Chapter 56
The pussy feast went on wild and free till the wee hours. When it finally wrapped up, my jaw ached from all the sucking, and my pussy burned — not from pleasure anymore, but from all the rubbing that left it raw as hell.
Poor Diana… looked like someone had dumped paint on her from the navel down. Skin marked up, veins popping red underneath, and her clit, which usually blended right in with the rest of her body, was purple and swollen. A real war-zone sight.
The least messed up was Mariana, of course. That girl always found a way to come out of the party in better shape than everyone else.
The room stank. Stank so bad I had to crack the window and fan some fresh air in, ‘cause the smell of pussy, sweat, and cum had soaked in like a fog. I did a quick cleanup, straightened the sheets, tossed clothes in a corner, while we all laughed at the sorry state we were in.
In the end, we took another shower, worn out but still giggling, and hit the bed. The next day loomed large — and the anxiety was already buzzing around everyone, ‘cause we knew that night hadn’t been half the chaos still coming our way.
I woke up first. Truth be told, I barely slept, ‘cause my head kept pounding: was calling my dad really a good idea? It was my conscience nagging, that annoying voice that pipes up once the horniness fades.
I got up, headed to the kitchen to make coffee, and even ran out to grab some bread. When I got back, the girls were already downstairs waiting for me.
My mom, of course, was the first to pipe up:
“Today I don’t want you girls opening your mouths, got it? You can stay here in the living room, but keep quiet about everything, you hear?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Diana and I chimed in together, like two schoolgirls in the principal’s office.
“And you, Mariana… today ain’t the day for games. You shouldn’t even be here.”
“Aw, Aunt…” Mariana protested, already pouting.
The morning rolled by smooth, no big drama, and it flowed right into a heavy lunch. After dessert, Diana started moping that she wanted to head out.
“I don’t know… I think I changed my mind. I don’t even care about the money, I’m just disappointed in him.”
And it was true. Cash was never a real issue for her, but I wanted her to stay. Wanted her right there by my side, so he could see us together and feel the weight of it.
“Look, I ain’t gonna hold you back, Di… but if you bail now, you’ll never get the satisfaction of clearing your conscience.”
I don’t know if my words did the trick or if it was my dad’s arrival.
My dad’s a guy about five-foot-nothing, but size never mattered. The man’s… let’s say, rough around the edges. He showed up in a Flamengo shirt, packing the usual bulge at his waist: his gun. In my honor, he’d named her Jujube.
My mom took a deep breath, trying to hold it together. My stepdad? He froze solid. To this day, he hasn’t forgotten the time my dad shoved the barrel in his mouth and made him swear he’d never screw with our family. Ever since, it’s been like this: my dad walks in one door, stepdad bolts out the other. He was probably still in that house ‘cause my mom fought like hell to keep him from disappearing for good.
In his hand, a bag — I knew what it was. Some junk I liked as a kid that he still brought every time he came over.
“Diana, wanna bet he asks if it’s the kind I like?” I whispered, laughing, and bolted to the living room. “Daaaaddy!!!”
I threw myself into his lap with a big hug. I wished I had more years with my old man, but he didn’t have an easy road. Even so, when he hugged me, it felt like nothing in the world could touch me. He squeezed me so tight I thought he’d crack my ribs and planted loud smacks on my cheek — the same kind the two girls had given me together last night.
“Here you go, girl… this the kind you like?” he said low, conspiratorial, handing me a plastic bag stuffed with candy, cream-filled cookies, and some rolled-up bills tucked in the middle.
Might sound silly, but I loved my dad that way — rough, a little off-kilter. He always tried to make me happy, treated me like I was still ten years old. And I ate it up. The money? Wasn’t much, less than what I made cleaning houses, but he figured kids shouldn’t have easy cash.
I grabbed the bag, peeked inside laughing, and turned to Diana with a triumphant look, proving I’d nailed what he’d say.
“Yeah, Dad! Come on iiiin!”
My dad didn’t waste time: headed straight to the kitchen, greeted everyone like old pals. And really, they were, in his crooked way. My mom got along with him as best she could, and with Mariana? They were thick as thieves. He’d always been crazy about her, treated her like a daughter too.
“Uncle, I wanna go shooting! When you gonna take me?” Mariana said, sucking up. She hated guns, but she never missed a chance to butter him up.
“You? Never.” He shut her down cold. “Guns ain’t toys, and you know it.”
Mariana pulled a fake pout, crossing her arms like a sulky kid. Meanwhile, Diana stood to shake his hand, all polite.
“Look at this pretty girl!” he chuckled at her, warm. “But grab your friends and scram to the bedroom, ‘cause I want some grown-up talk in this kitchen.”
Diana laughed awkwardly, and we three headed up to my room, hauling the bag of treats. My dad’s gift was gonna get demolished fast.
We hung out up there chatting, trying not to dwell on what was coming. I was antsy, and Diana seemed to have forgotten about leaving. Lunch was just pasta — my mom pulls that when she doesn’t feel like cooking. I explained it to Diana: Mom didn’t want any of us downstairs.
My parents and stepdad were in the living room, sprawled watching TV like nothing was up. Time dragged slow, every minute stretching like forever. Until around two-something, my phone buzzed.
“I’m on my way.”
My heart turned to ice.
“It’s go time!” I said, tossing the phone to Mariana. And I bolted out the door, yelling at the top of my lungs:
“HE’S COMING!”
Man, I was a wreck right then. Shaking from head to toe like a leaf, dying to know what would go down. Diana even needed a glass of sugared water to calm her nerves, and Mariana — who never shut up — was dead silent, clutching my phone like it was a bomb.
The plan was clear: they’d stay in the living room, us three in the kitchen. From the kitchen, you could see the whole living room, and since the entrance was off to the side, the jerk wouldn’t spot everyone till he was already inside. Perfect trap.
My dad settled into my stepdad’s chair, ‘cause it faced the door. He never turned his back to a door or window — his weird habit, but it made sense now. Then he pulled up another chair, right up against the TV, back to the street. That’s where he wanted the guy to sit — like a defendant waiting for judgment.
Twenty endless minutes ticked by; the only voice was the TV, and my mom, who said to him almost begging.
“Be sensible, man, be sensible!”
To be continued