My Daughter Takes A Sleeping Pill So I Can Fuck Her Guilt-Free on Christmas Day
T. A. BEAU
My Daughter Takes A Sleeping Pill So I Can Fuck Her Guilt-Free on Christmas Day
T. A. BEAU
A Somnophilia Erotica Short Story with sleeping pills (taken by Dina) restrained (cuffs) and breeding.
Copyright © 2024 T. A. BEAU
All rights reserved.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the writer and the publisher.
WORD COUNT: 5700 words
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The living room is buzzing with life, filled with the hum of laughter, the sound of glasses clinking, and the warmth of family and friends enjoying the Christmas spirit. I lean back on the couch, my arm draped over the backrest, chuckling at a joke Greg just made. He’s been my best friend for over two decades; our bond was forged through raising kids, celebrating milestones, and mourning our wives.
“You know,” Greg says, swirling his whiskey glass with a sly grin, “I think we’ve officially crossed into that weird part of life where we’re invisible to women under 35.”
I laugh loudly. “Speak for yourself, old man. I had a 28-year-old smile at me last month.”
Greg arches a skeptical brow. “Was that before or after you realized she was trying to sell you gym equipment?”
“Touché,” I admit with a grin, raising my own glass for a sip. “But hey, at least I didn’t spend last summer trying to impress my neighbor by mowing her lawn shirtless.”
Greg groans, leaning forward to rub his face. “Don’t remind me. It took three days for my back to stop screaming at me. And she didn’t even thank me. Just called me a ‘dedicated neighbor.’”
I clap him on the back, grinning. “Welcome to our forties, my friend. Where every effort feels like a marathon, and the reward is an awkward smile.”
Greg chuckles, but his tone softens. “Jokes aside, it’s good to see you laughing again. How’s this Christmas treating you?”
I glance around the room. The Christmas tree twinkles in the corner, its ornaments a mix of old family heirlooms and new baubles my kids picked out. The sight brings a quiet warmth to my chest. “Better than I thought. It’s hard, you know? Every Christmas without Claire feels… incomplete. But having everyone here helps.”
Greg nods, his face tinged with that familiar melancholy. “I get it. Five years later, and I still expect to hear Caroline singing off-key to Christmas carols.” He exhales deeply. “It doesn’t go away, but it does get easier.”
Before I can respond, my mother’s sharp voice cuts through the room like a fire alarm.
“Excuse me! What do you think you’re doing?!”
The room falls into a stunned silence. Heads swivel toward the source of the commotion—Mom, standing near the television, her hands on her hips, her expression a mix of shock and indignation. She’s glaring at Emily, one of my coworkers, who stands frozen, holding the remote like it’s a smoking gun.
“Mom,” I call out, fighting to keep a straight face, “what’s going on?”
“This young lady,” Mom declares, pointing dramatically at Emily, “just changed the channel in our house without asking!”
“I’m sorry!” Emily stammers, her cheeks flushing a deep red as she glances nervously around the room. “I didn’t think anyone was watching—”
“Didn’t think anyone was watching?” Mom’s voice rises. “It’s the Christmas Special! We’ve been watching it every year since Matthew was in diapers!”
Laughter ripples through the room. Greg doubles over, clutching his stomach, his face turning as red as the poinsettias on the mantel.
“Mom, calm down,” I say, standing and trying to sound reasonable, though I’m barely suppressing my own laughter. “It’s just a channel. We can switch back.”
“That’s not the point!” Mom huffs, crossing her arms. “The point is, you don’t waltz into someone’s house and take over their television like you own the place.”
Emily’s eyes widen as she tries again. “I wasn’t trying to—”
Her voice gets drowned out by another wave of laughter. Greg, still wheezing, gasps, “Emily, next time you change the channel, maybe send a formal request in triplicate. Or better yet, get it notarized.”
Emily finally cracks a sheepish smile and covers her face with her hands. “I swear I just wanted to check the weather!”
“The weather?” Mom throws her hands up like she’s addressing the heavens. “It’s Christmas! The only forecast that matters is snow!”
Tears stream down Greg’s face as he leans against the couch for support. “Matthew, your mom just scared her out of ever touching a remote again.”
I walk over to Emily, gently taking the remote from her. “Let’s just switch it back and call it even, okay, Mom?”
Mom sniffles dramatically but nods, sinking back into her armchair with a triumphant air. “Fine. But let this be a lesson to everyone: don’t mess with tradition.”
Emily’s face still burns with embarrassment as she glances my way. “I’m so sorry.”
I wave her off, grinning. “Don’t worry. She’ll forget all about this as soon as dessert comes out.”
The tension evaporates, replaced by renewed laughter. People start rehashing the moment, tossing around playful jabs at Emily and admiring Mom’s legendary sense of justice. I settle back down beside Greg, shaking my head.
“Your mom,” Greg says, wiping his eyes, “is the real MVP of this party.”
“No kidding,” I reply. “Remind me to hire her as security at work. No one would dare break the rules with her around.”