best behavior, and I've also told you many times you were not to go naked in front of your Uncle, no matter how many times I do it." And I waited for the sad, repentant look that told me she understood she screwed up, even if she didn't mean to break the rules, even if it came from an innocent place, probably, and then I said, "Now, I can understand your mistake, since Mommy is usually naked, so we can try it again if you're willing to follow the rules."
She brightened instantly at that. "But won't it get my clothes messy?"
So we compromised. Or, I guess, I made a concession, since I don't think Alice really cared if her clothes got messy. She wasn't the one who did the laundry, after all... no, that's always Mom's duty. And she had no idea how cum stains can be a pain to work with. We could have been careful, me making sure to aim it right at her face and lean forward so any spill went on the floor, but cum's inherently messy, so I didn't think her idea was really that far out of step.
We compromised, and I led her back down the stairs in just cute panties and socks. Toplessness, that wasn't that big a deal... she didn't even have breasts. Might as well have been a boy, so who cares if Charlie saw her nipples? He almost certainly already had, at least flashes of it, just from a top that was too loose, when my daughter lay on her stomach or bent over. And underwear might as well just be a swimsuit. The socks were because I knew Charlie did have a bit of a thing for feet and this was already tempting fate enough.
He seemed about as uncertain about whether the spoogelestation was still on or not as Alice had been, looking up the stairs as nervous as a teen waiting for his date on prom night. Or an adult waiting for his teen date on prom night. Or a naked adult waiting for an eight-year-old girl who's mother may or may not be about to jack him off in her face. They're all very similar looks, I think, except the ages and level of nudity involved.
Seeing our compromise, Charlie looked more like a naked adult waiting for an eight-year-old girl he's allowed to fuck. That wasn't the case though, so I lead them back to the kitchen (tiles, I don't want to have to clean more than I have to), and had my daughter kneel in front of Charlie. He complimented her on her cute panties (they were blue with a yellow and red flower over the crotch), and her glasses. In those days, by the way, Alice didn't wear the black-and-tortoiseshell round glasses that fit with the looks she's into these days, they were these square frames, made of clear acetate (with just a hint of rose shading), with the temples--that's the side parts, that goes over the ear--an opaque pink with swirls of purple. We spent forever picking them out and I spent more money than I had to just to make sure it was a pair she liked.
And now I was about to cover them in cum in an act of spoogelestation where I jacked off my lover in her little eight-year-old face. My daughter watched the operation with rapt attention, much more intense than when she'd seen me do it for myself, or to help make a milkshake for her. She always did like the moment of ejaculation most, I think, when she could see it, and I guess for a kid that probably would be the most exciting part, it's like a little flesh volcano. And because you never know exactly when it's going to erupt. Her eyes were wide open, afraid she was going to miss the big moment with a blink, but it's not like it's one moment, and I was taking my time, stroking Charlie slowly at first, gradually picking up speed.
Soon I started to think I was taking too long, when I noticed that she wasn't just staring at the cock, she was frequently looking up into Charlie's eyes, and he was looking in hers, and that could be very powerful. I picked up the pace, trying to get her attention back on the cock, and the solution came to me. "Do you want to try?"
It was breaking another of my rules, but she was all for it and staring right at it again, and she lifted her hand off the floor, hesitantly, like my permission might been withdrawn at any time. I guided it to Charlie's cock, helped her stroke it, get the rhythm going, feel it pulse a few times, and I knew Charlie was almost at that point.
Okay, I let her touch his cock, but I was not going to let her feel it all the way through his ejaculation, that was a little too adult, so I said, "That's enough... it's almost time." She was reluctant to drop her hand, but she did, and I started a firm pump, and Charlie, who'd been practically silent the whole time like he was afraid he'd screw up a good thing by talking, grunted in a way I knew very, very well, and I said, "Here it comes..."
Again, I probably should have expected her to open her mouth and extend her tongue when the cumming started. Monkey see, monkey do, or maybe just like mother like daughter. And it's not like she hadn't tasted cum before, or like I didn't expect a little to get in her mouth. The first blast went right in her glasses, coating the lenses in a splatter that probably ruined the visual portion of the show for her, though she also made a little pleased chipmunk noise as some of it hit her face around the glasses, as some of it dripped down her face. I don't think she was expecting it to be so warm, since once it's in a milkshake it's very cold. A second blast I aimed lower and off to the side, on her cheek and then, what the hell, aimed the next at her open mouth. Let her get a taste of cum in its natural environment.
I expected her to cough, spit up at the acrid bitterness, but she took it like a champ, no real reaction other than her tongue retreating a bit more back into her mouth and then returning. I interpreted all that as her wanting desperately to prove that she was grown up enough to enjoy it so I squirted another on the back of her tongue, and then spread the remainder around her face.
By the end, my daughter looked practically obscene. God Charlie could cum a lot when he hadn't in a while, if anyone else had seen my daughter they probably would have thought a couple men had covered her face and thought the absolute worst of me since I'd never have considered that back then. One was enough, thankyouverymuch.
I don't know how much she wound up swallowing... Alice made the motion and closed her mouth like that was her intention but I also saw quite a bit dribbling out of her mouth, bubbling in fact, from her panting breaths after. If she was anything like me, this would put her off the taste for a while, maybe for good.
I guess she's not like me. When I asked, "Now, do you want to make a milkshake?" I honestly expected her to say no, but she nodded happily and smiled. I mean, I guess the sugar and ice cream would help with the taste, if she was struggling. Probably a mistake to offer.
But mistake or not, I follow through, and we scraped what we could off her glasses and face and put it in the blender, and you know, she drank the whole thing. Even if it wasn't what I wanted out of this experience, I was kind of proud of her for that. Perseverance is important.
Now I just had to be prepared for 'can I make my own milkshake?' to be a regular request.
Call it mother's intuition. Alice did ask, the next time I offered a milkshake, if she could help, and I know Charlie would have been happy for the assistance, but I was strong, told her that it wasn't appropriate and occasionally warning that if she made an issue of it the milkshakes might stop altogether.
I still let her watch when I did it though, so, not that strong.
It wasn't that much of a fight, though. I talked to Alice about it after, and she thought the cumshot experience was 'neat,' and she liked touching Charlie's cock, but I guess she didn't get the same enjoyment out of it she thought she would based on seeing me do it (and to be fair, I love it but a lot of my enjoyment is still performative, unless I'm super horny). I guess she assumed her cum pores hadn't opened yet, and without that, probably wasn't sure it was worth the mandated shower and brushing her teeth that immediately followed so her father wouldn't catch on when he got home. Not enough to beg for it and promise good behavior at least. That she asked sometimes to help out was probably more about being like Mommy than in the act itself, which was sweet, and also made it easier to control.
With four years left to go, I knew I couldn't afford much more in the way of 'slips', or I'd be a grandmother, or in jail, or both. So I was strict about it, telling her maybe she could try it again for her ninth birthday. Well, not for her ninth birthday, probably... maybe on the day itself, depending on how scheduling worked out, but certainly not as part of the celebration. Can you imagine, me jacking off my well-hung lover on my daughter's face at her party, right in front of all her friends? I did, more than a couple times. Nothing wrong with a dirty fantasy if you never intend to put it into action. Of course, I knew that I'd said that about multiple previous things I'd put into action, but this was different. For one thing, the other mothers wouldn't stand around and let it happen. Probably. I know a few of them have some pretty kinky fantasies of their own, and most of them aren't the innocent perfect mothers they portray to the world--and, often, their entire families--but I doubted any of them had been brought as deep into perversion as I have.
I knew I had to control my descent. So, no more cumshots, except maybe as a birthday treat. And for a while, I did try to arrange meetings with Charlie so they mostly happened when Alice was out of sight and earshot. The sight of her mother getting fucked might have become familiar to her, and I might not be able to put that genie back in the bottle, but trying to at least limit her opportunity to see wishes fulfilled, if that makes sense.
I thought I was doing pretty good for a while. Then Charlie moved in with us.
You ever get the impression that fate wants you to let your preteen daughter get impregnated by an adult man? I guess probably not. But sometimes it sure seemed that way to me. Every time I thought "surely Alice will tell somebody what's going on, and at least it'll be over," it never did. And sometimes circumstances just seemed to arrange themselves so things would just get worse and worse, or where any progress I made would backslide. Sure, I always had responsibility too, I'm not trying to duck out of that, but sometimes it really felt like fate was against me. Like how I met Charlie that day in the grocery store. Or the times my daughter walked in on us and instead of being disgusted developing a curiosity. Or, when Charlie lost his house and had to move into ours.
Those times Charlie disappeared for a few days? The ones that I never wanted to ask about? Turned out at least some of them were court appearances. Not criminal court, but civil, apparently on a number of fronts, and one of them trying, unsuccessfully, to fight the foreclosure on his home.
I sure can pick 'em, can't I? As if it wasn't bad enough that he wanted to impregnate my daughter before she was a teenager, he's also a deadbeat layabout. I mean I guess I already kind of knew that, but still, when he came to dinner one night and told us that he was probably going to have to move out, maybe out of town entirely to look for work, I had mixed feelings. On the one hand, yay, my daughter would be safer. On the other hand, I felt cheated of four more years of good fucking. Maybe just three--I'd probably have to cut it out before the countdown reached zero--but still, that was a lot of good fucking.
Worse, Charlie had sort of spoiled me for other lovers. I mean, not that he was better (though he was still the best, quantity can have a quality all its own), but just... now that Alice felt comfortable watching her mother fucking, I had to expect it would happen with any other guy I wanted to bring over.
But on balance, I thought Charlie losing his house was probably a good thing. The long-awaited escape hatch, Fate intervening to save my daughter. Might even have been enough to start to believe in a higher power.
Except Fate also had a hand in my fucking husband, who, before Charlie left, offered, "You know, you could just move in with us, stay on the couch."
Alice, who'd been glum at the prospect (despite Charlie's promises that he would 'try' to visit when he could) brightened up immediately and said, "Really? Can he?"
"I'd feel bad about imposing," Charlie said, but that didn't exactly ring true to me.
"You wouldn't be," Phil insisted, but I had to intervene and said it was something we'd have to talk about as a family.
My daughter thought it was a done deal already. "What's to talk about? I want it, Dad wants it, and I know you want it too Mom."
Exactly why we had to talk about it, although I meant 'as a couple' more than as a family, and Charlie did retreat to his home (which was his for a few more days) so we could, although we didn't. I deflected every attempt of Alice to bring up the issue, and Phil knew better than to press, at least until we were in bed. "I don't see what the problem is," Phil said, then. "I figured you'd jump at the chance."
"What about Alice?" I asked, feeling like a total hypocrite.
"You heard her, she's all for it. If you mean sex... I trust you to be as discreet as you've always been." I didn't think he'd be so keen if he knew exactly as discreet I'd been before. "He'll sleep on the couch, so she doesn't get confused, of course, unless you think it's a good idea to open up to her about an open marriage."
I already had, pretty much, I just wasn't ready to open up to my husband about exactly how open I'd been with her. I didn't think my husband would approve of how open I'd been, including demonstrating the mechanics of pregnancy by letting her look at a spread open pussy with cum dripping out of it, so she could see deep into the hole where a baby was made. That was recent, I know I'd said I'd been better about doing stuff in front of her but if I was perfect I wouldn't be telling this story.
"Aren't you at all worried he might try to rape our daughter or something?"
He laughed, like it was outside of the realm of possibility. "Do you really think he's that kind of person?" Well, there was a trap, because if I said yes I'd basically be admitting that I was willing to fuck him for years despite that. "Besides, I guess you'll just have to keep him so satisfied that he doesn't think about anything else. I'm sure that won't be difficult."
I wasn't so sure. But he had kept his word so far, and I still felt like I had at least three good years before I had to completely cut him off, so I let it happen. The next week, Charlie moved in with us. Alice was thrilled, her favorite Uncle Charlie now never had to go home. Phil seemed pretty happy too, he always had a buddy around to have a few drinks with after work.
As for me... well, it was much more of a mixed bag. There's a reason that Phil was my husband and Charlie my lover. Someone's a lot more appealing as a sexual partner when you don't have to live with them day in, day out. A real relationship is riding out the good and the bad, and me and Charlie... what we had before was basically only the good parts. It's probably why it lasted so long.
Now that he lived with us, he got on my nerves a lot more. Even things I would have granted him before became irritating. I might have fed Charlie as a special treat before, but now it was part of my job as a housewife to make enough of a dinner for all four of us and it was a lot less charming. And when he just visited, when I thought the affair was secret, I used to make sure if he had a drink or a snack that no trace of it was left. For one thing, he was a guest, then, but also a lover. Cleaning up after a lover is exciting, the knowledge you might get caught if you fail squeezes out some of the drudgery. But a guy who sleeps under your roof by your own generosity, and still leaves plates and glasses around the house, because he can't be bothered to wash something is basically another husband. Which is, in many ways, like having another kid. Now I had three, only one of which I'd birthed (two who dramatically stretched out my pussy... sorry Phil).
We still had sex... if we hadn't, if he wasn't so damned good at it, I think I'd have thrown him out after two weeks. It was still good, but not as good, and I was leaning on the excitement of what we were doing with my daughter under my husband's nose to keep the spice up.
That isn't to say I slid further into the depths of depravity, closer to surrendering my daughter to him. The kind of stuff we'd already been doing was still so far beyond wrong that it didn't need to get any worse. Just the fact that Charlie didn't have to leave, the notion that I couldn't supervise my daughter and him together all the time, that he slept downstairs and she easily could have crept down there in the middle of the night, that all I had to go on was the trust in the honor of somebody who'd admitted to wanting to impregnate my daughter at the age of twelve... all of that was enough of an escalation on its own.
I mean, it did escalate a little more, in that Alice started going naked around the house too. Just a few months ago I'd insisted she at least wear panties when she was recieving her special-treat spoogelestation on her glasses, but once Charlie lived with us, it didn't seem like a fight I could win. After all, we shared bathrooms and Alice did like running around in just underwear in the mornings before she had to get dressed and when she wanted to wear less the whole argument of 'but you guys do it' seemed to be harder and harder to defend against. So, with her zipped-lip, locked-key promise that she wasn't to tell her father or anyone else--because that part alone could screw over anything, the rule became that she could be naked only when she was alone, or when both of us were.
And bathtime, of course, which she wasn't always alone for because Charlie sometimes helped with that. Innocently, mostly. He kept his word, wouldn't touch her or let her touch him sexually until I said it was okay, which I was determined not to do, but he could sit with her and supervise baths, make sure she cleaned behind her ears, or just keep her company with bathtime toys. Once in a while, shower with her, both of them naked, just to save time, and after sex so he wouldn't be facing my daughter with an erect penis staring her right in the mouth. And that still counted as 'naked when both of us are' although the bathtime stuff started just before relaxing into that general rule, where my daughter would walk into our room naked to watch me give a blowjob or ride Charlie, usually standing as though proud of him looking at her most private area, sometimes getting close enough to get splashed and require a shower.
My lover complimenting her on her pussy or ass or cute nipples did weird me out, but Alice seemed to eat those compliments up, never having gotten them before (or at least, I hope not), but it always seemed... polite, more than anything else? Like that he wasn't super aroused by her at eight years old but he wanted to make her feel good about her body, and maybe wanted to encourage her to keep showing off. I probably should have put a stop to it, still.
I might have, if he wasn't generally pretty good with Alice, and I could see some of the benefits. When I told Alice to eat her vegetables or make sure her room was clean, she'd sigh and look glum, but when Charlie did, she wanted to please him, especially with the prospect of him reading her bedtime stories was potentially on the line.
Those were also pretty problematic, you know. I don't know how quickly they started to be. I'd let him read to her many times before I really paid close attention to his style of story, how he would sometimes twist fairy tales in perverted ways, which made Alice giggle and, somehow, like them a lot more than my stories.
I probably should have seen it coming, really. After all, the last few years had been a very patient, very slow process of grooming me and my daughter, indoctrinating her into submitting to him when the time came, and me to allowing it. I knew that was the goal. I probably shouldn't have let him into her bedroom alone with her at all, but among all the things I let him do, bedtime stories seemed the least of my worries. If he broke my trust and tried to molest her, rape her, I'd certainly hear, intervene (I hoped) to stop it. Phil was either watching TV or sometimes already asleep by then (early morning wakeups for work sometimes had him in bed before his preteen daughter) and I usually kept close enough that I could hear his voice, often changing to match a particular character, and my daughter's occasional question or giggle. If he slipped a finger into her pajamas, I reasoned, I'd hear something.
But it was the words that were doing the real grooming, the stories themselves, and once I started listening to them, I couldn't stop, couldn't bring myself to stop letting him tell them, no matter how inappropriate they were for an eight- or nine- year old girl.
Like his Red Riding Hood story, which went more or less like the original, at first, but had a twist ending... the woodsman who rescued Red and her Grandmother turned out to be a wolf too, but a friendly wolf, and Grandma rewarded him by training Red to be his mate, that she said 'What a big cock you have!' but eventually he got her used to it until Red could take it in every hole and milk him of his wolf cum and have wolf-babies.
Or Sleeping Beauty, in which the Queen escaped the spell of Sleeping that afflicted the whole castle because she was having sex with a guard and left her daughter unattended when she touched the spinning wheel that put her and everyone else to sleep. That she reasoned that since sex kept her from falling asleep, sex might wake her daughter up. But it had to be really good sex, with a prince, so she travelled the kingdoms trying to find someone to fuck her daughter and wake her up, personally auditioning them until she finally found the right guy and they lived happily ever after.
Charlie tells them better, and with Alice prompting him for details, and her knowledge of sex from observation but not experience, she probed him from more and more, but there was a common theme, the princess or innocent girl always wound up pregnant by an older man, sometimes with her mother (or grandmother)'s help, sometimes despite her best efforts.
Those were the tales my daughter went to sleep with in her ninth year. Sometimes with his cum in her belly (from a milkshake, still). Sometimes with very detailed memories of what sex looked like, at least among adults. No feelings yet, I hoped, but it wouldn't take a lot of imagination to put her into those tales in place of the princess, and Uncle Charlie as the woodsman or commoner prince or ship captain or whatever. Fuck, I could do it easily enough.
Sometimes I felt like I was living in my own kind of twisted fairy tale. And who knows, maybe I was going through something mothers had gone through for centuries. Fairy tales were sometimes based on some level of fact after all, just sanitized. Rumplestiltskin's just one of many tales where some magical being provided some favor to an innocent young woman, in exchange for her first born child. Maybe the truth was that he wanted that first born child to fuck. Maybe spinning straw into gold was really a metaphor for spinning a sub-par sex life into one full of orgasms. Maybe Charlie really was some kind of magical troll, and this was how they reproduced.
I didn't think that, really, but the bastard was lucky as fuck, and had a power over me that I wanted to believe was unnatural. Probably just my own horny pussy though, like he proved to me years earlier in that alley behind the grocery.
Every day, I thought about calling it quits, terminating our arrangement, our relationship. Particularly after Alice started walking around nude. She was of an age where that was starting to mean more. I mean, for the first few years, a little girl's really no different than a little boy, in terms of looks. Yes, boys usually have shorter hair, but a little wardrobe alteration and you could pass off one gender as the other. Even nude, if you saw them from the back, you might not know what parts they had unless they bent over. But it seemed to me like around age eight or nine kids start growing more into their gender. I'm not even talking about puberty, though it can start that early. Because I do believe some little girls are born with penises and some boys are born with pussies, and that they can know that even earlier, but... I don't know, it feels like around that eight is where another chunk of the 'this is what girls move like' stereotypes really starts instinctively settling in to the bodies of those who already know they are girls--and I presume likewise for boys, although as I had a daughter and I am a girl, I was more attuned to the signs there. Tossing your hair back for attention. Moving with a girlish gait. And, in Alice's case, bending over a lot as though experimenting with the power to get men to look.
Of course, that could have been just because Charlie's compliments were starting to have an effect, that she liked being nude around him, flaunting her body. Maybe that was what was worrying me.
She even asked if she could have an all-nude birthday party when she turned nine. I thanked a God I wasn't sure I believed in that she asked me when Phil wasn't around. Charlie was, and he seemed tickled pink by the idea, but he backed me up when I reminded Alice that not everybody was comfortable with nudity, and that was why she was never to talk about it with her friends.
I did promise her another cumshot to the glasses. Not at the party, of course, but to help make the cake. This time, I let her feel the cock for more than a few strokes, wrap her tiny hand around while it squirted in her face, clouded her glasses and again, got some on her tongue. Really, it was the first time my daughter jacked off Charlie in her own face, I just got him to the 'almost there' point. That probably counts as the first 'sex act,' if I had to judge, which put me in a guilty depression... after, I mean, and I got over it before the party.
It was a dirty kind of fun to watch her brag to all her friends that she helped make the cake this year, and then catch her eye and exchange a cute, secret mother-daughter smile.
But again, this was only a special treat, I had no intention of making a pattern of it. Charlie did start asking for more though, some that was innocent, some that was decidedly not. Whether it was asking if I'd allowing her to sit naked on his naked lap (but no touching, he insisted), or suggesting I let my daughter feel his balls as he exploded into me. Almost got me with that one, particularly with Alice looking eager for me to say 'yes,' but... no.
Sometimes his lobbying was private, when Alice was away, and he'd give a reminder that the clock was ticking or make the gentle suggestion that I teach my daughter how to give a blowjob. "Keeping a guy from getting in her pants with a good blowjob is a skill any young girl should know."
I was smart then, actually, and I'm quite proud of it. I told him that I'd teach her when the countdown reached three... if he was good, didn't push, didn't suggest things while Alice was in earshot, never touched her sexually before then.
I mean he slipped up with the suggestions now and then, but I considered those 'heat of the moment' and forgave him, and as for touching... well, as far as I knew, no slip-ups there. He made it to March 15th, and this time, I didn't even get to offer. "I don't mean to push," he said. "But you did say you'd teach your daughter blowjob technique."
I had. I never said I'd let her actually try it out, stick his cock in her tiny mouth or throatfuck her. I gave exactly what I promised, and while Charlie lay on my marital bed and Alice watched, I gave her a detailed lesson on how to do something she'd watched hundreds of times before. But I hadn't actually taught her then, and only answered a few general questions. Now I was 'teaching' her, but I wasn't going to let my nine-year-old actually suck on an adult cock.
I did let her feel his cock with her tiny hands while I did, though. I hadn't planned on it goin in, but in the moment, that seemed only fair, since both of them were rather annoyed with my hair-splitting technicality of a promise. Alice didn't even know I made the promise, but I did call her down with "I'm going to teach you how to give a good blowjob," so although she was attentive at first assuming she'd get her turn, by the time I made it clear that she wasn't going to get to put it in her mouth she was glaring at me with murder in her nine-year-old eyes. Letting her hold the base and cup the balls as I finished seemed to mollify her. As I went to deep throat, trying to show off, make my lips kiss against her fingers, I felt him shoot off in my mouth, swallowed every jet, and then finally pulled my cummy mouth off Charlie's dick so I could take a breath before continuing the lesson.
Turns out was almost every jet, some dribbled on Alice's hand when I pulled away, and I had to pretend to ignore her stroking up and down like trying to milk a little for herself out of him. I suppose I didn't have to, but there's a time for firm discipline and time for turning a blind eye, and when you're teaching your daughter how to give a blowjob without actually letting her try, it's one of those second times.
I licked some cum off my lips, then said, "Now, some people say it's not really a blow job unless you swallow," I explained. "And swallowing is always preferred over spitting it out. Spitting is a sign of disrespect, and incredibly rude." I wouldn't tolerate any of the girls in my family spitting on the street and I won't tolerate it in their eventual love life either. "But really, the goal is service to someone you love, and some people like facials more, and so you should always let whoever you're sucking decide where to cum."
"Sh..Dang," Charlie said, barely managing to avoid swearing in front of my daughter. Which he didn't normally have a problem with, but obviously was trying to be on better behavior in hopes of getting something. Like a positive answer to his next words. "Wish you told me that before, I'd have chosen inside Alice's little pussy."
I suppose I walked into that one. He said it like a joke, and Alice did indeed giggle at it, but I was not amused, knowing how much he really meant it. Nor was I amused by Alice using that moment to bring her hand up to her mouth and lick the sperm off it. "Within reason," I clarified, and then said, "And of course, you're not allowed to do any of this, with anybody. This is just instructional. In fact, you probably couldn't if you wanted to, without throwing up."
"I don't think it tastes that bad," she said.
"Not the taste. There's something called the gag reflex. It's why people stick a finger in their throat to make themselves throw up. It takes a lot of practice to get rid of it." Really, I almost regretted not thinking of this sooner, making use of it as part of the lesson. If I'd let her actually practice giving Charlie a blowjob and then forced her head down, she probably wouldn't be keen to repeat it until she was much older! I could see she wasn't sure whether to believe me or not. Well, there was still time to demonstrate, just not on Charlie. I decided right then and there to get one of my old dildos and make her try to deep throat it... just not when Charlie or Phil were around. Phil because he'd freak out, and Charlie would probably encourage her to keep trying. I still had a strap-on from one of my old lovers who enjoyed pegging.
That opportunity would come later that night, and Alice found out that she was not yet as ready to enjoy giving the kind of blowjobs Mommy does as she thought, but before that she just had to take it on faith and, more than that, that it didn't really matter that it might make her puke, that she was too young and not allowed. That was most important.
If she wanted to taste cum, for now, milkshakes were the way to do it. Other than that, she was not to have any inside her from anybody, nor touch a penis without my direct supervision.
Luckily she was still nine and mostly listened to me. Even if I did have to face-fuck her with a black strap-on to really sell the point that Mommy knows best. I made her repeat those words exactly, in the bathroom, when her gagging calmed down.
But I knew the day was coming soon that she would not think Mommy knew best, that she would try sex stuff for herself. I knew she masturbated now... sometimes when she watched Charlie and I together, she rode a pillow and rocked in time to the movements. She also, mostly in the privacy of her own room (after I made an issue of it at least) stuck things up her ass... pens and stuff, nothing much bigger than a finger, so I knew she still wasn't ready for Charlie, but if she kept it up...
Well, I often had to comfort myself with the knowledge that the countdown still had three years left.
Still, I knew at this rate, in three years she'd be pretty much putty in his hands, that even if I did what I still swore to myself I planned, kicked Charlie to the curb, he might do what he threatened years earlier, show up at her school and... not forcibly rape, just convince my daughter that now was the time to try sex. I could picture her hopping on his cock at the first invitation. Even if I'd warned her that he wanted to impregnate her. Three more years of cum milkshakes and sex demonstrations and dirty fairy tales could get her there, even if nothing more inappropriate had occurred, and I had to be realistic, look at my track record on adhering to my promise of "nothing more inappropriate than what we've already done."
Aside from the blowjob lesson (which I thought was pretty successful, all in all, in cooling down Alice's interest, at least if you counted the gag reflex demonstration in the bathroom while Charlie and Phil were out drinking), I did mostly hold to it, kept rejecting Charlie's requests.
Anal was his next goal, I think, or at least some steps down that road, maybe just to be granted the right to finger her ass while I serviced him, which was one of several suggestions, but he seemed pretty aware of her tendency to stick things up there on her own. As usual, I caught myself thinking (often in the middle of sex) 'what's the harm?' but I'd grown wiser, knew that if I kept letting Charlie work on me, he'd chip away at my objections. Or that if I got horny enough, I'd chip away myself, make a promise. If I wanted to save my daughter from being the mother of his children, I was going to have to accept one important fact.
I couldn't afford to have three more years. I had to start now, phasing Charlie out of my life. Or my daughter's life, but I knew that meant mine too.
It was a decision... the right decision for the time, I think, despite what happened after. But it wasn't an easy one to stick to. It was like losing weight is for a lot of people, I think. "I'm going to do it," you say. "But not today. There's a holiday." Or "Well, I can't start on a weekend." Or "I had a rough week." Or "Just after one more sausage." And you go months like that.
This is why people set dates. New Years Resolutions. Beginning of the month.
In my case, after failing a bunch of promises to myself, I resolved that within two weeks after my daughter's tenth birthday, I'd have a serious conversation with her, and another with Charlie.
I went back and forth whether I should give her one last 'present' first. Of the sexual kind, I mean... of course she was getting a bunch of normal presents for her tenth birthday. Probably another cum cake if she wasn't too old for that. Same with a cumshot on her glasses, or maybe without them for once, I could see myself allowing that. But I wasn't sure if I should also let Charlie push one step farther before I started cutting things back.
In the end, I decided to, but not because of getting away with my own horniness, or the strong submissive streak in me that craved giving Charlie something he'd enjoy even knowing what it cost. As it turned out, it was compassion and sympathy for my daughter.
I haven't talked much about Alice's life outside of her occasional unorthodox role in Charlie and my sex life. You might think I was raising her to be somebody's personal fucktoy or something from that, but no, she was a normal kid, who also enjoyed normal kid things, and had normal kid relationships.
Except not all kids get to be popular. In most lives, I suspect, it waxes and wanes, sometimes they're a complete outcast for unknown reasons and sometimes they've got a solid bunch of friends and sometimes super popular, and it can shift in an instant, but parents-- good parents, at least, like I tried to be--are always aware, always worry and over the past year or so I'd absolutely noticed that her social life was waning. She had friends, but a lot of them were just "other kids she could talk to at school and have a good time with" as opposed to "people you actually make an effort to do things with." One of the reasons Alice watched us so much was that she was bored and lonely. I mean sure, interested too, but there were times where Charlie and I were right in the middle of a good fuck and Alice got a text on her tablet and ran off excitedly because friends actually wanting to talk to her was rarer and more important.
For the past three years, attendance at her birthday had continually dropped as well.
Maybe it was the cum in the birthday cake batter. Maybe only Alice really enjoyed that particular flavor, and to everyone else I was just the mom with the funny-tasting cake. I've considered that possibility. And, of course, let's not discount the influence of the other mothers, some of whom might not want their daughters hanging around with the daughter of a shameless slut. Only one person had ever said anything like that, but it could easily have been a factor in the others. And this was the first year Charlie was living with us, instead of just being a frequent guest, which had already, I know, cost Alice the opportunity to have friends come visit (not because we were doing anything at the time, we made sure to keep things clean when visitors are around, but some parents were leery of him being around for some reason).
Whatever combination of factors were involved, for Alice's tenth birthday, she only got four other girls attending her party. One was a new kid, and her parents just as new to the neighborhood and I could tell she was there not because she particularly liked Alice but because she was trying to make friends with anybody. I mean they got along (and they did turn out to stay friends over the longer term), but really it was looking like my daughter was down to three friends who cared enough to celebrate her birthday. More than that had been 'maybes' to the invitation, but whether it was calculated to disappoint her or just rotten luck, none of the rest showed up, or even sent a present.
My daughter was delightfully cheerful in those days, but I could tell it disappointed her. Charlie noticed too, but he didn't pressure me to let him fuck her in the ass to cheer her up or anything, just mentioned that Alice seemed down while I was cleaning up after the party was over. Good thing too, because if he had tried to push something sexual, I might have just thrown him out then and there. I'd also noticed he was talking to New Girl's mom a lot at the party... which was good because it kept her from noticing when her daughter mentioned that the cake's taste reminded her of somebody named Michael (her older brother, I found out much later), but it still made me get progressively more steamed as the party went on and they were laughing and it seemed almost flirting. Even if I was planning to phase Charlie out, jealousy's often irrational and rage-inducing.
His concern for my daughter's feelings won him a little bit of a reprieve, and even if he didn't say it I thought that doing something with Charlie that she otherwise wouldn't be allowed might well cheer her up, so I still needed him.
There were still firm rules. Anal was right out. I wasn't going to let him molest her, either. If he secured permission to rub her pussy once I worried he'd be doing it every chance he got. We had still never explicitly talked about whether my permission, once granted for a step, could be taken away... Alice was still allowed to sit on Charlie's naked lap as long as she wore at least panties, and I didn't even get asked, anymore. It was considered safe, allowed... even though a lot of people would consider it not safe at all. And they'd have a point. I knew sometimes he'd let his cock grow while she sat listening to a dirty fairy tale, in a way where she could feel the swelling meat up against her panties or bare leg, imagined maybe he had her shift to various unorthodox seating positions to feel it in more stimulating ways, but as long as nothing slipped underneath the underwear, and he didn't actually start masturbating that still fell within the rules. A lap sitting story-session often worked out pretty well for me... I couldn't complain about her giving him hard-ons he'd later use on me. Maybe, when I wasn't looking, he'd gone beyond what I was then comfortable with, talked my daughter into using her hands to stroke his cock while it nestled between her spread legs, the base of his shaft flexing up against the crotch of her panties... but again, that was her touching him, not molestation. Don't get me wrong, I'd have been pissed if I walked in on that, but I'd already opened the door by allowing him to stroke him a few times, so I couldn't accuse him of breaking our deal like I could if I found him stroking her pussy.
That feeling was what made me so wary of allowing anything in that area as her special present... she'd enjoy it, but I'd be, potentially, giving him permission to touch her private areas that he might consider ongoing. I didn't think he gave her cum facials when I wasn't there because I knew his general stamina level, but this... I could see Charlie taking advantage every time Alice sat from then on, and neither ever say anything to me because it was now allowed. And again, if Charlie wanted, from there I was sure he could swiftly persuade Alice to break any of my rules and keep silent. I knew how often I'd been talked into something with Charlie's hand kneading my pussy.
I needed to think up something sexual my daughter could do that would not involve Charlie touching her, that she hadn't already done, that was more intense than her taking a load of cum right in the glasses, but that wouldn't set a dangerous precedent. And that would cheer her up of course, that was the whole point of the exercise in the first place, I wasn't just doing this for my own kinky satisfaction.
In the end, as so much of my life these past few years, it all came down to cum. And a compromise. A cumpromise, you might say (Phil isn't the only one who can make stupid jokes). Charlie wanted anal, but no way.
That said... there's really no harm in cum in the ass, right?
I comforted my daughter in the conventional way that evening, after the depressing party that took place during the afternoon. Phil was home, so I couldn't make my offer, but I still wanted to show my support, which I did by just hanging out with her, trying to be the cool mom who is still friends with her daughter and likes spending time with her alone even though she's got a big-cocked lover she could be going to a sex club with. But, Alice was obviously mopey, so, in a free moment, I did whisper a reminder that Charlie and I still had to a special birthday treat to give her when the moment was right, and she perked up a little at that, already aware that birthdays, and holidays were usually the best times for something fun and new to be allowed to do. I don't know if she put together about March 15th yet.
The next day, when we were alone, I brought it up again, but this time, gave her options for what her treat might be... she could either have Charlie give her another facial on her glasses and face and maybe, if she wanted, this time I'd put more of it on her tongue. That got a sort of disinterested "yeah maybe" but clearly she was waiting for option B. "Or, I can let Charlie's cum get in your ass instead."
"You'd let Charlie fuck my ass?" I'd already lost the battle of swearing with Alice... surrendered, maybe more like it. She'd started experimenting with it just that last year, found Charlie found it hilarious and I would only give her token disapproval, so she kept it up. Her tendency to swear in school had already gotten her in trouble, and might have also been one of the reasons other moms didn't want their kids around her, but, really, Alice wasn't that far out of the mainstream. Lots of kids swear these days. I've heard kids even younger than her swearing at strangers in the street. We live in a vulgar time and somebody really should do something about it.
Anyway, back to having my daughter get her first load of cum in her ass. "No," I told her. "You're still too young for that. But... I can let him shoot in your ass crack." Still not sold, I could tell from her face. "Looking at you, not me." Since I did try and make sure he was mostly looking at me when he came on my daughter's face, that might count as an exception. But clearly not enough of one, so I added something that made it interesting. "And if you want to, we can push it in the hole and you can see if you're old enough to like that." Another little trick of mine... she'd get excited, knowing that when she was old enough she might be allowed to do it for real. But really, I hoped it might buy her time... if she expected cum inside her asshole to have some special magical sensation, something that--when she felt it--was the signal for when she really could enjoy anal sex. Well, then, logically, if she just felt squishy cum in her ass and nothing magical, then clearly she wasn't old enough, right?
I had other tricks too, other plans, plans I hoped would turn around and work out to her benefit as I planned Project Phase-Out for the next couple weeks. For that, I had Alice put the idea to Charlie herself... we'd play it so I'd tell him we were going to do it on her face again, but Alice would ask for it on her butt instead, and I'd give in and look to Charlie like I was surrendering.
Of course, Alice screwed it up. I'd told her to say 'I know I'm not old enough for you to stick it in, but could Uncle Charlie cum on my butthole instead?"
Instead, when we visited Charlie by the couch where he now slept, my daughter naked, me not (Charlie just wearing boxers... somewhere that 'only naked when both of us are' rule got dropped), I told him "Since Alice is ten now, I said she could have you cum on her glasses an extra time."
He got up, said "Oh, right... well, I'll take any chance I can get to cum on that pretty face of hers again," and dropped his boxers.
And this was the place for her line. Only she got overexcited and said, "But wait, instead, could Uncle Charlie cum inside my butt?" Or she was hoping to push me into more than I'd promised, hoping that I wouldn't back down when I saw how much Charlie liked that idea. His cock sure did.
Permission was still sought... maybe just because I was here, but he did look at me, with hungry eyes and a hard cock, "You'd have to ask your mother about that."
I was strong, though. "No, Alice is too young for anal sex." I almost ended it there, punished Alice for screwing up with just an ordinary facial, but she gave me an even better wide-eyed hopeful look and I sighed. "But if you want, he can cum ON your butt."
So I posed her, on the ground, face down, ass up, on her knees, hands spreading her butt-cheeks apart. He stood behind her stroking a huge erection.
"Just hold on a moment, don't start stroking, I'll be right back," I said, and left them alone as I went upstairs. He could have fucked her right then and there, while I was out of the room. Anal or just take the opportunity to dive into her baby pussy. Honestly, I doubt she would have stopped him.
If I came back and he was doing that, and she was enjoying it or at least not complaining, I might have let it happen, just given in right there. I'm not sure. Maybe part of me wanted the countdown to end, one way or another and so I just took a roll of the dice on which way it'd go. I gave it a good two minutes, listening for any noises, wondering if I'd come down to see my daughter losing some kind of virginity at only ten years old. And if Charlie broke his word, it wouldn't be my fault. To this day, I kind of wish I had walked in on that, just given up after I got to witness that.
Instead, I returned and found them more or less where they were before. Alice was sitting on her lower legs, head no longer pressed to the floor, but when she saw me, she resumed the position I put her in. Charlie looked at me questioningly, but I kept one hand behind my back. "So, are you going to start, or what?"
"Sure you don't want me to push it in?" he asked. "You had me hoping you went up there for lube."
"No, Charlie," I said with an irritated sigh. "I'm not going to let you anally penetrate my daughter. But if you want to cum with her bent over in front of you, this is the closest you're going to get. Look but no touching."
He shrugged, knowing better than to look a gift horse in the mouth, knowing he'd have better luck pushing on another day--or at least, that's what I thought he decided--and started stroking. "Can't we get a little closer at least?" he said after a short time. "I'd at least like to be as close as possible. Plus, I'll have better aim."
Yes, I'd made an obvious blunder here. Surely the biggest was allowing an adult man to jack off over my naked daughter, but only slightly less irresponsible... I didn't consider that cum aimed for an ass could easily hit a pussy, and even at Alice's young age that could be enough to get pregnant. So we repositioned, having my daughter dangling over one of the arms of the couch, lying there, puffy pussy still in view, but now at least I could grab hold of the cock and make sure it stays only over the rump while it's squirting.
It was quite a sight watching his dick loom over my daughter's upthrust ass, while he stroked and pumped as though he was just getting ready to sink inside, but just wanted to demonstrate to me how deep it would go in a ten-year-old body. My daughter looked up back at him... I'd have preferred her face to be buried in the couch but that was unrealistic I suppose with something this exciting, and it was a birthday present after all.
"You know I'm no good at getting myself off," he reminded me, which I always took for an excuse, but one I was--usually--happy to indulge him in... when it was just me. When my daughter was involved... well, I was still usually happy to indulge him. I knew he was big on the pleasure of watching a mom get involved, wanted me to eventually milk him dry of cum in her baby pussy, and if I did grant him anal access to my daughter he probably would have loved me to help. Since this was just going to be a cum splattering, my assistance didn't seem to be that big a deal compared to what I already planned, so I started to lean forward.
Only to be given another option. "You mind if I just rub it a little between her buns?"
I had to think about that one. Hotdogging my daughter did seem pretty sexual, but probably more innocent than a spoogelestation with her mouth open and hand on his cock. And this was intended as a last hurrah... even if it was an escalation, it wasn't one that could go anywhere.
What really sold it was Alice herself, at the suggestion I could see her stomach muscles straining as she tried to raise her ass to meet the cock above, to give it as a given, all while saying, "I don't mind, Uncle Charlie," as though it was her decision, not mine.
In other circumstances that initiative would have been a bad sign... was anyway, but it would have forced me to turn it into a lesson, deny it on principle, even if it would be fun to see him rub there. But I really did want to cheer up my daughter, so... the recent birthday girl got what she wanted. "Fine, just keep the head out of play. It even looks like it's considering penetration, I'll grab your balls and squeeze." And I made a motion with my hands, demonstrating a squeeze that would get my nails involved.
He smirked, spit once for lubrication, an action that made both of us jump with surprise, but Alice recovered more quickly than me and Charlie began sawing the length of his shaft up and down, like a slow fuck of a gentle molester who didn't realize he missed both holes.
Between the spit and his weeping head, he left my daughter's butt glistening while he worked himself up to an ejaculation I was preparing to aim right at the asshole I'd just told him to avoid. He did seem to be following that rule at least, and others as well. Technically, aside from his genitals, he hadn't touched her at all, at least with any deliberate motion. His hands rested on the couch's back and arm, which meant my daughter needed to provide the stimulating friction, pressing her buns together around his cock while making soft breathy moans like she was getting fucked.
Probably the closest thing to it, actually, and more direct stimulation than I'd ever seen her get from another human being. Deliberate or not, his balls were also slapping up against her little pussy. It was probably deliberate in the sense he knew it had to happen before he made his request, but at the same time it was a natural consequence of their position and my agreeing to let him use her buttocks for stimulation so I felt like I couldn't call him on it.
And he looked good, I can admit that, faux-fucking my daughter, his size and rough overall look looming over her like some kind of monster, only one she had no fear of. He was being perfectly trustworthy while I watched, anyway, the head always stood up over her body, sometimes drooling a trail of slime. Seemed like it was taking superhuman restraint to not just go for what I knew he wanted.
He'd be ready soon, I knew, so I figured it was better I intervene now. I reached over, grabbed him, and started the final stroking. Timed it almost perfectly, if I do say so myself, only a few strokes, I told my daughter to spread, and I aimed his squirts like an artist with a paintbrush... paint gun, maybe, since there was some force to it, but I glazed her butt and back and made sure to get some in her butthole.
I've never claimed thinking ahead as one of my stronger qualities. I was focused so hard on her butthole that I forgot that it was going to inevitably drip over to her pussy. "Shit. let me get some paper towels and clean this off."
"Mom, you promised."
So I had. And what were the odds... "You sure you want it?" Charlie stood back, not sure what was going on.
"You promised it would go inside," she reminded me, and so I sighed a motherly sigh and pulled out the dildo I'd retrieved from upstairs.
"Shit," Charlie said. "You can be one kinky bitch, Haley."
"It's not kinky, it's just part of her birthday gift," I said as I tried to gather as much cum as I could on it. "It's not like I'm letting you do it. That would be kinky." Okay, it was a little kinky. But there was a method to my madness. It was a medium sized dildo, bigger than a finger or any kind of pen she'd self-inserted so it was probably going to hurt but not damage... certainly not like trying to get Charlie himself in there. She'd get the message, I knew, that if that was uncomfortable, Charlie would be way worse.
His cum was the only lube I used as I took Charlie's former place behind my daughter only I slowly pushed inside, feeling Alice's body tense and gasp and try to curl back. The cum covered dildo went in, though, more easily than I would have expected, and taking with it enough of Charlie's sperm to keep my promise about getting it inside. If it was causing her pain, she was being a trooper about it, so I worked it in and out a few times.
Yes, you could say I ass-fucked my daughter with my lover's cum as lube but... it was for her own good, I thought. Except for the fact that some of the leakage was definitely working its way into her pussy and the rather annoying fact that I wasn't sure if she was pretending it didn't bother her when it really did, or if she was actually enjoying it. That prospect also bothered me. I mean, I like anal, but I'm a grown-ass woman who took a lot of practice to get to that point, though I suppose her own experimentations had helped. Was helping right then, in fact, as she had reached under herself to dig a hand into her spermy pussy while I was pushing the dildo in. I didn't know if she was actually turned on or just using masturbation as a way to deal with the pain.
Whatever the truth, I certainly wasn't going to keep reaming her ass with my dildo until she either gave up pretending and asked me to stop, or had an actual orgasm from it, though I thought about it. Either would probably have been crossing a line into abuse.
So I pulled it out after only a half dozen strokes, watched her rectum slowly close around bubbles of cum, then started wiping her pussy clear of any danger. "Now don't get used to that," I told her. Told both of them, really. "This is just a one-time thing." I didn't look at my daughter, I looked at Charlie, and I knew he didn't believe me. Well, he'd soon find out how serious I was. As I said, I had a plan, and even this kinky display was a part of it.
I did worry about the cum that might have gotten in her pussy though. A lot. That wasn't part of the plan. In fact, that could have shattered the whole thing. I knew the odds of Alice getting pregnant from that--considering her age and that the cum was never actually squirted directly inside--were slim... how much could carry on her fingers, really? Still, I spent a lot of time thinking about What If?--and I don't mean the cartoon, which wasn't a thing yet.
If that got her pregnant, I decided, well, there was really no point in fighting any more. Alice would be--as Charlie so often prophecized--the mother of his children, and that meant that he would be the father of hers. And if she was happy to have sex with the father of her child, was I really going to stand in her way? No, I decided. Fate would have spoken, there, and I'd have to concede to Charlie.
I wasn't going to know whether I had to do that for a few months, and putting my plan into motion stalled for a while while I sweated it out. Not the whole time, but I lost a good few weeks and maybe some of the momentum I'd built up. I kept myself in another holding pattern, no more advancements, trying to ignore my daughter's hopeful expression whenever Charlie pulled out of me like she thought I was going to suggest putting it in her, trying to ignore Charlie pointing out how well she took a hard plastic dick in her ass, that a properly lubed human one would do her some good.
Finally, I took a deep breath and put my plans into motion.
I went with Charlie first. The next time he brought up my forcing his cum up my daughter's ass with a dildo... that is, the next time he did it while we were alone in the house and she wasn't in earshot, I layed into him. Honestly, it was cathartic. I was doing it for a point, but it felt good to complain about how he was living in our house rent-free, doing nothing all day and still had the nerve to be trying to fuck my daughter.
He looked vaguely guilty at the 'doing nothing' part but knew me better than to think the 'fuckingmydaughter' part was a dealbreaker, considering how long I'd lived with that goal. Still, I thought I made my point, and transitioned into tears... fake tears, but driven by some real anxieties about how I felt I was losing control of the situation, that him living here was an unfair advantage of the terms of our agreement.
"I've still got three years, don't I?"
"I mean in three years, Alice will be the mother of my children," he said, as if by rote, and good thing for him. If he'd changed that countdown and the implied promise that went with it, I'd have to take much more drastic action.
"That's the only thing keeping you from being out on the streets today," I told him. "But as long as you're holding to that... you're not the only one who can give a countdown." So I gave him one of my own. "One year," I said, trying to make it sound like I was coming up with this on the spot. "You have one year to get a job and get your own place."
"You sure about that? That's not a lot of time, considering."
It was a year. Twelve whole months. I thought I was being super fucking generous, considering. "I know it's not exactly a ten-year-warning, but it's what you get. Get a job, get a place, and you can keep trying to convince me to help." For another year or so, I privately decided, then I'd have to cut him off completely. "But if I even get a hint that you're trying to speed up your timetable, you're out on your ass immediately."
Finally, the last tool in my arsenal. Weakness, or the appearance of it. I softened my face, made it look like I was just an overwhelmed mother who was still putty in his hands, that if he just gave a little, he'd get more in return. "I don't want to back out of our arrangement... I just need a little space, Charlie. There's a pace to things, and they've been advancing way too fast." The years just seemed to be zooming by, really, far quicker than they had when I was Alice's age. Maybe that's just a part of getting older, or maybe the particular depravity Charlie's lured me into has warped my time sense.
"Fair enough," he said. "Twelve months... yeah, I think I could probably do that."
I told myself he was talking about getting a job, a place.
Maybe he was, then, but the second part of my plan was still in the works.
I had to be a bit choosier about when to talk to my daughter. I had to wait until Charlie was out of the house and she wasn't, which was much harder to arrange since he started living with us. Or I could do it in the car while I was driving her somewhere. But it seemed like home was the best place for the conversation.
Luckily, Charlie actually did seem to be making efforts to get a job. The first few days I thought it was just lazing around, using our WiFi, but apparently he was trying to get interviews lined up, which... some people say the economy's gotten better, but it didn't seem that way sometimes. But there were opportunities, and Phil, when he heard about my ultimatum, told Charlie he'd ask around and see if there were any openings he could help him into. I couldn't believe what a fool my husband was sometimes, but at least he was one with a big heart. I do love him for that.
Luckily, one day the stars aligned just right and both Charlie and Phil were out of the house while Alice was home. So I went up to her room, sat down in the chair by her window while she played a tablet game on her bed. "Honey... we need to talk about Charlie."
Her head snapped up from her game at that. "What about?"
"You know Mommy shouldn't have been letting you do a lot of the stuff I've let Charlie do with you, and shouldn't have let you see most of the stuff you've seen, right?" She had to, or she'd have told everyone by now and I'd be in jail. "I'm sorry about that. It's just that Charlie..." I'd planned this conversation, really I had, but the words fled my head when I started.
They fled even faster when my daughter started speaking, something I could never accurately plan for. "He fucks you silly?"
"I mean... yes, that's one way to put it."
"It's okay, Mom, I understand." And back to her game, as though that was the end of the conversation.
"It's just that Charlie fills a part of me..."
She lifted her eyes and smirked. "More than one part."
I had to give that to her, so I smiled back even as I said, "That's not what I mean. I mean..." I took a breath. "I know you must think what I've done so far is very strange." She stared blankly at me and I remembered that she just grew up with it, so it probably wasn't strange to her. I jumped ahead. "I know you like Charlie a lot, and he seems very nice to you, but Charlie isn't a very nice man."
"Is this because he wants to fuck me?"
"Yes. He hasn't, has he? He hasn't secretly done anything like that to you?"
My daughter frowned. "No, of course not," she said.
"But you know he wants to." She shrugged. "And right now I'm the only thing holding him back."
"It's okay if you want to let Uncle Charlie fuck me, Mom. I think it'd be fun. You seem to love his cock a whole lot."
I was trying to save her and here she was giving me permission to just turn her over. "No, it's not okay," I told her, drawing on my conviction that sometimes mothers have to protect their kids from themselves. "You're still a child, and you may not understand this but you have to trust me that this would not be good for you. I know you call him Uncle Charlie but he doesn't really think of you like that, to him you're just a body he wants to use and a life he's happy to ruin just so long as he gets what he wants. Now I can handle him, keep him from hurting you, but what I need from you is to stop encouraging him."
"What the fuck are you talking about Mom?" Remember what I said about her potty mouth? This, from a ten-year-old, but I'd already given up on that battle. I was focused on the next one.
"Every time you come watch us, you're encouraging him. Every time you ask for one of his special milkshakes. Every time you walk around naked in the house... I know you love the attention, that's natural, but what he sees is someone he can abuse to satisfy his own perverted needs. And that's Mommy's job, so you need to stop it."
"I can't believe this!" she snapped at me, getting a dark look in her eye. "You just want him for yourself! Uncle Charlie loves me and you're jealous! Like an evil stepmother in a fairy tale!"
That hurt. "I am your mother," I told her. "Not a stepmother. And as your mother, I'm telling you, you will get hurt." She continued to glare at me, so I added, "Maybe I was too harsh. I think Charlie does love you, in his way. But the more you encourage him, the more it turns to just lust, and that's something you can't come back from. So that's why you... why we need to stop encouraging him. Because as long as he loves you, he can be in our lives, but if it's just lust... I will get rid of him. You understand?" She didn't answer. "A man who's all lust is no better than a wild beast, and I'll do whatever I need to to protect you from that."
That seemed to get through to her, a little. She might have become a fan of animalistic acts, but she still wanted love. "So what do you think I should do?"
"Like I said, don't encourage him. Stay away from him as much as you can... it's hard when we live together, but do your best. Don't make a big deal of it... we want him to think that you're just getting bored with this. Don't tell him we had this conversation. Just... don't come out to watch us. Or maybe once a week at most. And try not to be alone with him, or be naked in front of him. And you tell me if he tries anything, first thing. Understand?"
"And he can stay if I do this?"
"Sure." For a year, maybe two. "I don't want to get rid of him any more than you do." Until it was necessary. I gave her a hug then, and after a few seconds she hugged back. It was real touch and go there for a bit, but I walked out of there thinking it was an absolute win.
And it seemed that way, for a while. Things calmed down. There was still sex, great sex, but Alice began keeping herself out of it more and more. Charlie occasionally pushed me to try and get her more involved again, but I thought he sensed the thinness of the ice he was skating on, figured he could wait a year or two, count on puberty hormones kicking in and my defences being down. He always was good at the long game, and I even considered that maybe he'd still win that way, but I felt I was in a great position to protect my daughter.
Up until she told me she was pregnant, anyway.
An ultrasound confirmed it, although when she asked, my daughter told the doctor it was a boy at school, which simplified things immensely. I was upset, and angry, but mostly I blamed myself, telling myself that it was from that one time her masturbated Charlie's cum into her pussy while I fucked her ass with a dildo. Talk about your bad judgment.
Until, on the drive home, I did the math on the numbers the doctor gave me, and realized Alice got pregnant after the beginning of the school year. Which meant after we had our conversation.
That fucking bastard skipped three years ahead in his countdown.
Or so I assumed, anyway. I couldn't be 100% sure it was him at the time. It was certainly possible that I'd accelerated her sexuality and she'd experimented with another kid at her school. But I smelled Charlie on her... not literally, though I suppose at some point I probably should have. On that ride home where her pregnancy was confirmed, I asked her. "It was Uncle Charlie, wasn't it?" And she gave me the same zipped-lipped, locked-and-thrown-away-the-key 'I'll never tell' expression I'd taught her before. Which didn't actually prove anything either way but there was something about the smug look that made me just know.
When we got home, I caught Charlie sitting on the couch, watching TV. Phil wasn't home, so I just stomped up to him and kicked ineffectually at his leg, missing it entirely, stubbed my toe on the couch. "You motherfucker!"
He stood up, looked me over as I winced and hopped over my hurt toe. "I do enjoy fucking mothers," he said. "And enjoy fucking girls into being mothers. You knew that."
"Alice is pregnant, you bastard." And standing right beside me.
"That was always the goal."
"So you're not even going to deny it?" He shrugged. "I can't believe you. We had a deal."
Charlie held up one finger, waving it like he was scolding a small child. "I held my side of the deal."
"You were supposed to get my okay before you did anything with her! You agreed!"
"And you agreed not to try to poison Alice against me or interfere with my access to her life."
"You cheated, Mom," Alice said then, from behind me, and walked up beside Charlie. "You could say no to whatever he asked, but you weren't allowed to tell me to stay away from him, and you did." She seemed proud of herself. "Did you really think I wasn't going to tell him?"
I had thought that. I'd considered that it might get back to him... that was certainly a risk, but from the way the conversation went I thought I'd avoided it. I also didn't think the consequences of her telling would be so dramatic. I thought it might cost me Charlie, but I'd forgotten that it would also be, technically, breaching that specific agreement we made, years earlier. And after that, Charlie was free to do anything to my daughter that she would allow, and the previous several years ensured she was craving everything. I had a sinking feeling that he'd already told Alice the details of our agreement, maybe when she asked him for something that he didn't want to tell me about, that my daughter was waiting for something she could bring to him. Or maybe not. Maybe it was just that my warnings of him being a beast wouldn't be taken seriously or be seen as that bad... he was her Uncle Charlie, and had probably told her many fairy tales of good beasts fucking children that ended in happily ever after for both of them.
This final slip might have been my own fault... but I was still pissed, felt betrayed. After all the things I'd forgiven him for, I couldn't be allowed one mistake? Sure, I'd broken the deal, but... this felt like more than that, like a punishment. I mean, it would be one thing if he decided our deal was no longer binding and he could work his timetable secretly but... I was supposed to still have time before pregnancy was on the table. "So what? I screw up once and you just cut three years off the timeframe?" It could have just been an accident, I supposed, that he didn't expect she'd start having periods, but... he should have started with something like anal for a few years first!
Charlie looked at me like he was trying to let me down gently about something, and told me, "Haley, we've already been past my timeframe. I'd been holding back because you were cooperating, but once that stopped..."
Bullshit, I thought. "Ten years, you said," I reminded him. Well, something like seven when we made the agreement I breached. "That leaves three years." We were supposed to be on Year Three, and now suddenly we were on Year Zero.
Or maybe not. Depended on how you counted. "In three years, Alice will be the mother of my children," he said. With one arm he pulled her close to her and she let out a pleased giggle. "I can't exactly bank on twins, so that means I'm going to have to knock her up again. I'll want to give her at least a year in between, of course. That seems only fair." Of course. It was so simple, and I'd missed it all along.
What else had I missed? "How did you even manage to do this? I should have known what was going on!" But I could guess part of it. I'd thought I'd been keeping a good eye on them, limiting their time alone, but there was always one part I couldn't control. A mother's got to sleep. And it would be easy enough for Charlie, as part of a bedtime story, whisper a suggestion for my daughter to come visit him on the couch to ride his cock. Or maybe he would sneak up to her room.
I'd always assumed I would hear anything like that happen. How does a man fuck a ten-year-old girl without waking her mother?
"Why don't we show your Mom, Alice?" he suggested, and slapped my daughter's ass gently. She grinned and rushed upstairs.
Charlie and I stared at each other. He just shrugged, like that explained everything.
What did explain everything was seeing my daughter come downstairs naked wearing my old ball-gag. I'd wondered where that got to. I didn't really need a demonstration beyond that.
I watched the one they gave anyway. I watched Charlie lie on the floor, which made less noise than the couch when people were moving rapidly on it. I watched my little girl guide herself slowly down on his cock, taking the monster like she was well-accustomed to it, which, I guess, by now she was. Didn't interfere. In fact, at this point my motherly instincts said it was probably the best thing for her to do, stretch out her vaginal canal as much as possible before her baby. And I owed it to her to watch as I'd made her watch for so long. So I kept watching, noting her quiet little moans, muffled by the gag I introduced her to, but not completely silent. That made me wonder, how often had they done this? And when? It couldn't all be while I was sleeping, could it? Did Charlie maybe take her cherry while I was out of the room, doing laundry, relying on the noise of the machine to disguise it? Did he finally visit his specially marked-out spot near the dumpsters at Alice's school, and got her to meet him every lunch for regular impregnation session? Did he sneak up to knock her up in her bedroom while I busy making a big dinner? Or did he use times like these just to warm her up, molest her to the point where she willingly sacrifice sleep, stay up late or get up in the middle of the night, when it was safe enough to sneak down the stairs half asleep, gag in hand, to make his cock shoot off inside her on the living room floor. Or maybe she didn't even have to stay up late. Was I was just too deep a sleeper?
I forced my face stoney so I would be staring at them like I was contemplating murder, but it didn't really feel like they were paying that much attention to me, and, in truth, the intensity of my earlier rage had faded pretty quickly watching something I'd secretly fantasized about for years, found myself still fantasizing about while I was actually watching it, instead of stopping it. Live and right in my face was even better than in my fantasies, even though a part of me was dying, another felt more alive than ever, seeing my daughter bounce and jiggle on him as, at the tender age of ten, she seemed close to an orgasm on his oversized adult cock splitting her cunt.
His real trick wasn't seducing my daughter, though. Anyone with enough patience could groom a child to want a molesting, to enjoy it... sex feels good, after all, if you take it slow and get someone comfortable first. But to groom the mother too? Well, I had to respect Charlie. Grudging respect, but growing less grudging by the bounce... my anger was giving way to resignation and pleasure, whatever remained seeming mostly held in place by the annoyance at missing out the big moment of impregnation myself. I did like the idea of helping with the next one, though I wasn't sure if I should.
But since my daughter was already pregnant at this point, I supposed it couldn't hurt to grab the base of his cock and let her grind into my fist while I milked him into her.
After he'd dumped his load, my daughter, twitching, sweaty, and practically hyperventilating, laid down on her back along his torso, and Charlie said, "I guess we might not be needing this anymore," and started to undo her gag.
My daughter let out a big gasp to catch up on her breath, then wiped at a long drool of saliva that was dangling from her mouth, and if I had any doubts about it being an unpleasant experience anymore, her first words were to ask, "So we don't have to just fuck late at night anymore?" Well, that explained one thing. My daughter was apparently getting out of bed and sneaking downstairs, not for a drink of water as she used to, but for a load of cum. Though I still think I was apparently too deep a sleeper. I took some comfort in that, since that's not something I could control. Then I noticed Alice was looking at me, as though the question wasn't just rhetorical. Whatever authority I'd lost when she took his side over mine, I was still her mother.
"Fine," I said, and she pumped her fist in the air in a spontaneous cheer that also popped his cock out of her. "If you're set on this path, I know it's useless to interfere." Not sure I wanted to anymore. I looked to Charlie. "But you're going have to explain she's pregnant to Phil." My husband was dumb sometimes, but he wasn't so much of an idiot that if Alice wound up pregnant, he wouldn't suspect Charlie first.
I wanted to see how he'd handle it. He was cool about my affair, maybe he'd be cool about this, too.
I had no idea, and that was the source of one last surprise. He waited until dinner, a dinner I cooked, nothing fancy, but some of the tension had faded... or at least, Alice was happier, and Charlie seemed like he felt he was off the hook for finding a job. I guess he was. "By the way, Phil..." he said, casually. "Alice is pregnant."
"Shit." Phil put down his fork, stared down at his plate. "Man, Charlie, when you say to a new neighbor, 'Give me ten years and I'll impregnate your daughter for you...' you really don't fuck around."
And that was the first time I learned exactly how my husband and Charlie first struck up their friendship the day we moved in, just a few months after Alice was born. My husband always wanted a big family, and the new neighbor was willing to provide.
So what's a mother to do? Charlie was just too good at getting what he wanted, setting goals, and achieving them. Might as well submit. Especially since... fuck, that man's luck was unbelievable. I was still thinking about keeping to my countdown, kicking Charlie out, more for appearances sake than anything else, and Phil and I were talking about taking Alice out of school so she wouldn't be teased about her swelling belly or being a slut, but... that was the year the pandemic started. Schools shut down and we all had to shelter in place. Which also meant Phil couldn't go anywhere, and his own sex life was cut off, but, at Charlie's urging, Alice was happy to help. Even pregnant, she loved cum and dicks, and now she had two sources of the first and three of the second to fuck her.
I mean, one was a strap-on, but I got a little stir crazy in that pandemic too. None of us wanted to go anywhere, for fear the baby might be especially vulnerable, and if I wanted to have any kind of satisfying sex life, I had to join in, which some might say is not being a good mother, but parenting is often a matter of just doing what the best you can.
I did my best to make sure Alice didn't miss school, even if it was conducted over zoom and sometimes she had a cock in her just off camera while the lessons were being given. And the pandemic helped us avoid awkward questions and conversations before the baby was born, even a handy excuse why we didn't consider getting her an abortion. As if we would. Children were the one blessing that was going to come out of this depravity.
That's where you come in, of course. A beautiful baby girl, born between waves of the pandemic. You were almost named Rona, but that I convinced your mother that was in bad taste. And I have to say, Charlie's been a good father, better than I expected. Of course we can't call him that, and you can't either, but it was clear how much he loved you.
So it didn't seem like that much of a problem to let him keep to his countdown and knock up Alice again before she hit thirteen. It was easier that time. A pregnant ten-year-old, that's a scandal, a sign of potential abuse, particularly with a man like Charlie living in the house. But a pregnant twelve-year-old, having her second child? People just assume 'wow, that's a slutty girl' and don't immediately suspect the father is the same person. This time, I did get to help, though it wasn't as erotic as it would have been helping out with your conception. I do wish Charlie had managed to get me that far, but it was my own fault for cheating.
The most important thing is, now you get to be a big sister. And that's why I'm telling you all this. You're only two, so I don't really expect you to understand any of this... I've seen you lost in that tablet of yours, not even listening. I guess I'm mostly talking to myself here, working out how to explain it all later. The most important thing... and here you need to listen, honey, because this one that affects you. See, Charlie is a little bit sexist. He loves you, don't doubt that for a second, but when he wanted children, he was aiming for a son, and now he's got one in your brother. And he has certain ideas about how a son should be brought up, compared to a daughter, based on the traditions of his family... and maybe he's got something, maybe it's the source of that unwavering confidence that has carried him this far, and will carry your brother just as far.
Or maybe it's just outdated patriarchal bullshit. But either way, I've learned by now I can't fight Charlie when he's set his mind to something, and your mother loves the idea, so I might as well not fight this plan either. We may be on a countdown, but there's plenty of time. We'll go slow, so slow it'll just seem a normal part of growing up to you. And I promise, I'll do my best to make sure you enjoy every step of the way. I'll teach you how just much satisfaction there can be in submission. I hope you take my lessons to heart.
After all, in ten years, you're going to become your little brother's sex slave.
“CAUTION: Exercise caution and good sense before engaging in unsafe sex practices that involve any exchange of body fluid, even contact with open sores or small cuts. Scenes involving large objects, tattoos, bestial sex, body waste ingestion, bindings, devices and gadgets are the stuff of fantasy and are offered to promote the only safe sex there is - masturbation. Before you try anything, find out what the risks and hazards are because they can all be deadly. Read, enjoy, and remember - sex with minors should be left to other minors.” - Phil Phantom
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