From: an285729@anon.penet.fi
Reply-To: an285729@anon.penet.fi
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: The Birthday Gift (f/m) [2/3]
Date: Sat, 5 Aug 1995 09:54:44 UTC
Organization: Anonymous forwarding service
Message-ID: <100318Z05081995@anon.penet.fi>
I had to have a plan.  Tom still saw me more as a daughter than as a
lover, but I knew now I could change that.  I knew I could seduce him, but
I had to figure out the best way to do it.  I decided that the night of my
eighteenth birthday, less than a week away, would be the night we'd become
lovers, the night he'd plant his baby inside me.  The timing was perfect,

because then I'd be at my most fertile point in my cycle.

   My plan was pretty simple.  I'd make Tom ache to make love to me.  I
already knew I could arouse him, but I had to keep him aroused for the
entire week.  The whole key was to make sure he didn't masturbate.  That
would be the hard part.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   As I started out of my bedroom, I caught a glimpse of myself.  My
breasts were clearly visible and I could see ever hair on my pussy.  I
realized that if I went out like this I'd go too far, so I put on a bra and
a pair of red panties.  That was better because it looked ever sexier, but
didn't look as obvious.

   When I walked back to the living room the effect was immediate.  If I
kept on like this, he probably wouldn't even last until Saturday.

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

   "What for?", Tom asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   When I entered the living room, he moaned again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   "Oh?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   He was never going to make it until Saturday.

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

   "Mm-hmm," he replied.

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

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

   "Habit," I said.

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

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

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

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

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

   As easy as that.  He came right out of the bathroom, oblivious to the
fact that his cock was practically poking out of his shorts, ran into the
kitchen and kneeled down in front of me.

   "Are you hurt?", he asked, breathless.  "What happened?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   As my eyes got accustomed to the dim light, I started looking for Tom. I
finally found him in one of the darker corners, sitting at a table with
some bleach-blonde bimbo.  It looked like I was too late.  They were
clenched in a lip-lock and Tom had a fistful of tit while the woman kneaded
away in his lap.

   That clueless cunt was going to pull him off!  She had no idea what kind
of a hair trigger he was on.

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

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

   "Daddy?" I said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  
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