Daddy

Hanging in the doorway is a fifty-something man in a nice suit. With a sports coat draped over one arm and a loosened tie hanging from his neck, he's clearly come from a long day at the office. There's a vaguely resemblance to Olivia, especially in the eyes—which don't at all widen at the sight of either of you traipsing around naked.

"I caught you at a bad time," he says. "Apologies. Fran told me we had company and the door was op—"

"No," you say, spine tingling. "Come in."

He offers his hand; the skin is cold like Olivia's, and the man's grip is bone-crushing. "Robert."

"I'm... me."

"Give it up already!" Olivia snaps.

You glance back at her, surprised to see the redhead draping an arm along her modest chest. For a moment, you wonder why she's not bothering to hide her fiery pubic mound too, but then you remember. Gotta get used to that.

"I just met Olivia. Why don't you tell me more about your little girl while I pound into her pussy?"

Robert offers a tight, affable smile. "I'm sure Olivia doesn't need her old man hovering around while she—"

"I insist."

He throws up his hands. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

Walking back into the shower, you line your cock up with Olivia's money-maker. Kneeling a little to get a better angle, you gently enter her. This still off-balances the teen and she presses her forehead against the glass. Robert casually stands on the other side of it.

Grabbing hold of both wrists, you wrench Olivia's arms back, exposing her tits to her father. You instantly feel the result in her cunt, as it tighten around your shaft.

"So, Olivia here tells me she goes to Dominic Academy. She do well in school?"

"You could say that." Robert's tone is filled with pride. "She's made Honor Roll every quarter, every year."

That's actually impressive. The Academy is a pretty elite college prep school, from what you've heard. Lot of eggheads. Lot of competition to climb to the top of the greasy poll. Given the astronomical tuition, it makes Olivia's parents would value education.

"That true?" you ask. "You're an honors student?"

"Y-y-uhhh-yeah," Olivia says, fighting through a small climax to respond. Her breath fogs the glass. "It's no big deal."

Robert shares stories about various poetry contests Olivia has won, and launches into an extended story about trying to coach her through an acceptance speech she had to give. Olivia is clearly a subject dear to heart for her old man. The girl in question, meanwhile, seems terminally embarrassed by the whole conversation, as if he were showing you her baby pictures.

You listen with only half an ear. The other half? It's filled with the rhythmic, wet slaps of skin-on-skin. However warm the shower stream felt on your back, it's nothing compared to the furnace between Olivia's trim thighs. No girl or woman you've ever been with has been this hot. Maybe her body temperature just runs a little hot than most people, or maybe she's even more out-of-touch with a wildcat sexuality than you suspected. Either way, you're half-convinced a condom's latex would bubble and melt if you... stuck one into... this...

You freeze mid-thrust.

Cutting off Robert's latest anecdote, you ask Olivia, "Are you on the pill?"

"W-what?"

"Are you on the pill?!"

"No! Jesus. Why would I be?"

Oh shit.

"When was your last period?"

She glances up at her dad, through the glass barrier, who looks sheepish at the talk of feminine hygiene. "Um, I think around the end of last month? Pretty sure, yeah."

"So, about two weeks ago?"

"That's literally what I just said."

Oh shiiiiiiit.

Olivia twists around as best she can with your shaft buried deep inside her tight rump. "You're seriously thinking about this now? I thought you said you'd graduated from college."

Distracted, you reply, "I think you have an unrealistic view of what a degree requires."

"Says the idiot who's probably knocked me up already."

You shiver, but not altogether in terror. A glance at Olivia's father confirms him continuing to passively stand by. And really, what's making him a grandfather after all this? Not much more of an offense.

Still, you ask him, "Are you okay with this?"

The grey-haired patrician crosses his arm. "I can't say I approve." The man sighs deeply. "But accidents happen, and the important thing is to support Olivia no matter what. Although I do hope you'd make an honest woman out of my daughter."

"Um," you say, "no."

You're not going to settle down, not when you just won the lottery—although it might be wise to stop thinking with your cock so much, so you don't end up in this situation again. After all, your muse, how many people scored a jackpot only to end up back in the poor house?

"Don't I get a say in this?" Olivia grouses, still grinding her hips against your frozen ones. "I'm not—ah—going to marry someone I don't know."

She probably would if you asked.

If.

Olivia continues, "He's nice enough but I—ufff—but I don't need a wedding ring to be a good mom. You and Mama would help me out, right? It'll be, ah, fine."

Her father... nods. "Maybe that's for the best, Mister—sorry, I didn't catch your name?"

"Look, can, um, your daughter and I wrap this up first?"

He holds up his palms in apology. "Of course, of course."

You reach up, tweaking Olivia's nipples along with her sense of propriety. "Wait."

Her dad halts in the doorway.

"Can you go get a camera?" you ask, pressing his daughter's body up against the clear glass. At first pointing to the mess of curly copper pubes, you drag your fingernail up along her flank to indicate Olivia's belly—and the womb within. "She might already be carrying your first grandkid. Never too early to start taking pictures of the little tyke."

Robert snaps his fingers. "Good thinking, son."

Grinning, you pull Olivia out of the shower, pausing only to throw a fluffy towel over the toilet seat. Her body still damp from your combination cleaning/masturbation session, you maneuver yourself back into the redhead. A wet, velvety warmth wraps itself around your tip. You can't really enjoy it, though, as the angle is awkward.

So, you find a better one.

You plop down on the tower-covered toilet seat, dragging Olivia with you. The seat buckles under your combined weight. The motion drives your shaft deeper into Olivia's smoldering pussy than you thought possible. She groans reluctantly. Body molded against you, the teen practically melts even as she cradle an arm against her breasts, still possessing enough sense to once again cling to a warped sense of decency around others.

It takes a few minutes and another quiet orgasm on Olivia's part before her father returns, an expensive-looking digital camera in hand. He settles down on the tiled floor, knees audibly creaking, taking up position to get a good shot. Olivia squirms on your cock. Maybe some distant part of the redhead recognizes how terrible wrong this all is. Or maybe you've just really turn her crank, and this is how vivacious the bookworm can be when you're not settling for a quickie. Either way, you don't care right now.

All you care about is the telltale clenching in your balls.

You hook your legs around the redhead's dainty ankles and spread her wide, showing the camera your veiny shaft buried in a hairy pussy frothing with girlcum. Grabbing her ponytail, you yank Olivia's head back. "I'm glad," you grunt into her ear. "Glad I met you. Seem, ah, nice. Nice girl. Fantastic pussy."

"Th-thanks, I guess."

You kiss Olivia on the lips. You might as well be planting a wet one on a dummy.

"Say cheese!" her dad says.

be-be-be-beeeep-KA-FLASH!

. . .

. .

.

"Refill?"

You glance up over your aviators. An elderly battle-ax of a waitress holds an sweet tea pitcher in one hand and a tray stacked with dirty dishes in the other. The Gulf heat is causing sweat to bead on your brow. This lady, meanwhile, is totally unfazed.

"Thanks," you say, gesturing to your half-filled glass.

As she tips the pitcher over, her gaze naturally wander to your empty plate and silverware—and chances across the peculiar picture on your smartphone display. The waitress raises both eyebrows. After all, it must not be every day that she see a customer looking at an ultrasound picture.

"Oh! Yours?"

"No," you lie. "Just a friend's. She's due around New Year's."

The battle-ax's mood lifts. "Well, tell her congratulations for me!"

You raise your glass in a toast. "I will."

After the waitress wanders off to tend to other customers, you download a copy of the picture for preservation. Olivia has deleted other tweets in the past and only sometimes reposts them; that might be the hormones acting up. Scrolling through the rest of her feed, you linger on the most recent post. It's a snapshot from from her family's ongoing vacation in Hawaii. Olivia poses for in selfie dressed in a tasteful mint-colored bikini top. That lovely copper mane of hers practically flares in the tropical sunlight, but Olivia's own glow outshines even that—four months along, her baby bump is unmissable.

Reaching under the tabletop, you grab hold of the braids of the woman crouched there, squeezing your eyes shut as vivid memories of your first weeks in this new world wash over you. After you climax, Cindy—or was it Sydney?—suckles at your softening cock, milking every last dribble from your shaft.

Your reflect on those early, frantic days of constantly seeding Olivia. The weeks where you shared her bed. The sleepovers where you took her and her girlfriends, one by one, as they gossiped and bitched. Prom. Her graduation afterparty. All of it a blast. You'd like to think Olivia even took a liking to you by the end, the constant thorn in her side and cock in her cunt, but you'd be lying to yourself. You were really just a stranger who kept pestering her.

One day you'll have to visit her again, whenever you circle back to your hometown. She was a fantastic lay. You wonder what her breastmilk will taste like. But for now? You have plans.

"Thanks," you finally exhale, voice ragged. "I really needed that."

A thickset black woman climbs out from under the table, rubbing her sore jaw. She's dressed in the same frumpy uniform as the old battle-ax, and was bussing tables near you until nature called. "Anything else?"

"Nah. I'm set." You open your wallet, counting out a generous tip. You're in a good mood. "Actually, do you know if there's a decent bookstore nearby?"

Her brow furrows in polite interest.

"I was thinking about mailing some baby books to an old friend."