Charles Womack was in a funk. More than that, he was seriously disgruntled as he fought his angry tears and leaned back against the door which he had not quite slammed shut behind himself when he fled disappointed to his bedroom. Barely ten minutes ago, the eighteen-year-old had been walking on air while he mentally finalized his plan to give his mom, Colleen, the sexy gift that he had bought for her at Victoria's Secret, and then to fuck her silly, not only all night long but repeatedly through Mothers' Day, too. However, she had spoiled everything by telling him that his Uncle Wilford was taking her out to dinner and a movie, and he would be left home alone.
Fuming, Charles stalked across the carpet to his mirrored closet doors and slid the left side open. As he stared at the pink-and-black apparel box on the top shelf, his heat dissipated and a tight cold knot built in his throat as if he had swallowed an ice-cube. Utterly confused, he scolded himself, "You really are a big dweeb! So, you spied on Mom getting undressed and got all horny when you saw her naked... So, you surprised her in the kitchen and impetuously copped a feel through her robe... So, she said 'No!' but then acted like she liked it and you fucked her... So, what!? She's your mother and you're a stupid loser for thinking it could, would, or should happen again! Get real!"
A calmer voice in Charles' mind countered, "So, maybe you you're forgetting that she liked it enough to let you do it again, and then asked for more? Remember? She actually said 'I don't see how I can say no to you, now', didn't she? Yes, you're her son, but now you're her lover, too. That IS real!"
Charles argued with himself, "Then how come she's going on a date with Uncle Wilford?"
"Okay," the voice of reason rejoined with a hint of exasperation. "Now you are being just a little bit stupid. Didn't she also say that maybe you made a baby in her? And that you'd have to be 'man enough' to be discreet? So, your uncle is a single guy her own age, right? Well, dating him, maybe even fucking him, would be good for being discreet about what's going on between you two, wouldn't it?"
The lump in Charles' throat shrank to nothing as the voice's logic magically erased his self-doubts. "Yeah," he said aloud to his reflected image. "I guess that's right, she has to cover for us. I can still give her her present when she's home from her date." Closing the closet, he moved to his desk and woke up his iMac to begin his weekend homework. He was still at it an hour-and-fifteen-minutes later, at six o'clock, when he heard the bungalow's front door open and then close again as his uncle picked up his mother to take her out.
Charles closed down his schoolwork apps, then walked to the front room. As he watched Wilford Womack's red Monte Carlo SS move off down the street, he wondered how long the date would last. Looking at his Fossil watch, he allowed an hour-and-a-half for dinner, two hours for a movie and another thirty minutes for travel. He sighed and said to the empty room, "Ten o'clock at the earliest."
Suddenly Charles remembered that the china mantle clock had just chimed three when his mom got in this morning from her night out with Uncle Wilford. He ejaculated, "Cripes! What if they go dancing again?"
"Naw," answered his inner voice reasonably. "She'll be way too tired for that, but they might stop somewhere for an ice cream after the show. I wouldn't expect her much before eleven, and midnight's possible."
Charles let go the pulled back curtain and went through the foyer to the kitchen. After transferring a Hungry-Man frozen chicken dinner to the microwave, he returned to his room for his copy of 'The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.' Dropping the volume on the speckled sea-foam green Formica-and-chrome table, he poured himself a glass of milk and then retrieved his cooked food. As he sat down to his meal, he randomly mused, "I wonder what Suzanne Pomeroy's doing right now?" Then, with a derisive snort, he laughed, "It's for sure she's not eating a TV dinner and reading her Mark Twain!"
While Charles was correct about what the eighteen-year-old cheerleader wasn't doing, he couldn't have guessed in a thousand tries that, at that very moment, his no-longer-innocent crush was naked beneath a Theodore Roosevelt High School sweatsuit and plotting her next sexual escapade with her father. Nor did Charles, himself, follow his first intention and open his American literature classic to study while he ate. Rather, as he took his first bite, he thought naughtily about how wonderful it had felt to snub his mother's, and then later, Mrs. Krautheimer's, softly firm mature nipples between his pursed lips and tease them with his tongue. His cock thickened.
Charles swallowed the chewed white meat and pushed a forkful of mashed potatoes into his mouth. As the hot buttery fluff melted into slurry on his tongue, he discovered an errant corn kernel which had jumped into the potato pocket and now was pressed between his tongue and the back of his front teeth. He closed his eyes and remembered sucking on old Mrs. Krautheimer's clitoris. His ears burned as if, even now, her thighs were tightly vised about them.
Suddenly Suzanne replaced the English teacher in Charles' mind. She sat on the edge of his bed, bouncing slightly, just as she had on Friday evening, when she listened to him talk about Huckleberry Finn. Except that now he had the courage to kiss her and push her backward to lay flat on his bedspread with her angelic oval teen face expectantly awaiting his next move. He imagined first unbuttoning her cream angora cardigan, then her simple white cotton blouse, and then burrowing beneath whatever kind of bra she might be wearing to nibble her perky tits. She wouldn't want him to stop there.
Pushing away his unfinished dinner, Charles abruptly left the kitchen and walked hurriedly to his room. Kicking his door closed behind him, he stripped in a flash and scrambled onto his neatly made bed while the fantasy Suzanne still lived in his thoughts. Closing his eyes and sucking his lips through his teeth, he squeezed his nuts with his right hand and his iron-hard boner with his left while he mentally kissed his way over her flat stomach to her cornflower linen skirt's waistband. Her hands pushed his head lower as she purred, "Yes, Charlie! I've wanted you for so long!"
Smoothly, but with speed, Charles undid the waist tab, then pulled Suzanne's skirt, together with her sheer navy tights and her underpants, too, as a single unit down to her shins. Excitedly she bent her knees outward and arched her back as she offered herself up, saying, "Here it is! I know what you've been thinking!"
Charles vigorously pumped his fist on his cock and tugged his aching balls while he swallowed insufficient spittle to wet his rasping dry throat as his heart hammered in his chest. His bed creaked as he lurched his loins repeatedly up from the mattress while, in his mind's eye, he drove his dick steadily within Suzanne's tender pink cunt and she screeched at the top of her lungs, "I'm coming, Charlie! I'm COMMMMING!" His hot jizz launched clear to his Adam's apple on its first shot, then pulsed in diminishing spurts onto his solar plexus before its last blob landed squarely on his belly button. Smiling, he drifted away.
At ten o'clock, while Charles slept, the girl in his dreams stood in reality with her hands on her hips and her arms akimbo blocking her father's progress as he hoped to retire for the night. "I'll see you in the morning," Edgar Pomeroy said to his daughter. "Maybe we can make breakfast for Mom for Mothers' Day... what do you say?"
Suzanne exclaimed in no uncertain terms, "No way, Daddy!" Moving in close, she hugged her braless breasts flat to his midsection as she laid her cheek sideways against his chest and murmured, "I'm going to bed with you!" Insistently, she grabbed his hand and led him toward the stairs.
On the top landing, with his cock once again straining epically erect inside his trousers, Edgar scooped up his nymph and growled. Suzanne squealed, "Oh, Daddy!"
Except for this afternoon, when Edgar took her naked and dripping wet from the shower to her room, he hadn't picked Suzanne up in this way since she was a very little girl. Curling once more into his cradle, she clung to his hard upper arms. As she wiggled her thighs one against the other around her re-lubricating pussy, she closed her eyes and anticipated another mind-blowing fuck in her own bed.
Instead, he pivoted and carried her away in the opposite direction.
On reaching the end of the hall, Edgar dumped Suzanne unceremoniously in the middle of his and Bernice's vacant king-size marital bed. She was much surprised and cried out in her confusion, "What's going on, Daddy? I thought we'd, you know, do it, in my bed...like before. We could close the door... Mom would never know, even if she woke and came upstairs."
While Edgar rapidly undressed, he thought how this day so far had been something like a honeymoon. He knew the flurry of furious spontaneous sex with his nubile young daughter could not continue apace, but with his wife knocked out in the living room, he was going to make the most of the faux wedding night. Continuing to conceal that he had slipped Bernice a mickey in her Manhattan, he decided to deflect and bring some discipline to his new unofficial second wife as he answered, "That wasn't something you worried about in the living room during the movie, was it? You were bold. You were naughty. But you weren't thinking about Mom."
Leaving his gabardine plumber's uniform untidily lumped on the carpet in front of the closet sliders, Edgar strode naked to the bedside. With his prick standing at a right angle, he declared to the flummoxed teen, "So now I'm going to help you to keep things in perspective."
