The following fictional story is being reposted by Mr Double.  If you are the author of this story and would like to receive proper recognition (an Author's Page at my website), contact me at mrdouble@ix.netcom.com.




Subject: Mike01 Father Knows Best Mf inc 


FATHER KNOWS BEST: The Midnight Ride

By Uncle Mike


     The shrill ring of the phone yanked the Andersons from 
their sleep. Jim rolled over, with a mild groan that spoke of 
every one of his 50 years, and picked up the alarm clock on his 
nightstand. He held it up so he could see the face in a shaft of 
moonlight from the window. "It's 2 a.m.," he said irately. "Who 
would be calling at this hour?"
     The phone trilled again. "Well, we certainly won't find out 
just lying here," his wife Margaret said. She got up and walked 
down to the hall phone.
     Jim nestled back under the covers and had just about gotten 
back to sleep when Margaret shook him. "Wake up, Jim! Get up! 
Oh, do get up, Jim!"
     He opened his eyes slowly. "What is it?" he said. "It's 
Betty," Margaret answered quickly, out of breath from her race 
up the stairs. "She wants you to come pick her up."
     "At this hour?" he asked, his voice rising in dismay. "She 
was supposed to spend the night at the Thompsons, wasn't she? 
What's wrong? And why can't Ed Thompson drive her home?" He 
sat up, a worried look crossing his brow. "Ed and Nancy did 
come home after the play, didn't they? Is everything all right?"
     "Yes, or, no, oh, I don't know," Margaret said. "All I know is 
Betty said she needed to come home and she needed a ride and 
she sounded very upset. You've got to go."
     "Oh, all right," he sighed, getting out of bed and beginning to 
rummage through his dresser. Margaret snapped at him: "What 
ARE you doing, Jim Anderson?"
     "I'm getting dressed, of course," he replied. "Oh, don't 
bother," his wife said. "Here's the keys, just go. I think she 
wants you to hurry."
     "But I can't go out like this," Jim said, flinging his arms 
wide. He wore no top, and the crotch of his pajama bottoms 
was so bare you could see the dark outline of hair. A few wiry 
strands were showing through a gap between two of the 
buttons. "Just throw on your raincoat," Margaret said. "And get 
going. Now!"

   ===   ===   ===   ===

     Jim was still feeling a bit angry when he pulled up in front 
of the Thompsons' house. He'd dropped off Betty just eight 
hours before, and she was supposed to sleep over after 
spending the evening watching Ed and Nancy's two young 
daughters. What was so all-fired important... Even before he 
could finish the thought, Betty came flying out of the 
Thompsons' front door. She ran across the lawn -- Jim noticed 
that she had no socks on, and only one shoe -- and jumped into 
the car, quickly tossing her schoolbag to the floor and pulling 
the door shut. Then she slumped back against the window, 
looking very small and frail on the big, wide bench of the car's 
front  seat.
     Jim waited for her to say something, but heard only her 
quick, short breaths. He snapped on the dome light and looked 
over. She looked flushed, and something seemed wrong with her 
blouse. "Can we go, Father?" she asked, staring down at the 
floor. "Can we just go?" 
     "But, Princess," he said, "what happened?" The anger was all 
out of his voice now. She looked so beautiful in the light, the 
high cheekbones, the smooth skin -- Margaret's had been like 
that, when she was young. "Just go, Father. Now. Please?"  Jim 
flipped off the light and drove away.
     As the car rolled through the quiet streets, Jim 
occasionally looked over at his daughter -- 14, now; it seemed 
such a short time ago she'd been a toddler. Sometimes the glow 
of a streetlight made a halo out of her soft, silky brown hair 
and cast the shadow of a firm young breast on the white cotton 
of her blouse. It wasn't very big, but there was a definite shape 
to it, the gentle slope down to the nipple, the sweet curve 
from there down to ... With a start, Jim realized she wasn't 
wearing a bra.  He shot a glance at the schoolbag she'd taken 
along.  There was a squarish outline on one side -- the 
textbooks, he guessed, she was going to spend the night 
studying -- and an odd lump -- that must be her other shoe, he 
figured -- and yes, just there, peeking out of one corner of the 
overstuffed bag, a narrow band of white with a small, shiny 
circle at the end. Her bra strap.  "What the devil?" he thought 
to himself.
     Just then, Betty began to speak. Her voice was flat, a 
monotone, except every so often when she seemed to swallow 
a sob.
     "I put the twins to bed at 9:30," she began, "just like Mrs. 
Thompson said. Then I read for awhile, on the couch in the 
living room. I guess I got a little sleepy -- it was all about 
cell division and stuff, kinda boring.
     "I thought I'd put the radio on, to keep me awake. But then I 
thought, no, it'll wake the girls -- so I didn't. And then I guess 
I must've fallen asleep on the couch. I don't know how long. I 
think I just drifted off..."
     Jim glanced over. Princess was staring straight ahead, her 
eyes focused far away. She was hugging herself tightly, and 
her legs were drawn up next to her on the seat. She'd kicked off 
her other shoe. Even in the dim light, he could see the shapely 
curve of her ankles, rising to the smooth young-girl knees. Her 
plaid skirt had ridden up, and he could see several inches of 
milky white thigh. "My little girl's grown up while I wasn't 
looking," he mused. "Maybe I should do more looking."
     Princess didn't seem to notice his staring, or the way he 
shifted in his seat. She went on with her story.
     "Then I dreamed -- or, I thought I was dreaming -- that Mr. 
and Mrs. Thompson came home. I think I might have heard the 
garage door slam. But I didn't really wake up. And then, I think I 
heard whispering, but I don't know what they said. And then ... 
then..."
     She swallowed hard and went on. "Then I dreamed I was 
taking my clothes off. It seemed too chilly to do that, but I 
was. And then there were people grabbing at me. DOING things -
- And then I opened my eyes, and I looked down, and my blouse 
was open, and my bra was off, and my skirt was up... up around 
my waist. And Mr. Thompson, he was ... touching me ... down 
there ... and I said, 'Mr. Thompson, what are you doing?'  And he 
said, 'Relax, relax, sweetie. You'll like this. When I saw you on 
the couch, those sweet legs all stretched out, I  thought you 
looked good enough to eat. So that's what I'm going to do.' And 
he ... um ... and, I said, 'No! What do you mean? Mrs. Thompson 
won't...'
     "But then I heard a noise behind me, and I looked, and it was 
Mrs. Thompson! And she was naked! She was walking toward 
me, stumbling a little -- I think she was drunk, she talked 
kinda funny, too, like you did that night when you and Mom had 
the fight. And she said, 'Mrs. Thompson won't what, honey? 
Won't let him eat? Hell, at least he's doing it at home, not out 
with some hooker. But if he's gonna eat you, someone's damn 
sure gonna eat ME!'
     "And then she ... she sat right on my face, and I could hardly 
breathe, and her hairs were brushing my nose, and her ... her 
thing was on my mouth, and she was saying 'Lick me! Lick me, 
honey, c'mon!'
     "And Mr. Thompson, he started licking me ... there! And he 
put his tongue in me! And I started to twist around, to get 
loose, and Mrs. Thompson, she fell off and hit the floor. And Mr. 
Thompson, I think my knee hit him somewhere, 'cause he 
jumped off me and then fell over Mrs. Thompson.
     "And that's when I grabbed my stuff, and I buttoned up my 
top -- but I was in a hurry, so I got some of the buttons wrong 
-- and I called and I told Mother and then I told the Thompsons 
I wouldn't babysit for them ever again and if they touched me 
again I'd call the police. But Mrs. Thompson, she just got sick 
all over the floor and then crawled to the bathroom. And Mr. 
Thompson, he was crouched over all funny and holding himself 
and moving real slow. And then you came, and ... And that's all."
     The young girl seemed to run out of words all at once. As 
she finished, she began to come out of her daze and look 
around.
     The car was parked now, but it wasn't in their neighborhood. 
It wasn't ANYBODY'S neighborhood, she thought -- just a bunch 
of factories, all dark at this hour. Even darker where they 
were; was the streetlight out? She looked over at her father.
     He was turned toward her. His raincoat had fallen open; she 
could just barely make out the salt-and-pepper thatch of hair 
on his chest. His face was partly in shadow, but he seemed to 
have an odd expression, one she'd never seen before.
     "Why are we stopped, Father?" 
     "Because I think you need a talking to, young lady," he said. 
     "Can't we talk at home? In the morning? I'm tired."
     "I don't think this can wait till morning. And I don't want 
your mother to hear this. It could hurt her too much, what you 
did."
     "But, Father, I didn't do anything wrong. It was the 
Thompsons. They did it to me. And Mrs. Thompson is in the 
bridge club with Mother. What will happen next time they 
meet?"
     Jim cut in. "Are you sure you didn't do anything wrong?"
     "Oh, no, Father! What do you mean? I was just on the 
couch..."
     "On the couch, yes. And your blouse? Was it buttoned up to 
the top? Or maybe one of the buttons was undone, like this?" 
He reached over and unbuttoned the top button. "Or two?" He 
opened the second; she'd missed the third hole when she'd 
hurriedly gotten dressed at the Thompsons', so her blouse fell 
open to the navel. Jim could just see the brown aureole on her 
right breast and the nipple pressing up against the cotton.
     Princess pulled the blouse to cover herself, but Jim pulled 
it back -- so quickly that the last two buttons popped out of 
their holes as well. "And your skirt. Was it halfway up already, 
like it is now? Or even higher?"  He pushed the thick material 
up her thigh, exposing her white cotton panties.
     "And you said he touched you. On your breasts, like this?" 
His left hand reached across the seat and groped at her chest. 
He took her right nipple between his fingers and squeezed, 
gently. "Did he do that?"
     "N-no, Father, not there," Princess said, trembling. "He t-
touched me..."
     "Here?" Jim said, his right hand covering her crotch. 
     "Yes, there," she said, her voice barely a whisper.
     "Like this?" Jim asked, his broad hand covering her mound 
and rubbing softly. "Or like this?"  He tucked his fingers around 
to her buttocks, his thumb stroking the now-wet pussy lips 
through the soft material.
     She could only sigh.
     "No, I don't think so," Jim said. "I think he had your panties 
off." With both his hands, he quickly pulled off her panties and 
tossed them aside.  "I think this is how he was touching you," 
her father said, one hand caressing the downy hairs while the 
other moved back to her breasts. "And like this," he went on, 
his middle finger slipping between the lips. "And this." The 
index finger was in now, and he began to stroke, back and forth. 
     Princess's head was pressed back against the steamy glass 
of the window. A long, low moan escaped her lips. Her arms 
flailed out against the heavy upholstery of the seat. Jim 
continued to stroke, in and out, in and out. She grabbed at the 
fingers caressing her breasts and brought them to her lips, 
sucking them in one at a time, all the way to the base and back, 
licking at his palm. Then she moved it back to her chest, 
glorying in the slick feel of the fingers sliding over her now-
erect nipples.
     She reached out and clasped her father's head, entwining 
her fingers in his hair. "Oh, that's right," Jim said. "That's 
right. He didn't just touch you." And, with that, he bent 
forward, his tongue darting out. He licked slowly up and down 
along the outside of her pussy, then just touching the tip of her 
clitoris and moving back to the outer lips again. Her moaning 
grew deeper. "Ohhhh, Godddd. Oh, Fathhher, yes! Yes! More!" 
     Jim buried his face in her pungent snatch, smearing himself 
with her juices as he lapped at her cunt. His tongue darted in 
and out, in and out. Both his hands were on her breasts now, 
kneading them. Her knees lifted up and she clenched his head 
between her legs, holding him down with her hands. All at once 
she stiffened and let out a shriek. Then her body shook, over 
and over in a rippling series of contractions. Her legs 
unclenched and Jim sat up, his face covered in sweat and his 
young daughter's juices.
     "Oh, Father, Father, that was great, oh, Father," Princess 
murmured. 
     "I don't think we're done, young lady," he said. She looked 
over, uncertain.
     He shucked off his raincoat. "You didn't tell me everything 
you saw, Princess. You said Mrs. Thompson was naked. What 
about Mr. Thompson. Was he dressed?"
     "No," she said quickly, "he wasn't."
     "Could you see his penis?"
     "Yes," she said.
     "Was it straight and hard, or all soft and small?"
     "Hard."
     "And was it big? As big as this?" He pulled off his pajama 
bottoms and his cock leaped out, seven inches long, thick and 
throbbing.
     "Oh, no, not that big," his daughter said, and her eyes grew 
wide.
     "Did he make you touch it? Like this?" He grasped her hand 
and led it to his cock. She said nothing, but began to stroke it. 
After a few seconds he took her hand away and got up on his 
knees on the bench seat. He pushed her back against the 
window and pulled her legs toward him, sliding forward until 
he loomed over her, his cock pointing stiff and straight.
     "And did he do this?" he grunted, and moved forward, 
leaning over to lick and nuzzle her breasts. His cock poked at 
her hot, moist cunt, but he didn't enter at first. He rubbed it up 
and down the lips, sometimes riding up onto her patch of fur. 
Then he began to tease the entrance of her pussy, pushing just 
the tip of the head of his cock in and pulling back. "Please, 
please, please!" Princess urged. "Please what, Princess?" he 
whispered. "Please fuck me. Oh please oh please oh please 
please fuck me!"
     He entered her. Even as wet as she was, her virginal pussy 
lips barely gave way. He slipped into her slowly, gently, 
carefully, until he had a couple of inches in. He could feel her 
maidenhead barring his way. He began to stroke back and forth, 
stopping a few seconds on each downstroke, then pulling back 
every so slowly, all the way out, pushing back in past those 
tight lips, in to the maidenhead and hold, and back out...
     "I want it all," Princess said in a deep, hoarse voice. "I want 
all your cock in me. Fuck me all the way. Do your daughter!"
     "It'll hurt, Princess," he said.
     "I don't care! Oh, God, I don't care! Do it! Do it!"
     He pulled out once more and came in again, fast this time, 
fast and hard. He felt the impact of the maidenhead and then it 
gave way all at once and he plunged in, deep, deeper than he'd 
ever been with a woman before. And, God, so tight! It felt like a 
living glove. He could feel every beat of her heart pulsing 
through the warm walls of her cunt, throbbing around his cock. 
She had held her breath when he plunged; now she let it out in a 
long sigh and began to puff -- huh, huh, huh, huh.
     "Are you all right, Princess?" he asked, his face hovering 
over hers. At first she said nothing. Then hers arms slid up his 
sweaty back and pulled his face down to hers. They kissed, and 
her tongue snaked out into his mouth. He was shocked: His 
little girl knew how to French kiss? But then her hips began to 
move, up and down, riding on his cock, and he returned her kiss 
deeply as he took up the rhythm.
     She brought her feet up and locked her ankles above his 
butt, pulling him into her deeper, harder. He kissed her lips, her 
face, her neck, then bent over and licked her left ear. A shiver 
shook her body. "Oh, you liked that, did you?" he said, but he 
didn't give her time to reply, covering her mouth with his again 
and sticking his tongue deeply into her.  Still his cock kept up 
its pace, plunging up and down. He could hear the sloppy sounds 
of their juices, he could feel her pubic bone pressed up against 
him on the downstrokes. His entire cock was buried, and the 
feeling was incredible. He let out a low moan as he felt the 
familiar sensation stirring in his balls, rising up his shaft.
     "I'm coming, Princess! I'm coming!" He moved faster and 
faster, still feeling her pussy grip his cock tightly every bit of 
the way. Just as he exploded in her she began to buck wildly, 
almost tossing him loose. He fell upon her, thrusting deeply as 
he felt wave upon wave of jism pulse through his cock. Her 
legs flew up and she sighed, deeply.
     They collapsed together, Jim rolling off toward the back of 
the seat while Princess slid over to the front; he held her to 
keep her from falling.
     For several minutes they just lay there, in each other's 
arms, until the chill of the night air began to cool their sweaty 
bodies. Jim sat up, pulling Princess up onto the seat next to 
him. They kissed again. Jim held her off, looking up and down, 
admiring her young body. A smile came to him. She looked up to 
him. 
     "What is it?"
     "Oh," he said, "nothing. I was just thinking, I hope you 
learned your lesson tonight."
     "What lesson was that?" she said, a smirk on her face.
     "A very important one, young lady," he said, in mock 
sternness. "A very important one: Father knows best."
     "Mmmmmm," she answered. "Yes, he does." Then she smiled. 
"But I think I'll need more lessons, Father."