Chapter 56
The wild fucking went on until 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 so much rubbing it felt raw as hell.
Poor Diana… she looked like someone had dumped paint on her from the navel down. Her skin was marked up, veins bulging red underneath, and her clit, which normally blended right in with the rest of her body, was purple and swollen. A real war zone sight.
The least wrecked was Mariana, of course. She 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, exhausted but still giggling, and hit the bed. The next day loomed large—and the anxiety was already creeping 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, my head pounding: was calling my dad 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 speak up:
"Today I don't want you girls opening your mouths, got it? You can stay in the living room, but don't say a word, you hear me?"
"Yes, ma'am,"
Diana and I chimed in together, like two schoolgirls in the principal's office.
"And you, Mariana… this isn't a day for games. You shouldn't even be here."
"Aw, auntie…"
Mariana protested, already pouting.
The morning went smooth, no big drama, and it rolled 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'm not gonna hold you back, Di… but if you leave, you'll never get the satisfaction of clearing your conscience."
I don't know if my words convinced her or if it was my dad's arrival.
My dad is 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: the gun. In my honor, he'd named her Jully.
My mom took a deep breath, trying to hold it together. My stepdad? He froze. To this day, he hasn't forgotten the time my dad shoved the barrel in his mouth and made him swear he'd never mess with our family again. Since then, it was always like this: my dad came in one door, stepdad bolted out the other. He was probably still in that house 'cause my mom had 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 visited.
"Diana, bet you 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 hadn't had an easy road. Still, when he hugged me, it felt like nothing in the world could touch me. He squeezed me so tight he nearly cracked my ribs and planted sloppy kisses on my cheek—the same kind the two girls had given me together last night.
"Here you go, kid… this the stuff you like?"
He said softly, 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 please me, treated me like I was still ten years old. And I ate it up. The money? It wasn't much, less than what I made cleaning houses—my dad believes 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, it is, Dad! Come on iiiin!"
My dad didn't waste time: he 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 quick.
"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 laughed at her, warm and affectionate.
"But grab your friends and scram to the bedroom—I want some grown-up talk in this kitchen."
Diana laughed awkwardly, and we three headed upstairs to my room, lugging 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 does 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 out watching TV like nothing was up. Time dragged slow, every minute feeling like forever. Until around two-something, my phone buzzed.
"I'm on my way."
My heart iced over.
"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 so nervous right then. Shaking from head to toe like a leaf, dying to see what would happen. Diana even needed a glass of sugared water to calm down, 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 until 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 over another chair, positioning it right up against the TV, back to the street. That was where he wanted the guy to sit—like a defendant waiting for the verdict.
Twenty endless minutes ticked by; the only sounds were the TV droning and my mom, pleading with him almost.
"Use your head, man, use your head!"
To be continued