Tom Drake's Descent Into Damnation

"My turn to have dessert," was all she said, before she bent forward and engulfed his flaccid cock back into her mouth.

It didn't stay limp for very long; Miranda was very talented. Putting his hands behind his head, Tom succumbed to the expert manipulations of her mouth. Without using her hands Miranda swallowed his growing length over and over, circling his head with her tongue on each upward rise of her mouth. Once, she let his cock plop out of her mouth so she could suck each of his balls into it and bath them with her tongue. With that done she once again sucked his cock back up into her mouth. She didn't stop pleasing him until his grunts of pleasure increased and a torrent of spunk blasted down her throat. She didn't spill a single drop. Licking her lips, she scooted back up and snuggled her body into his. The smile on Tom's face didn't leave even after sleep overtook him.

The next seven weeks saw the weather change, but not their hunger to be together. Miranda's girlfriends took their relationship in stride, although they didn't invite her out near as often as they used to. She didn't care. Tom's company was all she craved. They were practically inseparable as they went about the business of being happy. At the start of the eighth week her mother called to say she was coming for a short visit. Miranda had told her she was seeing someone named Tom, but hadn't told her any details such as age or last name. Or what he did for that matter. She knew her mom was curious, but she was also respectful of Miranda's privacy. When she told Tom about the upcoming visit he grew a little nervous. Miranda assured him that everything would be fine.

Carol Waters climbed out of the cab in front of Miranda's place a day earlier than she had planned. She had taken it upon herself to grab a cab from the airport without calling first. It was three in the afternoon and she hoped that her daughter was home. She didn't want to roll her suitcase around all over the place. Thank God she'd gotten one with wheels on it. After lugging it up the stairs she cursed her luck when no one answered at Miranda's door. Wondering what to do she remembered seeing a bar on the corner of the block. She could wait there, and maybe have a few beers to steady her anxiety about meeting Miranda's new boyfriend. Lugging the suitcase down the stairs was easier than up them. She reached the bar and pushed open the door and stepped inside.

Tom sat on his stool nursing a beer waiting for Miranda to get there. She had a staff meeting she had to go to but they planned to meet here and drink a couple after she was through. Out of habit Tom watched the door through the large mirror behind the bar. The door opened and a woman in a yellow pants suit pulling a suitcase behind her stepped in. There was something familiar about her face. It only took a couple of seconds to hit him. Miranda's mom. Shit, he grumbled, she wasn't supposed to be here until tomorrow. He watched as she parked her bag near an empty table, strode up to the bar and ordered a beer. Beer in hand she went back over and sat at the table. After two sips she pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one. Inhaling deeply, then blowing out a large plume of smoke into the air, she began to look around the place. Tom quietly studied her. She was rather good looking, with short dyed blonde hair, slim figure and strong facial features. As far as he was concerned, there wasn't much of a resemblance to Miranda. Downing his beer he ordered another and drank half of it in one gulp. He was working up his nerve to go over and introduce himself. It really wasn't something he wanted to do, but if Miranda walked in and saw him ignoring her mother he wasn't sure how that would go over. One more sip, then he stood up.

Carol smoked and sipped her beer while taking in the joint. Her first impression was it looked just like any neighborhood bar she'd been in. You had your hard-core day drinkers, mostly old men, and you had the stray guy looking to score some tail. The guy sitting up at the bar, the only one close to her age, fit into the second category. Just as I thought she said to herself as she watched the guy her age stand and turn in her direction. Pigs, all of them. She hadn't had anything to do with a man since getting knocked up with Miranda and the bastard who'd done it had split town. She didn't need a man; she had a couple items in her bag that rocked her world just fine. As the guy got closer she gave him The Look.

Tom's step faltered when she flashed him the look. The look that all women know how to give a guy. The one that says, kick rocks meatstick. The closer he got, the more his stomach knotted up. If looks could kill he was sure he'd be dead by the time he stopped at her table. She had the same piercing blue eyes that Miranda had, and they were boring holes into his skull as she waited for him to say something.

"You're Miranda's mom," Tom said, more a statement than a question.

Her face showed puzzlement and a touch of concern when she said, "Yes."

"Hi, I'm Tom," he said holding out his hand in vain.

"Miranda's Tom?"

"Afraid so. May I join you?"

"Uh, sure. Where's Miranda," she asked.

Tom explained where she was, adding that she hadn't expected her until tomorrow. After telling him that she'd decided to come early, she sat back in her chair and fixed her gaze on his face. Something twitched in the back of her mind, but for the life of her she couldn't pull it to the front.

"Why do you look so familiar? Have we ever met before," she asked, still staring at his face.

"I don't think so. Maybe I just have one of those faces," he said, giving her his best smile.

"Maybe..." she replied in a whisper.

They killed time by drinking a couple more beers and talking about everything except Miranda. Tom learned that she lived in Florida, had all her life, and that she had her own boutique of women's apparel. She had started it shortly after Miranda had been born and now had several more outlets throughout her state. Just as she asked him what his story was, Miranda walked in. The two women squealed with delight as they hugged and kissed each other. Tom just sat there. Two more beers later they all headed to Miranda's. When they reached her door, Tom excused himself saying he would give them some time alone. Miranda thanked him, but reminded him that they were taking her mom out to dinner.

Dinner; they'd opted for a simple meal at Denny's, turned out to be awkward. Carol seemed to be preoccupied and Tom grew uneasy with the amount of looks she kept shooting his way. She appeared to be trying to place him from somewhere. At least, that's what it seemed to him. He was sure however that he'd never met her before.

"So Tom, what exactly do you do," Carol asked out of the blue.

"I'm retired military," he answered.

"Oh, that's nice. What branch are you retired from," she quizzed.

"Navy," he said flatly, puzzled by her reaction to his answer.

"Miranda hasn't told me your last name. May I ask what it is," Carol asked almost glaring at him.

When he told her, the change that came over her was drastic. Her face got pale and her hands trembled uncontrollably. When Miranda asked what was wrong, all Carol said was that they had to go home. Actually, she insisted that they go home. The cab ride was spent in silence, both Tom and Miranda wondering what the hell had gotten into Carol. At Miranda's, Tom sat on the pink and white floral sofa while Carol ran into the bedroom, leaving Miranda pacing outside the closed door asking in vain what was wrong. Some minutes later the door opened and Carol emerged holding what looked like an old photograph. She walked over to Tom and handed him the picture. Miranda watched as the blood drain from his face as he studied the photograph. Not understanding what was happening, she went over and snatched the photo from his hand and looked at it. In the picture two people stood with their arms around each other and it was obvious they were on a small boat of some sort. Another thing that was obvious to Miranda was the identities of the two people. Although they looked much different then, she could tell it was her mom and a young Tom.

"What is this," Miranda asked with a tremor in her voice.

"That picture was taken nine months before you were born," Carol said glaring at Tom, then adding, "Meet your father Miranda."

Miranda's eyes darted from the picture of her young mother and a smiling Tom in Navy dress blues, back to the two people in the room. Her knees buckled. Tom caught her just before she hit the floor and helped her over to the sofa. She sat there staring at the photo shaking her head no.

"This doesn't mean that Tom is my dad," she was finally able to say after a few minutes.

"Baby, I hadn't been with a man for six months before I met Tom, and I haven't been with one since," Carol spit out angrily.

"But..." Miranda stared at Tom, her eyes pleading with him to make sense of all this.

"Tampa. I had a three-day liberty and somehow hooked up with a wonderfully funny and sexy woman. What she didn't know was that I was called back to duty and flew out of the country that very same day. It was over a year before I was stateside again," Tom explained as that far away memory returned.

"So it's true? You're really...my father," Miranda cried out.

Tom didn't know how to answer. There was no denying that the picture was of him and some woman from his past. Although he wasn't sure how it could be the woman standing next to Miranda. She didn't look anything like the one in the picture. Well, almost nothing like the one in the picture. He guessed if he added twenty-some years to her photo, she could be the same woman. He just wasn't sure. He felt torn. Torn between the fact that he might have a daughter, and disgusted with the thought that if it were true, a daughter that he'd had sex with. Even more disgusting to his tortured soul, was the knowledge that he still desired her in an intimate way. Tom's stomach lurched and he bolted out of the apartment and barely made it to his bathroom before the contents of his belly spewed out into the bowl. The sound of Carol shouting, "That's right bastard, run away again," echoed in his head.

Carol sank down on the sofa next to her daughter and put her arms around her shaking shoulders. Her words of soothing seemed to fall on deaf ears. It took over an hour of holding Miranda to finally get her to stop sobbing. Miranda told her that she was going to sleep and stretched out on the sofa fully clothed. Carol went into the bedroom, grabbed a blanket and came back and covered her daughter before going back into the bedroom and closing the door. She figured the best thing to do was to give her kid time to come to grips with what she'd found out. After slipping out of her clothes and getting into bed, a question she'd failed to even consider popped into her head. Had Tom and Miranda been intimate with each other? For reasons she couldn't explain, the thought of them having sex didn't repulse her as much as she would have expected it to. She actually found the idea that her daughter and herself had fucked the same guy oddly titillating. She lay there staring up at the ceiling wondering if she was turning into some sick, twisted pervert in her old age. Maybe it was true what all her girlfriends constantly told her. Lack of cock can make you crazy.

"What the hell do they know, they're all nymphos anyway," she mumbled to herself.

Tom stepped out of the cold shower, threw on his bathrobe and snagged a beer from the fridge. Sleep wasn't coming soon he was sure of that, but maybe a couple beers would help. The revelation of having a child still hadn't fully sunk in yet. However, if Miranda was his kid, the realization that he'd committed incest on a grand scale had.

Miranda tossed and turned for a long time before giving up the hope of getting some sleep. There was only one way she knew how to prove, or dis-prove, her mother's story. Getting up she listened for sounds coming from the bedroom before quietly opening the front door and heading up the stairs.

Carol had fallen asleep, but her slumber had been filled with strange dreams. Erotic dreams of the older Tom. It was wrong she knew, but he was even better looking now. But to be having dreams about him, especially ones where he was fucking her, was as wrong as she could get. Half awake and without really being aware of it her hand had slipped under the waistband of her white cotton panties. Her fingers traveled through the dense forest of her pubic hair and found her erect clit. Dampness filled her slit as two of her fingers stopped rubbing her bud in a circular motion and slid between the folds of her outer lips. Reaching the entrance she plunged the two fingers as deep into her wet tunnel as she could. Faster and faster her fingers dug into her hole as the palm of her hand spanked her engorged clitoris. Her breathing became erratic and it wasn't long before she plunged over the precipice and into the sweet comfort of a mind-numbing orgasm.

"Oh my God," she mumbled as she pulled her drenched fingers from the tightness of her throbbing pussy. Two minutes later she was sound asleep.

Tom was surprised to see Miranda standing outside his door when he answered the soft knock. Truthfully, he expected Carol to be there wanting a chance to tell him how despicable she thought he was. He stepped aside to let her enter but she didn't.

"I think it best if I don't come in. I just wanted to ask if you'd be willing to take a test to see if you really are my father," she said.

"I'd do anything for you Miranda," he told her, his heart breaking from the sad look on her face.

"I'll come up in the morning before I head off to work," she said then turned and went down the stairs.

Her knock came early the next morning. When he opened the door she was standing there holding two sterile wrapped wooden handled cotton swabs. Unwrapping one she told him to open his mouth. After swabbing the inside of his cheeks she sealed it back in the wrapper and did the same thing to herself with the other swab.

"I have a friend in the lab at the hospital that owes me a favor," she explained.

"How long before you get the results," he asked.

"It shouldn't take more than a couple of days."

"What do we do until then," he asked, dreading her answer.

"The same as we always do...only without, you know," she smiled finally.

Relived, he smiled warmly back at her. She leaned forward and planted a kiss on his cheek before turning to go. After taking a few steps she turned back.

"No matter what the results of this test is Tom, I'll always have you in my life. Whether it's as my lover, or as my father remains to be seen."

"If it turns out that I am your father, won't that be kind of weird? I mean..." he stuttered.

"Yeah, but a little kinky too. How many girls can say they fell in love with their own father?"

Her revelation that she was in love with him almost knocked him off his feet.

"Oh, and another thing you could do for me. Go down and talk to mom some time today and help her understand why you didn't come back to her. I know you didn't know about her being pregnant, but I don't think she ever got over you." With that she bounded down the stairs and out of sight.

Speechless, he shut the door and went over to the window. He loved to watch as Miranda waited for her co-worker to pick her up. She was standing there as usual, only today she didn't bother to look up and see if he was watching. Her ride arrived and she was off. Sitting on the sofa Tom debated doing what she'd asked him to do. He sat there sipping coffee for several hours desperately trying to figure out what to say to Carol. Once in a while he'd get up and pace the floor, but he knew deep down that he was only stalling. No longer able to stall, around noon he went into the bedroom and changed. Dressing in old sweatpants, a ragged black t-shirt and his canvas boat shoes he headed out the door. It wasn't until he was about to knock on Miranda's door that he realized that he'd been so nervous he'd forgotten to put on any underwear. Too late now he mused as he rapped twice. Carol answered the door wearing a knee length dark blue cotton housecoat that was held together by a row of snaps that ran down the entire front of it. It was clear to Tom, by the way the fabric draped her chest, that she wasn't wearing a bra. The two points her nipples were making in the material seemed to grow when she saw who was there.

"Can we talk," he asked hesitantly.

She stood there wide-eyed for a second or two before saying, "Come in. Miranda said you might stop by."

When he entered he watched as she walked over to the dinette table and picked up a half full tumbler with an amber liquid in it. The way the material clung to her full round cheeks without any lines made him acutely aware that she wasn't wearing panties either. Setting on the table was an almost full bottle of Jack Daniels. For some reason he remembered that she had been partial to the Jack. How he couldn't remember more about her than that puzzled him.

"I like to travel with the essentials, care for some," she said pointing to the bottle.

"No thanks. If you don't mind, I'd like to tell you why I never called or came back," he said, his voice filled with nervousness.

Miranda didn't have a coffee table, but she did have end tables on each side of the sofa. When Carol wanted to put her glass down she had to turn to do so. This caused the fabric of her housecoat to pull taut against her breast. Tom couldn't help but notice that they were a little fuller than Miranda's.

"So tell me why Tom," she said, turning back toward him just in time to notice his eyes lingering on her breast. Without warning she felt herself getting damp in the crotch.

"I think I'll take that drink after all," he croaked, trying to clear his throat.

He watched her go and get a glass out of the cupboard, her ass swaying provocatively as she walked. On her way back she grabbed the bottle and brought it with her. Pouring him a drink, she refilled hers and placed the open bottle on her end table. After taking a swig, he spent the next twenty minutes explaining the secrecy that surrounded the special Naval unit he had spent his entire career in. No calls to anyone after a mission came in. No letting anyone know their where abouts. And ten times out of ten, he'd be assigned a different duty station after each mission was completed. He also told her that since they'd just met back then, he figured each of them had passed it off as three days of good company and great times. She seemed to understand what he was saying, although he was concerned that she'd refilled her glass two more times in the short time he'd been talking. Each time she had reached for the bottle her breast was on display, although not exposed, it was enough for his cock to show its appreciation. Her frequent downward glances told him that she was aware of his admiration too. His unease grew with each glance she took at his crotch, and he hoped that his discomfort caused by her lingering eyes would make his dick settle down. It didn't.

Carol could see what she was doing to him by stretching the fabric over her tits. She'd caught him looking too many times at them not to be aware of the effect she was having on him. The rising bulge in his pants was also a dead giveaway. She felt the increase in her pulse and the growing spread of lubricant flowing in her pussy. If she stood up now she was sure the back of her housecoat would have a big wet spot on it. Refilling her glass slowly, giving him another chance to see her charms, she realized that over half the bottle was gone. Turning back to face him she had trouble concentrating on what he was saying. All she could think about was the burning desire building in her wet cunt. It had been so long since that familiar desire had been quenched. As he finished explaining his side to her, dark thoughts raced through her brain.