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.
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From: Clue Master <tremic@ix.netcom.com>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.incest
Subject: The Scandalous Stewardess
I didn't write this story, so enjoy.
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The Scandalous Stewardess
Chapter 1
The Bahamian island of Eleuthera is a saber-shaped spit of
glistening white coral sand in the crystalline waters of the Caribbean
Sea. One can get there by boat or by plane. It was on such a shuttle
flight from Nassau that Davie Knight sat and breathlessly looked out of
the narrow window on December 20th. The sixteen year old kept knotting
a silk scarf between her hands, a gesture which could not escape the
watchful notice of the striking older blonde woman who sat next to her.
The twin-engine plane was small and claustrophobic. There was nothing
but a sparkling expanse of transparent blue sea below them. Perhaps
she's frightened, the woman was thinking to herself as she surveyed the
luscious fresh-faced teen, whose long, glossy sable brown hair hung past
her pert up-thrust young breasts that were demurely hidden behind a navy
blue cardigan sweater. An emblem sewn to tile sweater pocket identified
the girl as a student at one of the chic New York City parochial schools
for rich girls.
The young girl's large hazel eyes had an apprehensive look, and
from time to time, she would bite her full, sensuous lower lip. Color
flushed the girl's smooth cheeks, though she wore no makeup. Nor did
she need any. Hers were the vital and strikingly delineated features of
the natural beauty.
By contrast, the older blonde woman next to her had artfully used
the best cosmetics to embellish her sophisticated good looks. Subtle
blue eye shadow and contrasting deep blue liner, plus a generous
application of rich black mascara added depth and intensity to her
bright blue eyes. Blusher and bronzes augmented an unexplainable sun tan
in the middle of winter, a sun tan which was apparent on the woman's
smooth thighs and arms when she removed her lightweight jacket. A
clinging beige knit mini-dress did little to hide her ample braless
breasts, whose firm nipples showed pointedly under the fabric.
The blonde studied the preoccupied teenager for a long moment,
looking intently at her face, and then up and down the length of her
body, almost the way a man would. Her eyes narrowed, and she
involuntarily flicked her tongue out to lick her coral lips
salaciously. Then the moment passed, and her expression became one of
friendly concern as she gently tugged at the teenager's sleeve and said,
"Excuse me."
She waited until the startled girl turned to her. She's nervous as
hell, the blonde thought. With a warm and reassuring smile, the woman
asked, "I didn't mean to startle you, but I was wondering if I could
answer any questions or just be of help. I've flown this hop so many
times."
Davie's eyes widened. She seemed reassured. "You have?" she asked
breathlessly.
"Oh yes. I'm a stewie. But this time I'm deadheading. This is my
vacation. Are you on a school holiday . . . all by yourself?" she
probed.
"Well, sort of. My father is meeting me though I'll be staying
with him "
The blonde concealed her momentary disappointment. "Oh, how nice.
Does he have a house on Eleuthera?"
Actually, it's a resort. French Leave."
The blonde brightened visibly. "What a coincidence! That's where
I'll be staying, too! So Peter Knight is your father!"
"You know Daddy?" the girl asked with surprise.
"Not personally, of course. But this is my third visit to French
Leave. I absolutely love it. There's no place quite like it, don't you
think? And your father is in a class by himself, too. He has to be one
of the most attractive men in the world. Matter of fact, you look a lot
like him. You certainly have his eyes, and his coloring, and the same
kind of mouth . . . full and well-shaped." (She had almost said
"sensual" but thought better of it. Down girl, she had reminded
herself. Not yet. Not yet.)
Davie blushed, "Everyone says that Daddy and I look alike. It
makes my mother furious. You'd never know I was her daughter at all!"
Davie giggled mischievously. She was obviously delighted by the affront
to her mother which the blonde quickly picked up on. She pressed her
inquiry.
"It's a good thing your mother isn't here right now, isn't it?" the
blonde said with a between-us-girls look on her face. She punctuated it
with a broad, sparkling smite, which put Davie further at ease.
"Wow! You can say that again!" Davie agreed, answering the smile
with eyes heavenward in an expression of relief. "It's a good thing she
isn't here for a lot of reasons!"
"But will she be meeting you, with your father?" the blonde
inquired casually.
"Good grief, no! She's back in New York, in her precious little
world of tea parties, shopping sprees and charity balls. Yeeehhhck!"
Davie said emphatically. "My parents have been divorced for three
years."
"I'm sorry to hear that, uh . . .
"Davie."
"What a beautiful name. It suits you perfectly," the blonde cooed.
"I'm Trish Byers, Davie."
"Happy to meet you, Miss Byers. Everybody calls me Davie.
Everyone except my mother . . .
"Oh please--please call me Trish. You make me feel a hundred and
fifty years old when you say Miss Byers!"
"I'm sorry . . . Trish I didn't mean that at all. You're
beautiful. It's just that at school they make us call everyone over
twenty Miss or Mister. Force of habit, you know," Davie answered shyly.
"Well that's one habit you can break right now--at least while
you're on vacation. We'll be in Paradise in about twenty minutes. Then
it's off with the school clothes and into the bikini for you! You do
have a bikini, don't you?"
"Yes! Mummy sent me off with some square one-piece suit I wouldn't
be caught dead in. That's typical of her. But the first thing I did
when I got off the plane at Nassau was run to the neatest shop and buy
myself a skimpy little hot pink number that's just a lot of strings
crocheted together. Mummy would have a stroke if she knew!" Davie
giggled girlishly again.
Trish grinned back in a conspiratorial way. "Good for you, honey
it sounds as though 'mummy' is a little straight laced."
Davie threw back her hands and brought them down on her thighs
emphatically. "Ohhh! You wouldn't believe it! She is the most super
uptight, most hypocritical person in the whole world! She makes my life
so miserable."
"But she is letting you come all the way to Eleuthera by yourself
for Christmas. That doesn't seem like something an uptight mother would
do," Trish ventured.
"Because she had to. The judge made her do it. She would never
have let me see my father otherwise. She didn't want me to see him ever
again!" said Davie, and a look of distress crossed her lovely face.
"How long has it been, honey?"
"Three years! I was thirteen when Daddy left. I cried for a whole
month. Mummy hated me for that, and it made her hate him more. She
thought I'd forget about him and that he'd forget about me. But it
didn't work that way. At least, I haven't forgotten him.
Trish reached over and placed a warm hand on the teen's knee and
patted it consolingly. Now she knew the reason for the scarf knotting
and the fidgeting at the window. It wasn't the plane ride, it was Daddy
Davie she was worried about. Three years is a long time to be separated
from anyone.
"It's going to be fine, just fine, Davie. After a few hours, it'll
seem like your dad never went away. You're going to love French Leave.
Everything is so beautiful, and everyone is so relaxed. You won't want
to go back."
"Do you really think so, Trish? I mean, about Dad and me? I know
I won't want to go back I never want to go back to that . . . that
bitch!"
Trish raised a carefully plucked eyebrow. "That's a pretty strong
word, Davie, Is it ready that bad?"
"I hate her," Davie said levelly. "She's made me go to that
horrible school all these years--that ghetto for nice girls from good
families, quote unquote. It's a prison. And she won't let me go out
with boys or have parties at home. Yet she has parties! I'm not
supposed to know what goes on. We have this huge place, a condominium.
Lots of rooms. My 'quarters' are off at one end, but I've seen a lot!
I know what goes on. Mummy and her arty little fag decorator friends
and swishy hairdressers. It makes me want to puke."
"I can't imagine any woman letting a man like your father go ..."
offered Trish, hoping for more juicy details from the innocent girl.
"That's just it--he's a real man. Mummy doesn't want a real man
around. She has to wear the pants in the family."
"And your father obviously wants a real woman, doesn't he?"
"Sure. That's why he couldn't take it any more. I think Mummy was
emasculating him, not treating him like a man; not giving him the love
and affection and . . . well, you know what I mean," Davie added shyly.
"Sex?"
"Exactly. They had separate bedrooms. That went on for almost a
year. My father started coming home later and later from the office.
He and my mother rarely even talked to each other. Yet she insisted
that he had to go to all the stupid charity balls and parties, put on a
front for their friends. One day he came home and packed all his things
and left a long letter for me and a two word note for my mother. She
never got over that blow to her pride. Even though she got
everything--the apartment the beach house on Long island, the car--and
custody of me she has kept punishing him in every way she could. But
she's punished me, too, by not letting me see him for three years.
She's done everything she could to turn me against him, and it's only
made me love him more and resent her."
"That really wasn't very smart of her, or fair at all, trying to
turn you against your father. But she's obviously very bitter," Trish
offered sympathetically.
"Really. But so am I. And I'm scared, too. I mean, what if Daddy
doesn't want to be bothered with me? I know he's very busy and I might
be in the way and . . ."
"Nonsense! Your father loves you very much, I know. This is
probably the best thing that's happened to him in three years, Davie,"
Trish said in her most sincere, maternal manner as she once more placed
her haled on the lovely girl's and squeezed it reassuringly. But
inwardly she was thinking about the lucky women Peter Knight must have
screwed to ecstasy with his beautiful cock. She envied the women who
had felt his fiery hot cum in their pussies; the women who had felt his
beautiful wet mouth and tongue in their cunts, licking and sucking them
to the heights of cunnilingual rapture. She felt her own cuntal juices
begin to ooze into her panties, and her clitoris throbbed with
excitement. But she forced herself to maintain a masque of sympathetic
and conciliatory interest. She wanted to be damned sure she didn't blow
her game before she got a chance to blow Peter Knight's hard cock! Then
there was his sweet, virginal and oh-so-appealing daughter. Trish had
plans for her, too. Big, juicy plans! "Everything is going to work out
just fine, Davie I know it will."
"Do you really think so, Trish? Do you?" the girl asked anxiously.
"I know so. There's not a thing to worry about. You and your
daddy will get along just great. And I'll be there. You and I can do
fun things together when your dad's working. And there'll be someone
else who might be fun for you . . ."
"Someone else? Who?" the teenager asked, her clear hazel eyes
growing wider.
"My kid brother, Randy. He's 19. He's meeting me at the airport.
He works for the Pan Am radar installation on the island. He's lots of
fun.
"Does Randy know my father?"
"A little. It's a small island, you know. And there aren't that
many whites. So everybody sort of knows everybody else. Randy lives at
the base on the other end of the island, with a bunch of other guys.
I'm based in Nassau, but I come to Eleuthera every chance I get."
"That's why you've got such a great tan, I guess. I'm so white and
yucky looking, I'll have to hide out for a couple of days until I get
toasted!"
The pilot's gravely voice interrupted on the intercom, "Ladies and
gentlemen, we are approaching the landing field. Please be sure your
seat belts are securely fastened and extinguish all smoking material
until you are outside the field gates. We hope you enjoy your stay in
Eleuthera. Thanks for being aboard."
Davie peered out the plane window. Her hands gripped the arm
rests. Trish Byers patted tile pretty brunette's arm gently. "Don't
worry, honey. Everything's going to work out fine just fine!"
* * *
Among the dozen or so spectators who watched the small aircraft
touch down on the strip was a man who stood out by virtue of his proud,
straight bearing, his aura of confidence and his devastating good
looks. Peter Knight was a man who would be noticed anywhere. His body
was firm and muscular, without an ounce of excess fat. His white slacks
were impeccably tailored and the navy blue polo shirt he wore
accentuated his broad chest and ample biceps. He was a youthful forty,
a man with the features of Paul Newman, except that his eyes were hazel
and his dark brown wavy hair was only slightly streaked with strands of
gray. He was deeply tanned, and had acquired little laugh lines around
his deep-set eyes. He smiled readily, showing strong and even white
teeth. How different was his expression now from the one Davie
remembered when she had seen him last three long years ago. In those
days, Peter Knight was a successful commodity broker with a seat on the
New York Stock Exchange. He was harried and depressed usually, the
sunny side of his nature occluded by a bad marriage and what he called
the "New York rat race'--both of which he wanted out of. He had always
dreamed of opening his own resort, but Davie's mother wouldn't hear of
it. She wanted the prestige,
the financial security, the social life that went with being a
successful broker's wife, though she had plenty of family money of her
own and didn't have to rely upon his income for the lavish and pointless
lifestyle that ensnared them. It took guts to make the break, but Peter
Knight felt that, except for Davie, leaving New York was the best think
he had ever done. The resort was an immediate success. He always had
tile Midas touch for financial ventures. But he was apprehensive about
his little girl. What would she be like now? Would he be able to
handle her? Had three years of her mother's poison gotten to her after
all? Her letters were warm and loving. Still, he had to acknowledge
that they really didn't know each other very well. They were both
living with fantasies and memories of the past. She was sixteen now; a
teenager. Christ, he didn't know a damned thing about teenagers . . .
especially a sixteen year old girl!
Twelve passengers descended the metal stairs from the twin-engine
plane. Peter Knight's heartbeat quickened as he spotted the shy and
stunning young girl who walked in the company of a flashy blonde he
recognized as a previous guest at the resort. She was a stewardess, a
hot number who had made overtures to him in the past. But he was very
cautious about getting involved with his paying clients. It was too
risky for a lot of reasons.
He went to the girls, a big appealing grin on his face. His manner
was smooth and straightforward but his palms were damp.
"Davie! How are you, sweetheart?" he said as he rushed to embrace
his daughter. Her sunny, angular little girl's body had been
transformed into the soft, round curves of a young woman. He could feel
the warmth of her firm globular breasts against his chest as he hugged
her. Her glossy, sable hair was fragrant with a clean herb scent, like
wild grasses in a field. It was longer than before, framing her
beautiful young face whose clear, hazel eyes shone moistly from tears of
emotion.
"Oh Daddy, Daddy! I thought I'd never see you again!" Davie
cried. She was almost sobbing now.
Peter Knight held his daughter closely for another long moment, a
moment which was fraught with unvoiced emotion. Then he was conscious
of the smiling blonde who was observing them from just a few feet away.
She had the same faintly predatory look that had raised a red flag in
his mind when he had seen her before. But he had to admit that she was
a good-looking broad all right, with the best pair of legs he had ever
seen. And boobs that jutted out like ripe melons aching to be plucked.
She must have fucked a thousand guys, he thought to himself. I'll bet
she's one hellulva piece of ass.
He extended his hand to Trish, "I'm Peter Knight. I think we've
met at French Leave."
Davie interjected excitedly. "Oh excuse me, Trish, Daddy, this is
my friend, Trish Byers. She's stayed with you before. She's a
stewardess with Pan Am."
He overlooked the innocent faux pas. "Yes, I recognize Miss Byers
as one of our guests. Nice to see you again, Miss Byers."
"Daddy don't call her Miss Byers. That makes her feel old. She
wants to be called Trish."
The blonde grinned with embarrassment, but she gave him a practiced
provocative look.
"Can we give you a ride, Trish?" Peter Knight offered.
"Thank you, but I'm being met by my brother." She looked around
then and a glint of recognition crossed her face as she caught sight of
a shaggy haired youth who was leaning casually against a red MG
convertible. Trish waved at the boy, who made no move to approach.
When Knight turned around, he recognized the boy as a frequent visitor
to the resort bar. He thought it strange that the youth did not come
forward.
As though divining his thoughts, Trish quickly added, "Randy's very
shy. But you'll meet him. Well, Davie, I'll see you later, OK?"
"Right, Trish. And thanks for everything."
The blonde winked at the school girl. "There's nothing to thank me
for. That's what friends are all about."
Chapter 2
Once they were settled in the sleek silver Porsche and heading down
the road toward French Leave, Peter Knight and his daughter began to
relax in each other's company a bit. There is something permissive and
seductive about a Caribbean Island, particularly one like Eleuthera,
where the brilliant semi-tropical sun and the absence of pressure invite
one to shed cares, clothing and convention. This was Peter Knight's
home ground now, and he assumed the role of confident host and tour
guide--though the principal charm of Eleuthera is the absence of
commerce and people such commerce attracts. Indeed, French Leave is the
only tourist attraction. There isn't much to "see" except the
coral-studded sea and several miles of pristine, white coral sand dotted
with lush tropical vegetation.
Davie couldn't get over the contrast between Eleuthera, where the
temperature was 78 degrees and they passed only a few Bahamian natives
along the road and an occasional car, and New York City, where the
temperature had been a bone-chilling 27, and the thousands of faces that
passed her were all uniformly gray and cheerless. She pulled off her
sweater and slithered down in the black leather seat of her father's
sports car, letting the warm island breeze blow her shining dark hair
away from her face. She closed her eyes and let the hot sun beat on her
smooth fair skin, feeling as though the weight of the world had been
lifted from her young shoulders. Peter Knight stole a glance at his
little girl, noting again how much of a woman she had become in three
years. Her full ripe breasts strained against her prim white blouse.
She had kicked off her shoes and socks and her bare legs were smooth and
slender beneath her pleated shirt. He had to remind himself that Davie
was no longer a child and he couldn't treat her as one now. He also had
to remind himself that she was his daughter.
"Did you have a nice chat with Trish Byers?" he suddenly asked.
Davie opened her eyes and looked at her father, "Oh yes, Daddy. She's
so understanding. Really a nice woman. And so pretty, too. She's a
dish!"
"Yes, Miss Byers is quite attractive. But I'm sure she knows that."
"She thinks you're quite something yourself."
"Ohhh?" Knight reacted with surprise, though he knew that the
stewardess seemed to have the hots for him. But he felt she probably
had the hots for most men; she seemed like the kind of woman who
couldn't get enough cock. That's what he didn't like about her. He
liked a woman who was more selective, who was harder to get. There was
no challenge with a dame like Trish Byers--except to keep your pants
up! Still, she could probably give a guy the fuck of his life. She was
one hot cunt all right. As for her "brother," Peter didn't like tile
cut of the kid's jib. He doubted that tile mop-haired youth really was
her brother, though he might he. He didn't want his tender daughter
mixed up with either of them, though he didn't know how to tell Davie
that without arousing suspicion in her mind. Besides, the kid had had
enough controls from her bitch mother. He wasn't about to start putting
clamps on her the minute she arrived. He would see to it that every
moment would be beautiful and memorable for Davie. He knew now that he
wanted her with him always. He desperately hoped that she would want
that too.
* * *
About a mile behind, a red MG was cruising along the two-lane road
with its two blonde passengers. Randy Ferris sat behind the wheel of
the sports car, his faded skin-tight jeans showing a huge bulge in the
crotch where his rock-hard cock was straining to be free of its denim
prison. It had grown to gargantuan proportions under the skillful and
incessant manipulations of the blonde stewardess beside him. His brown
hand was under her beige miniskirt and he was massaging the wet slit of
her pussy with his middle finger.
"Geezus, baby, you're hot as a pistol. You must not have been
gettin' it more than six times a day lately," he wisecracked.
"I've had a run of bummers, honey. Besides, you know how I feel
about your prick, lover. There's just nobody who can do me like my li'l
ol' baby brother."
"Yeah. But you keep tryin', don'tcha? I saw how you came on to
Knight--and his kid. You'd like a taste of that stuff, wouldn't you?"
Randy said, looking at her with a cocksure smirk on his lean, handsome
face.
"You don't miss a trick, do you sweetie? That's why I feel so good
with you. No games. No pretense. Just good, clean dirty sex--lots of
sucking and fucking, the way I like it," Trish answered, rubbing her
voluptuous breast against the youth's muscled arm.
"So what about the Knight kid? Have you gotten into her pussy
yet?" Randy teased.
"Don't be silly. It's only a twenty minute flight!" the stewardess
teased back.
"Baby, I wouldn't put anything past you--even on a twelve passenger
plane in broad daylight!"
"She's going to take a little longer. She's been shut up in a
convent school with a lot of dried up nuns and a faggot-balling mother
who's out to make damned sure she doesn't get her precious little cherry
popped. No wonder her old man took off. Who could live with a bitch
like that? I'll bet he's one helluva swordsman."
"That hasn't done you much good so far, baby " Randy jibed. "You
might have to stand in line for that dude."
"You wouldn't want to lay money on that, would you, Covey?" Trish
purred, giving him a devilish look.
Randy searched her face. Her lips were curled in a confident
smirk. "G'wan," he said, "you don't think you're going to nag Knight
and his sweet-assed daughter too!"
"That's exactly what I intend to do," Trish responded emphatically,
squeezing the lips of her pussy tighter around her brother's finger. He
was her half-brother, actually, the product of a marriage between her
mother and step-father. She and Randy had been balling for three years,
and he was a straight-A student in the sex education courses she gave
him. They had a unique relationship. They both loved each other very
much, and yet there was no jealousy between them. She urged Randy to
get as much pussy as he could, knowing of course that she would always
be first with him. And she delighted in recounting every detail of her
encounters in bed with other men--and women. Trish was 29 (though she
looked a couple of years younger) and she really had no intention of
getting married. It would, unless she got a very exceptional man, put
an end to her affair with her kid brother, as well as various other men
and women of her acquaintance. She would never sacrifice that for a
home and a meal ticket.
"Not only am I going to nail that dynamic duo, but being the
generous and loving sister that I am, I'm going to see that you get a
crack at that virginal little pussy as well.
Would you like that, my love? Would you like to be first to split
her hot little cunt with your big hard prick?"
"Are you kidding? Christ, would l! But you're out of your mind,
Trish. Knight would have my balls on a spit if he ever found out. My
balls--and yours, too!"
"Trust me, precious. Trust your sis. Have I ever let you down?"
The youth shook his head. "I won't this time, either. Randy, I promise
you I won't. Now finish me off, honey. Finger me off. I'm almost
ready to cum!" And Trish scooted down further in the bucket seat,
spread her smooth, sun-tanned legs further apart, opening the wet crack
of her slippery cunt wider to her brother's skillful manipulations and
closed her eyes, while he fingered her to a thrilling orgasm in the
topless MG on the road to French Leave.
Chapter 3
It was six o'clock. The sun was brilliant but low in the December
sky as Trish and Randy settled down in the big bed in the attractive
bungalow which Trish had rented at French Leave. They had both
undressed immediately, Trish still eager for the loving only her brother
could give her. Her climax in the MG had only made her more eager for
love making, and she hungered for the youth's trim, sun-tanned body, for
his young mouth and his mammoth cock. She never grew tired of making it
with Randy. The incestuous nature of their affair made it more exciting
for both of them.
For Randy, there was no woman who could hold a candle to Trish in
bed--and he had taken her advice and fucked as many women as he could.
There were chicks of all sizes and shapes, chicks of all ages. But
Trishled the pack by a country mile. He surveyed her boldly. What a
bod! She
was lying wantonly on the bed, her long, tanned legs spread wide in a
tantalizing pose, exposing the softly palpitating lips of her cunt to
his prurient gaze. There were no patches of white to mar the even
expanse of tawny shin; Trish sunbathed in the buff. Her firm,
voluptuous breasts stood like matched mountains demanding conquest,
their berry-sized crests already hard and quivering with anticipation.
They began to kiss, filling each other's mouths with their wet
tongues. His hot hands were on her breasts, stroking them, pinching the
nipples between his thumb and forefinger. She arched her back, offering
him her luscious breasts to do with as he pleased. She was already
moaning and squirming on the bed, her hand clutching her brother's stiff
cock and reaching below to stroke his hairy balls. With the other hand,
she caressed his rippling back flesh and tickled the back of his neck
beneath his thick, shaggy blonde hair with the delicate tips of her
brightly lacquered nails. Goosebumps rose on his flesh and he shivered
involuntarily with pleasure as he bent down to take her pouting nipple
into his mouth, sucking it gently at first, and then puffing a generous
portion of warm flesh into his oral siphon.
"Oh God, baby! Oh Randy! Baby I've missed you so much. Let me
suck your cock, baby. I'm starved for your cock. I'm thirsty for your
cum.
The blonde youth's cock leapt into full hardness at her lascivious
words; she never failed to make him rock-hard and compliant to her every
demand in bed. Her wish was his command, and he got nothing but the
fullest pleasure in return for his obeisance to his horny sister.
"Lie back, my baby, and let your ever-lovin' sis suck your sweet
meat until your delicious hot cum scalds my lips and tongue and throat."
Randy wasted no time in doing as she asked. He turned over and lay
on his back with his legs spread apart, anticipating the expert
cock-sucking he was going to get from his beautiful sexpot sister.
Trish was fantastic. She could almost fuck you off verbally, using all
the right words to make a guy heat up until he could almost cum from
being "talked off."
Trish kneeled between her brother's legs, letting her soft blonde
hair cascade over her face to brush across Randy's jutting cock, which
stood upright like a truncheon from his loins. He sucked in his breath
as she waved her head back and forth across his man-meat and his muscled
bronze thighs. Then she scooted forward, until her pneumatic breasts
were cradling his prick in the hot cleavage, and she massaged his cock
with the warm globes of flesh. This drove him crazy too. He loved
every moment of the delicious agonizing pleasure, for the sperm was
building up in his balls already, and he could hardly wait until her
lips were fastened tightly around his cock and she was sucking his cum
out as though it were a vanilla malt. He's meeting me at the airport.
He works for the Pan Am radar installation on the island.
Trish drew back and took his cock in her hand. She began to stroke
it gently, teasingly, letting her fingers trace delicate patterns down
the length of his sex-flesh and around his straining balls. Randy could
hardly stand it anymore. He groaned with pleasure as her taunting
manipulations sent shivers of electric delight up and down his body.
Then she lifted the heavy sac of his testicles and slid her finger
beneath them, to toy with the puckered ring of his anus, driving him to
even greater heights of anticipation. Finally he could wait no longer.
Almost pleadingly, he cried out to her, "Oh Trish, baby. C'mon-suck it
now. Suck it!"
"Yes, baby. Yes, darling. I'm going to suck it now. I'm going to
put it in my mouth and suck and suck until you shoot that load of
precious cum down my throat!" And she bent down immediately and
fastened her soft, moist lips around his cock, kissing the
blood-engorged head lightly at first, and then letting her tongue slide
out between her lips to probe the tiny slit in his cockhead, drinking
away the clear lubricating ooze that was to her as nectar is to a bee.
She mewled and purred with delight as she savored the taste of her
brother's cock juices on her taste buds. Randy fastened his hands in
her hair and urged his pelvis upward, driving
his cock deep into the warm grotto of her mouth.
Trish opened her jaws to give him free passage to fuck up inside
her throat and then, like a Venus Fly Trap, she closed her coral lips
over his hardness and gripped his cock tightly.
Her fiery tongue licked circles of molten lava along the underside
of his shaft, and she began to suck him lovingly, eliciting groans of
pleasure from the youth, who was writhing sensuously on the bed as she
sucked him and stroked his burgeoning balls with her free hand.
Her sucking was accomplished and rhythmical now, as she confidently
licked and sucked her brother's cock, knowing--as only the skillful
female lover knows-that she would soon make him cum, and at the moment
she wanted him to.
Randy lifted his head to watch her convoluted lips working hungrily
on his cock. The sight of her sucking him never ceased to increase his
arousal and his loins tense and jerked upward into her face, all the
fleshy expanse disappearing with each forward thrust, except for a small
stretch of it that glistened with her wet saliva.
Trish sucked wantonly, her mind consumed by her mouth's
occupation. She felt she had been born for this; to make love, to give
pleasure with her body and to receive it with her body. She flashed on
the remembered image of Peter Knight standing so straight and dignified
at the air field. She allowed herself to imagine that it was his cock
she was sucking off. What a beautiful cock he must have, and how sweet
his cum must be! She would taste it, all right. She would for damned
sure! And as she thought of Peter Knight, she sucked her brother's cock
with even more verve and determination, her breasts dancing wildly below
her pumping head, bringing Randy closer and closer to his longed-for
release.
"Suck it, SUCK IT OFF!" Randy urged, as he dropped his head back on
the pillow and closed his eyes. For a moment, he pretended it was the
tender lips and tongue of Davie Knight that were ministering to his
carnal needs, that it was the pretty teenager who was sucking him off.
Despite the square getup she was wearing, he had found her a super
looking kid with good boobs and legs. There was something innocently
sexy about her that she probably wasn't even aware of. She might be
screwed up about sex with the kind of life she must have lived, hut he
wasn't so sure. From his experience, those sheltered little schoolgirls
usually turned out to be the wildest numbers on the block, once they had
gotten laid. Geezus, it would really be a helluva hayride to get that
tender young piece, shoot his boiling cum down her throat, into her
sweet virgin cunt, maybe even her asshole . . . Trish just had to come
through this time--he knew for sure now that he really wanted that
Knight chick!
The impassioned blonde slaved over him, her body glistening from
tiny droplets of sweat. The pressure was building in Randy's balls, she
knew. She had sucked him off so many times since that first night when
she crept into his bedroom and crawled under the sheet and placed his
young cock into her mouth while he was still fast asleep. By the time
he was fully awake, he was too far gone to protest, though he had been
totally shocked to find his sister sucking him off. But there had been
a growing attraction between them for a long time, and he had often
jerked off at night, cumming into a wad of Kleenex while having
fantasies about his older sister.
Randy forget about Davie Knight. He was consumed by thoughts of
his impending orgasm, and of the hot-blooded female who was blowing him
so beautifully, so perfectly, so much better than any other woman could
do. Trish was the best, the absolute best at everything in
bed--sucking, fucking, you name it. He drove his cock into her mouth
harder and harder, pumping his loins against her face like a wild man
until she gave a protesting mumble--which only spurred him to more
frenzied bucking in his desire for the final release of semen in his
scrotum.
And then--
"Ba-by . . . ohhh, baaa-byyy . . . I'm goring to . . .
The first fiery eruption of cum took place and he was seized with
an epileptic trembling throughout his body as the torrent of white-hot
fire shot through the length of his cock.
". . . CUUUUUUUUUUUUMMMM. Ahhhhhhgggghh! Suuuuuuuccckh meeeeeeee!"
He was gasping, his lips were drawn back against his teeth and his
brow was furrowed as though he were in agony. His prick began a sudden
wild, convulsive jerking that flooded Trish's madly sucking mouth with
torrent after torrent of burning semen, bloating her cheeks and forcing
her to swallow desperately to keep from choking. She was crooning
excitedly and ticking his testicles with the tips of her fingers as she
continued to suck and swallow without letup.
Finally, with one last groan and convulsive shudder as the lovely
blonde stewardess drank the juices of his passion, Randy spiked the
final drops of his seed into her mouth.
Trish continued to nibble gently at the fleshy instrument long
after Randy's body lay spent and motionless except for an occasional
aftershock from his quaking orgasm. She always loved the way he
came--powerfully, explosively, and his climax went on and on. With some
guys, you'd never know they had crossed the finish line if you didn't
have something to mop afterwards!
At last, when she knew she milked every last drop of semen from his
balls for the time being, and when his rod began to lose some of its
hardness, Trish crawled up and kissed her brother on the mouth. Randy
threw a heavy arm over her and sighed a sigh of total fulfillment.
"That was . . . the greatest. The best," he said thickly. "Nobody
does it as good as you. The best."
Trish smiled broadly. She agreed completely. "Rest a while,
love. Then I'll give you a chance to nibble on my pussy. And if you do
it well, if you really eat my pussy until you make me cum all over your
wonderful mouth and tongue, then . . . then, maybe, I'll tell you just
how you're going to get into little Davie Knight's sweet box!"
At these words, Randy suddenly found himself alert. His well-
satisfied cock began to lurch into hardness again.
"Tell me!" he demanded.
"Patience, love. You might not be able to take it on an empty
stomach," she teased.
Randy grinned. "Yeah, you're right. I think I'll have a bite to
eat first." And with that he went straight to his task, licking and
sucking his sister's pussy until she did indeed cum all over his mouth.
* * *
Peter Knight looked across the candlelit table at his daughter. He
couldn't get over how much she had changed since he had left the
luxurious condominium on Park Avenue and moved to the Bahamas. Davie
had always been a pretty little girl, even as a youngster. But now!
Now she grown into a real beauty. She was wearing a floor-length dress,
a cotton print that was very girlish, and yet it delineated her trim
waist and her generous young breasts in a most provocative way. Even
her bare arms were lovely. Her large, hazel eyes glowed softly in the
candlelight and seemed almost golden.
He was suddenly aware of the silence and the fact that he had been
staring at his daughter. He cleared his throat. "How's school this
year, darling?" he asked her in a somewhat forma tone. (School was the
last thing on his mind, but it would get Davie to talking.)
She wrinkled her nose, closed her small fist and made a "thumbs
down" gesture with her hand. "Terrible. The worst."
"You're keeping your grades up, aren't you?" he asked earnestly.
(Davie was always a good student. Bright as hell.)
"Oh, sure . . . it's not that difficult--though the nuns throw as
much at us as they can. The idle brain is the devil's workshop, don't
you know! It's just that.
"Just what, sweetheart? Tell me," he urged, reaching across the
table and taking her hand in his.
"Oh, Daddy, It's a horrible place!" she blurted . "They treat us
like children--or inmates! It's a prison. I absolutely hate it there.
I always have."
"I never realized that, Davie. You don't say too much about it in
your letters."
"I know I didn't want to worry you or anything. I wanted you to
think I was happy . . . so you wouldn't feel bad about being so far
away," she stated simply, as only an innocent can do.
Peter Knight was genuinely touched. This was his beloved daughter
speaking, the one person in the whole world he really loved. She was
his daughter, and she was expressing concern for his needs, for his
welfare. He had left her and gone off, free as the wind, to pursue his
dream.
God, he never realized how much he had failed her! He had thought
of his own selfish needs, rationalizing that Davie would be better in
New York with her mother and her school friends--something solid to
depend upon. Sure, that was part of it. But he hadn't allowed himself
to consider that maybe Davie would be happier with him. After all, what
would he do with a teenage girl in the house? How could he have any
action with a kid around?
He thought ruefully how little action he had had in the past three
years. Guests were out, as a rule. Bad business. The help--likewise.
Most of the women employees were married, and all were Bahamian blacks.
He wasn't about to "go native" to that degree! So he usually hopped
over to Nassau when he had to get laid. Those excursions were rarely
rewarding. But then, how much can you say for a one night stand ever?
He'd just as soon jerk oft as fuck a woman he didn't give a damn about.
With Davie here before him now he realized how very much he did love
her, and how much of a void there had been in his life--how much larger
that void would be after she went back to New York.
Covering his thoughts with an understanding smile, he sorted the
subject with another question. "And how's your mother, Davie?"
The lovely teen sighed heavily. "Mother is mother--as always."
Then pausing, she admitted, "I hate her guts."
Knight was surprised by his daughter's frank and negative
statement.
"Now, honey, you know you don't mean that!" he protested.
"I know I do mean it, Daddy," she insisted, looking at him steadily
with her innocent thick-lashed eyes. "She's a . . . a bitch! A cold,
selfish bitch! Sometimes I wish--I know I shouldn't say this . . .
Promise you won't tell--I wish she were dead!"
"Davie! Words like that are not very pretty coming from a young
girl like yourself. Besides, your mother is your mother, and you know
she loves you very much. She's trying to do what's best for you,
darling."
Not for a moment did Peter Knight have the conviction off his
words. He knew Francine was a bitch; knew she was cold and
calculating. He did feel that she loved Davie--in her own way. But he
also knew that his selfish society wife never really wanted to have a
child, that she had always resented Davie--now, probably more than ever,
since she was becoming a beautiful young woman and therefore, a threat!
Damn! He was a rotten bastard himself for leaving his precious daughter
with that--bitch!
"Do you call what's best having me raised by nurse-maids and
housekeepers? Do you call what's best keeping boys away from me because
she's afraid I might do something to spoil her reputation? She doesn't
trust me, you know. Do you call what's best running around with airy
little fairies; having them in the house all the time; sleeping with
them?" Tears were beginning to well up in Davie's eyes. Her hand was
trembling. "She does, you know. My mother sleeps with homosexuals!
I've seen her!"
Peter Knight was shocked and outraged. He never expected to hear
what came from the lips of his naive young daughter. Rage began to burn
in his chest as he thought of Davie being sullied by witnessing her
mother in bed--and with a faggot! It made him feel nauseous. "You . .
.. you saw your mother with a man?"
"Oh, I wouldn't call him that! And it wasn't just one--there were
two of them . . ." she sobbed.
"WHAT??? But . . . but I . . ." He was at a loss for words,
unwilling to voice the question. He didn't have to.
"One day I came home early from school. I had just gotten the
curse and had these terrible cramps, so I got to go home. The
housekeeper was out. I was on the way to my room and I heard all these
noises coming from Mother's bedroom; mostly men's voices, although there
were other sounds, too. It was so strange . . . I couldn't imagine what
was going on, but it all seemed kind of violent. So I tiptoed down the
hall. The bedroom door was open, so I just sort of looked in.
She drew a deep breath. The tears were rolling down her cheeks and
her young body was shaking with emotion. "There were these two fairies
on the bed and they were . . . doing it, the way they do it . . . one
behind the other one. And the one in front . . . well, there was my
mother, lying on her back, and her head was between his legs--the one in
front--and she was . . . she had his thing in her mouth and she was
doing it to him with her mouth!"
"You saw that? You saw that? Oh my God! Oh my poor darling
girl!" he said, rising from his chair and coming over to kneel beside
her and hug her to his broad chest. He was almost as overcome with
emotion as she was. She sobbed into his jacket and he stroked her silky
hair, smelling again the clean, untainted fragrance of wild grasses
newly mown. "Davie, my darling Davie, I'm so sorry, darling. So very,
very sorry!" he said to her, the anguish apparent in his voice.
She went on, compelled to complete the gruesome story, which had
lain on her chest like a millstone. She had kept her secret to herself,
too ashamed to tell her friends. There was no one she could confide in,
until now. "They didn't see me. The guys had their backs to the door.
And my mother well, naturally she couldn't see anyone butthat person.
He's her decorator, Lewis. I didn't know the other one. I ran to my
room and stayed there the rest of the day. Oh Daddy, it was so awful,
so sick! And all this time, I can't even have a party at the house with
boys! I can't go to a dance or a movie or anything unless there's a
grownup along! Yet she sends me to this school, so she can say, 'My
daughter goes to this very proper, very fashionable lah-dee-dah school
for rich girls.' Hah! If she only knew what went on there!"
Now Peter Knight had another source of concern. "What are you
taking about, Davie?"
"Daddy, you wouldn't believe it. Practically all the girls smoke
dope, and some even push it! I've done it myself--smoked it a few
times. They call you a square if you don't. And some of my friends
drink. Are you shocked, Daddy, to find out that your little girl knows
how to drink and smoke dope? I don't really dig it that much. But I
have to go along with it. Otherwise I won't have any friends at all!
But that's not the worst. There are other things you'd be shocked,
Daddy, you really would be."
He was already as shocked as he ever expected to be. Now, her last
statement had hinted of a thing he couldn't bear to face. Not his
little girl. Not Davie. He gave her an incredulous and wounded look it
conveyed his thoughts.
"Don't worry, Daddy I'm not talking about boys--although there's a
lot of that with some of the girls. It's worse than that, in a way. Do
you know what I'm taking about?"
One apprehension exited only to be followed close on the heels by
another one. His mind was racing. He felt a terrible queasiness in the
pit of his stomach.
"You don't mean . . .?" He couldn't say it.
"Slumber parties. I didn't want to go when I found out what was
going on--what was expected of me. But they gave me a really hard
time. Called me names and made fun of me. So I . . . finally had to go
along. But I don't like myself for being weak. I guess in some ways,
that makes me just about as rotten a person as my mother . . .
"No, Davie, no!" he defended. His jaw was clenched but there was
compassion in his eyes. Compassion, pain and great love. He blamed
himself for his daughter's debasement. If only he had stayed in New
York . . . if only he hadn't run away to the solace of an island
paradise . . . But he knew all too well the futility of the 'if only"
game--and it was a game. Now his task was to rescue Davie from the
sordid existence her mother had exposed her to. Curse that bitch! He
would see to it that his precious daughter was freed from her mother's
clutches if it was the last thing he did--even if it meant selling
French Leave and moving to another part of the country . . . or to
another part of the world!
But how? Davie was still a minor, and in her mother's custody.
Yet he knew perfectly well that if she wanted to live with him no judge
in the world would send a truant officer to drag her back to her
mother. Still, Francine was vindictive--hadn't she kept Davie from
seeing him for three long years? And she had money. Next to fear,
money was The Great Persuader. She might hound him to the ends of the
earth, just to make him suffer. What could he do that would keep
Francine off his back and Davie in his life for as long as she wanted,
until she was ready to go off on her own? He suddenly realized that he
hadn't asked his daughter if she would, in fact, like to remain with
him. Unless she did, his efforts would all be in vain.
He produced a handkerchief from his pocket and began to dab his
daughter's eyes very gently. God, she was lovely. It sickened him
afresh to recall the details of her mother's perverted display. What
the hell had gone haywire with Francine? He always felt she preferred
no sex to any kind of lovemaking at all! But
then, that was with him. How could she have turned on to faggots at
this stage in life!
"Davie . . . sweetheart," he said softly. "Tell me something. I
want you to be completely honest, darling. Don't say anything you don't
mean--not even to spare my feelings. I've got to know the absolute
truth, OK?"
She looked at him so earnestly, so ingenuously that he was
embarrassed at having asked for her honesty. "Sure, Daddy I'll level
with you," she answered, managing a small but endearing smile.
"Darling, do you think you could be happy living with me--I mean,
living with me for a long, long time; not just these next ten days?"
She broke into an excited smile and threw her arms around his neck,
almost knocking him off balance as he kneeled on the floor. "Oh, Daddy,
do you mean it? Can I stay with you, forever? Oh yes! Yes, I want to
be with you, Daddy. I love you so much! You're the only person in the
whole world I love. Don't send me back there, Daddy. Please, please
don't make me go back!"
Peter Knight hugged his daughter tightly as he kissed her forehead,
her eyes, her cheeks. Nothing in the world could have made him happier
at that moment. "Don't worry, darling, I won't. It's all going to work
out, Davie. Everything's going to be fine--just fine!"
She drew back from him, a quizzical look on her beautiful face.
"That's funny . . ."
"Funny?" He was puzzled.
"Yeah. Trish said the same thing . . ."
Chapter 4
The day dawned predictably golden on the island of Eleuthera.
Lavender fingers of light were reaching up into the sky when Randy
Ferris cautiously opened the door of the bungalow he had shared with his
sister the night before and made his way to the red MG parked down the
road. He had to work today. But he would be back at French Leave
tonight . . . in time to get acquainted with Davie Knight! Then,
tomorrow . . . tomorrow would be the beginning of a glorious weekend
and--if Trish knew what she was talking about--a glorious fuck with the
delectable virgin schoolgirl! Hell, it just might be the beginning of a
ten-day orgy with the kid! Trish's plan was risky--Knight was a tough
nut to crack. But if she pulled it off (and if anyone could pull it
off, she could) he'd be in cunt heaven in less than thirty-six hours!
His thoughts, and the delicious anticipation of the lay that lay in
store for him--oh, please!--gave him a huge erection on the way to the
car. Down, boy, he commanded the willful instrument, you'll get your
chance to dance . . . in her pants!
In another part of the compound, Peter Knight awoke at his
customary time: 5:30 A.M., sporting a huge erection. He had been
dreaming, and his dreams were blurred but erotic. He had slept badly
the night before, tortured by the remembrance of what Davie had told him
about her mother and the shocking things that went on at school. But
the sordid expose had also led his sexual fantasies as he lay awake
tossing fitfully, his beleaguered mind giving him repetitive instant
replays of the conversation with his darling daughter. In moments of
surcease he was badgered with questions, and spent the rest of his
insomniacal moments trying to devise a scheme for successfully keeping
Davie at his side.
He tried to force the intruding fantasies from his mind, but they
persisted maddeningly. His pulse quickened and his breathing became
abbreviated. His mouth was dry and the tingling in his loins
increased. Goddammit! he swore under his breath, what's the matter with
me? I'm a civilized man, not an animal. I can't allow myself to get
hot--not now. Not with Davie in the next room!
He looked across the room and beyond, to the enclosed lanai where
his daughter lay asleep on the long, broad daybed that also served as a
couch. It was customarily adorned with huge, floppy cushions and was a
favorite place of his for reading or just having a drink and looking at
the beach and sea. Now his lovely daughter adorned it. She had kicked
off the light covers and was sprawled on her back, one arm above her
head and the opposing knee drawn up to her waist, exposing the crotch of
the pale blue nylon pajama panties that she wore under her sleeveless,
shortie gown. Even at a distance of fifteen feet, Knight could see a
few wisps of delicate dark pubic curls escaping from beneath the elastic
band. The saucy mounds of Davie's firm, young breasts were well
delineated by the
supple fabric, too, and they rose and fell as she breathed rhythmically
during her deep and innocent slumber.
He closed his eyes, trying to blink away the forbidden desire that
engulfed him. No! I can't think such thoughts! She's a child, an
innocent child. She's my daughter, for chrissakes! No!
He threw off the sheet and stumbled across the room, reaching for
his shorts as he clumsily made his way to the bathroom. He turned the
knob with a sweaty palm and darted in, closing the door softly behind
him. He leaned against it, panting now, clutching his underwear in his
hand. Sweat dripped from his brow and beaded in the crease at his
waistline. He shook his head like a fighter who's been decked, trying
to rid himself of his forbidden thoughts. God, he must be sick to think
what he thought . . . his own daughter!
He gave a quiet moan and shakily raised his leg in an attempt to
step into his shorts. But he fell against the shower door and had to
steady himself. He reached inside and turned on the faucets. Then he
tossed his shorts on the floor and got into the shower, his penis larger
and harder than before. He had to have release.
Almost mindless with desire, Peter Knight planted his feet wide
apart on the cool the of the shower stall floor and let the warm
fountain of water cascade over his naked body as he took his
granite-like cock in his hand and began to stroke the hot, petal-soft
skin lightly. His other handreached for his pendulous balls and cupped
them. His mouth was open and his breathing was coarse and spastic.
Responding to the pleasure sensations that were building in his
loins, he increased the tempo of his stroking and tightened his grip on
his enormous prick. The head was purple with lust, and the veins bulged
on the upthrust underside. Damn! It was a truncheon all right!
His balls grew taut, taking up the slack in his scrotum. His chest
heaved as his breathing grew snore labored. He kept increasing the pace
of his stroking. Faster and faster, harder and harder. God, it felt
good. He was getting closer and closer.
The little devils of desire led lurid and forbidden fantasies to
him as rapidly as he stroked his heated cock. They shoveled the fuel
for his tortured fire of incestuous lust . . . faster and faster, harder
and harder . . . until . . .
His body stiffened and his muscles tensed perceptibly. His bare
feet gripped the tile floor as he gasped loudly.
"Ahhhhharrrraaaannngghh!" he cried and shoved the back of his free fist
into his mouth to muffle the sound that accompanied the release of semen
from his balls. "Ooooohhhhh!" he cried again as the fiery load of cum
escaped from the mouth of his glans in a creamy eruption of pent-up
jism. He thought it would never stop. He threw his head back and
swayed like a sapling in a strong wind until his balls gave out the last
of their cargo and he was free to take
his fist from between his teeth.
He braced himself against the back of the stall then, heaving a
heavy sigh and allowing the descending jets of water to wash the last of
his foamy cum down the drain. The handsome man was suddenly seized with
a feeling of sadness. Sadness, longing, and anxiety. God, this is
terrible! I can't allow myself to lose control like this. I can't
allow those thoughts to overtake me. That would ruin everything for
Davie and me. I've got to keep things under control! I've simply got
to!
He grabbed a pair of swim trunks and hastily pulled them on. Then
he went out of the bathroom and out of the house, jogging along the
beach for over a mile. Afterwards, he plunged into the tepid water and
swam far out to sea and back, asking the beneficent Caribbean to cleanse
him of his unholy thoughts.
It was 7:40 by the time he got back, and Davie was up and dressed
and preparing a simple breakfast of toast and dry cereal. The smell of
freshly brewed coffee wafted into his nostril.
"Daddy, you're back!" she cried, running up to him and grabbing him
around the neck in an uninhibited hug. She crushed her breasts against
his chest and planted harmless kisses on his cheeks--harmless by intent,
not by effect. The devils cackled within him, and he pulled away from
her so abruptly he noted a momentary look of bewilderment on her fresh
face.
'Good morning, sunshine. How did you sleep?" he asked cheerily.
"Super. Better than I can remember since the last time you tucked
me in bed when I was a little girl," she beamed. "It's so peaceful
here, so quiet and warm. No wonder you love it. So do I. I never want
to leave this place, Daddy."
"I knew you'd love it, sweetheart." He noted the table with the
food awaiting them. "My, doesn't that look attractive. And coffee,
too. I didn't know you could cook."
"I can't, really. It doesn't take brains to put cereal in a bowl,"
she grinned.
"Sorry I don't have much food in the house, sweetie. I usually eat
up at the big dining room. They have great, gargantuan spreads for all
the meals. It's the one thing about French Leave your daddy can take
total credit for. All the other attractions have been thoughtfully
provided by Mother Nature."
Davie giggled. "You're just being modest, Daddy." She was relaxed
and carefree and obviously very happy. He couldn't let her down. He
wouldn't fail her this time . . .
She noticed that his cup was half empty. Without waiting for him
to finish it, she got up and went to fetch the coffee pot, giving him an
unrestricted view at her long, lean legs and her high molded buttocks
that bounced ever so slightly as she gingerly walked over to the stove.
When she turned around, he could see her sculptured young bosom standing
proudly beneath the revealing pink and white striped seersucker shorts.
She was an adorable little girl . . . his adorable little girl. But an
evil voice inside his head piped up. "Who are you trying to kid,
wiseguy? She's adorable, all right. But she sure as hell isn't a
little girl! She's a young woman--a beautiful, sexy young woman . . .
even if she is your daughter! Now what are you going to do about it?"
Davie was straightening things up around the house after her father
left for the lodge when she heard a persistent knock on the door. She
looked up at the kitchen wall clock. 9:30. I wonder who that could be,
she thought.
It was Trish, in all her suntanned glory, wearing the briefest
bikini Davie had ever seen and carrying a large straw tote bag. Her
eyes were hidden under enormous glasses with smoky brown lenses. "Hi,"
she said cheerily, "remember me?"
"Hi, Trish!" Davie answered enthusiastically. "Gee, you're up
early. You look smashing! Come on in."
"Well, where's that bikini you were telling me about? I thought
you'd be down at the beaching getting toasted by this time," the blonde
stewardess said through a full smile.
"It's only 9:30, Trish. I was just getting the place prepared for
my absence!" Davie grinned back at her.
"It's perfect right now. Looks like you just had a cleaning
service in. Let's go, huh? You've got a lot of sunning to do, you
know. Right?"
"For sure! I won't be a minute," Davie said as she hurried into
the other room to change.
They walked a long way along the beach, away from the resort. The
white sand felt like sugar under Davie's feet. It was already quite
warm. Trish had a lunch for the two of them packed in her tote bag.
She explained that the resort provides them for its guests on advance
notice, so people won't have to come back to the dining room at midday,
if they don't wish to. And of course, she had no intention of breaking
up her day with Davie by appearing in the dining room during lunch,
where Peter Knight would see the two of them together and possibly take
a dim view of the situation. Of course, she intended to justify any
disapproval that might be forthcoming from that hard-to-get hunk of
man--and then some! But by the time he found out, he would be in no
position to protest!
Trish stole surreptitious glances at her young protege, noting with
growing relish that Davie was even more promising than she anticipated.
In her brief, crocheted bikini, the young girl was more enticing than
ever, her firmly rounded breasts plumped like pillows in the low-cut bra
top. Her skin was creamy and unmarred. It looked as soft as satin.
Her young buttocks were two mounds of softly muscled flesh, and she had
a trim, flat tummy and a perfect little navel that Trish wanted to stick
her tongue into. Of course, that wasn't the only thing she wanted to
stick her tongue in! She could imagine how sweet that little pussy must
taste, how fragrant it would be. Her own pussy was beginning to twitch
with desire, and she felt her clitoris swell and throb with perverted
longing for the teenager. The hardest thing she would have to do that
day would be play the lady, the sympathetic friend . . . to keep her
hands off of Davie's body and her tongue out of Davie's cunt! Geezus,
what a test!
They found a secluded spot about three quarters of a mile down the
beach and spread their beach towels out on the warm sand. It was fairly
hot by this time, and Trish wasted no time in stripping off her bikini,
being as casual and offhanded about it as she could.
"I hope you don't mind, honey," she explained, "I just can't stand
to wear these things when I don't have to. Besides, I'm the vain
type--can't bear to have strap marks and patches of white."
"Sure, I know what you mean. Don't worry about it. You have a
beautiful tan, Trish. I can't stand the way I look next to you. I feel
like Snow White!"
"Well, then, join the club!" Trish coaxed. She said no more then
but lay on her stomach with her face turned away, giving Davie a chance
to decide on her own what to do. She smiled to herself when she heard
the sounds of a bikini being removed. She had to walk on glass, now.
Every word, every gesture had to be positioned just right.
It wasn't long before she stretched out a languid arm and reached
into her tote bag, fumbling for something inside. She soon produced a
large bottle of sun tan oil in an amber bottle. It had a French label.
"Here," she said, reaching behind her back, "use this stuff. It's the
best I've ever tried. It's got a tanning booster in it too, to turn you
a golden brown."
Davie took the bottle. "Don't you want to put some on, Trish?"
"After you, honey," the stewardess offered.
"I'll put it on your back, if you'd like me to," Davie said
innocently.
"Hey, that would be great." She still hadn't turned around to look
at the young girl's naked body. She didn't dare just yet.
The teenager poured some of the liquid into her hand and placed it
on the blonde woman's warm back. As she rubbed it around the expanse of
flesh, she noticed her older friend beginning to squirm slightly on the
beach towel. "Don't be afraid to use it generously, honey," the woman
told her. "This island sun can be brutal, even in December."
Davie administered more of tile pleasant liquid to her friend's
flesh, which glistened with it under the sun's glare. Finally, Trish
asked her to stop.
"That's perfect. Thanks, honey. Now I'll do yours."
She rose up and turned on her elbow before Davie had a chance to
lie down on her stomach. The young girl was somewhat embarrassed to see
her older friend looking at her naked body--though she had certainly
been naked with some of her friends at school. Perhaps the memory those
occasions gave her more reason for embarrassment.
Quickly, Davie rolled over on her tummy, but not before her
oversexed companion had taken in her ripe, luscious breasts with the
small, pert nipples, and the soft pubic nest that marked the seat of her
womanhood. Controlling herself for the next several hours would he as
great a challenge as she faced in a long, long time.
Davie's skin was baby soft, and she had no excess fat anywhere, nor
any blemishes. Trish began the application of sun tan oil in a
detached, professional manner. But it wasn't long before her stroking
became more studied and she was caressing the girl's flesh with her
hand. If Davie noticed, she didn't react noticeably. She passively
allowed the blonde to apply it on her long, well-shaped legs, and to the
backs of her outstretched arms. Trish kneeled beside her and lightly
pressed her bent leg next to Davie's body. The stewardess was afraid to
breathe, lest her breathlessness give her away. Neither of them said
much. Finally, she gave Davie a playful whack on the rump--wishing
instead that she was kissing it with her lips and reaching between the
ripe ass cheeks with her finger--and said, "You're all set, except for
the front. I think you can get that yourself." She waited while Davie
turned over, glancing quickly again at her beautiful young breasts.
Then she handed her the bottle,
accompanying the gesture with a warm smile, and got up.
Later, she pulled a couple of magazines out of the straw bag and
handed one of them to Davie; the fashion magazine. Trish thumbed idly
through the VIVA copy, knowing that the sexy photographs of naked men
and women would arouse the teen's curiosity. It wasn't curiosity that
was aroused in Trish--it was her cunt. Lying in the hot sun, reading
the frank confessions from readers and the bold, permissive captions
under the glossy photographs of good looking naked studs and their
girlfriends, Trish found it impossible not to squeeze her thighs
together so that the lips of her pussy created a satisfying friction on
her throbbing, distended clit. From the corner of her eye, she noticed
Davie stealing furtive glances at the sexy spreads as she pretended to
be engrossed in photographs of stilted mannequins posing in high fashion
getups that were much too sophisticated for her age group.
"Well . . . I'll be darned!" she said suddenly, as she turned to
the feature spread. "He's a dead ringer for Randy!"
Davie leaned over with great interest. "Let me see," she demanded.
Trish started to show the young girl, then withdrew the magazine,
pretending concern. "No, I really shouldn't show it to you. This rag
is not the sort of thing for innocent young eyes like yours, Davie."
"Don't be silly. I've read VIVA lots of times. There's always an
issue or two stashed in somebody's locker at school," she insisted.
"I'm not a little girl, you know."
Trish looked at her warily. "Of course you're not, Davie. I
didn't mean to offend you. I just thought that it might not be the
proper thing to do . . . to show you. These photos leave nothing to the
imagination,"
she said, giving Davie a warm and knowing smile.
"Why do you think the kids at school buy them!"
Both females laughed then as Trish opened the magazine again to the
sexy shots. There was a photograph of a good looking young blonde man
straddling a full breasted oriental girl with shimmering black hair down
to her waist. He was feeding her grapes, and she had her tongue
outstretched and her back arched in a most provocative way as he
tantalized her with the dewy fruit. It was sexy as hell. The man's
muscles were highlighted and his hard buttocks glistened like the
hindquarters of a stallion.
"Isn't that amazing--if I didn't know better, I'd swear it was
Randy!" Trish enthused. "You saw him at the air field yesterday. Don't
you think my brother looks like this guy?"
"I didn't get a real good look, but I can see the resemblance,"
Davie agreed, studying the photograph carefully. She was stirred by the
prurient picture. It set her imagination to work, which was the
intention of the editors--as well as the crafty blonde lying next to
her.
"Randy is a beautiful boy, even if he is my brother," Trish went
on. "Perfect build. He's a very physical kind of guy. Always doing
something athletic. He was a star on the game field at school." (And
he's a star in the bedroom, too, she felt like saying . . . as you'll
soon find out, my sweet young lamb!)
Trish flipped the page. More shots of the handsome young man and
his Oriental chick. He was very well hung; a beautiful set of
equipment. God, he really did look like Randy . . . right down to his
cock and balls. Trish wanted to lick the page. She wanted to suck her
brother's cock again. And she wanted to suck Davie Knight's beautiful
pussy!
The sexy photographs were having the desired effect on the
impressionable teenager. She felt a forbidden stirring of desire in her
own loins as she devoured the blatant poses of the couple in various
acts of pretend lovemaking. She had never been with a boy
before--Mother had seen to that; though there were some close calls a
couple of times. French kissing and feeling a boy's hand on her covered
breast. But there had never been the right circumstances where she had
the privacy and the freedom to "go all the way." Still, she had gotten
very excited during those harmless encounters, feeling an embarrassing
wetness in her panties and something in her vagina that made her want to
have a boy's thing inside. Several of her girlfriends were no longer
virgins, and she had gotten an earful about some of their sessions with
boys It had excited her very much. But she also felt afraid.
Her thoughts turned to her father. What is he like with a woman,
she wondered. She substituted her father for the man in the photograph
momentarily, but her thoughts produced a feeling of guilt and anxiety in
her callow mind, and she quickly blanked them out.
Suddenly Trish asked her a question she didn't expect, "Have you
ever made love, Davie?"
The young girl's face grew crimson and she hung her head. "No,
I've never been with a guy," she answered quietly. Not with a guy! her
guilty thoughts reminded her. Only with other females!
"You're kind of young, I guess," said Trish. "No rush . . .
although I was about your age--maybe a year younger--when I did it the
first time. I never realized anything could be so beautiful . . .
"Was it really, Trish?" Davie asked eagerly. She was dying to hear
more. Desire for forbidden fruit was building rapidly in her young
body.
"Oh yes! So beautiful. Naturally, I was scared to death at
first. But I was lucky . . . he was a few years older; about 19 or 20,
I think. He'd already had a lot of experience, so he knew what I was
going through in my head. He was very gentle."
"Didn't it hurt, Trish?" Davie inquired intently.
"Oh sure, at first. But then, pretty soon it felt so wonderful
that the pain went away and it was nothing but rainbows and lollipops
from then on."
"But how did you feel afterwards? I mean, didn't you feel guilty
or anything? Weren't you afraid that he'd lose respect for you?"
"Honey, I guess I'm the type who doesn't let guilt trips spoil my
fun. No, I can't honestly say that I felt any way except absolutely
marvelous and eager to be with him again. But that's just me.
Everybody has to march to his own drummer. My little drummer boy says,
"Come and get it!"
Davie laughed. They both did. But her mind was churning with a
thousand unresolved questions.
"Hey, don't mind me, Davie. I guess I really shouldn't be talking
to you like this woman to woman," Trish apologized.
"No, Trish, you're mistaken. I need to talk to another woman;
someone who's experienced and mature. I can't talk to my mother--no
way! And my friends at school, well, they're a bunch of braggarts and
gossips. You never know what to believe with them. Besides. I wasn't
born yesterday!"
Trish gave her young friend a wry smile. "Sure, honey. I
understand. You've got a friend in me, Davie--I hope you know that. So
feel free to let it all hang out!"
Chapter 5
When Davie didn't appear in the dining room at lunch time, Peter
Knight was seized with a strange feeling of apprehension, although he
told himself it was probably unwarranted. The sexy blonde stewardess
was also conspicuously absent, however, and a casual inquiry to Benny,
his maitre d', informed him that Miss Byers had requested a picnic lunch
for two. He decided to go in search of Davie. He just didn't feel
right about his guileless daughter spending too much time with the older
"Friend," who was not to be trusted, in his opinion.
He walked down to the beach and shielded his eyes against the
invading rays of light, looking to infinity in hotly directions. No
sign of Davie or the sensual blonde. He went to the woman's bungalow
and knocked politely. No answer. He tried the door, found it unlocked
and went in. The room had been made up and was noticeably void of
occupants. He left the bungalow and walked to the house. Again, no
one. For some reason, his concern was mounting. He tried to tell
himself that he was being an over protective old fuddy duddy, but the
tension in his stomach grew. Finally he climbed in the Porsche and
headed along one of the narrow dirt roads that paralleled the ribbon of
white beach. He stopped periodically, idling the Porsche and walking
through the low foliage on the dunes to scan the shimmering sand. Where
the hell was Davie?
He was just about to climb hack into the Porsche and head back in
the other direction when he caught sight of some movement in the bushes
about 500 feet away. A female stood up--God! It was Trish Byers, naked
as September Morn!
Instinctively, he squatted down and tried to hide himself until she
had resumed her supine position on the beach. She hadn't seen him.
Christ!--that broad. He was certain Davie must he with her . . . lying
under the sun with that scheming sexpot. Was she naked as well? He
broke out in a sweat, remembering Davie's candid admission of the night
before: "Slumber parties. I didn't want to go when I found out what was
going on--what was expected of me. But they gave me a really hard
time. Called me names and made fun of me. So I . . . I finally had to
go along . . ."
No! Not my Davie! Not my precious little girl!
He turned off the ignition and left the Porsche in the middle of
the road. Then he walked stealthily to the cluster of foliage behind
the spot where Trish Byers had gone to the bathroom. It was a shallow
depression in the verdant dune. A dark, wet island in the alabaster
sand and a crumpled wet tissue provided confirmation. He avoided those
and crept silently to the elevated ledge of the dune.
What he saw blew his mind completely and made his eyes pop and his
jaw drop and his cock swell to hardness inside his crisp, tailored
slacks! Davie was there, all right! His beautiful daughter was lying
on her back on a bright striped beach towel and was totally naked! Her
long, slim legs were spread apart and her arms were outstretched and her
eyes were closed. Her incredibly beautiful young breasts stood upright
from her chest, the rosy little nipples like delicate raspberries. He
drank in the beauty of his daughter's flat abdomen and smooth, supple
young thighs, marveling at the perfection of her body.
Next to her knelt the stewardess, her woman's body another marvel
of enticing feminine pulchritude. Goddamn! She was the sexiest thing
he had ever seen, he had to admit. Big jugs, perfect mounds of edible
flesh whose nipples were large and hard as pencil erasers. Her hips
were high and angular, flaring just below her slim waist, and the dark
blonde pubic hair at the base of her smoothly rounded stomach glistened
with reflected light from the sun as it was trapped in the dewy drops of
perspiration that clung to the furry growth.
There was a salacious smile on the blonde's sophisticated face as
she poured a dark oil into her hand and leaned over Davie. No! She
wasn't going to put it on h s daughter's tender, naked body!
Oh, yes she was! And she did--beginning with the child's lovely
young throat and working her way across Davie's shapely shoulders and
down her arms. There was something too goddamned seductive about the
way she was doing it--much too seductive. He wanted to shout at her, to
get up and show himself and tell her to get lost. But he couldn't. His
eyes were riveted to the scene that was enfolding below him. And his
cock was rock hard; confronting them now was out of the question.
He noticed an empty wine bottle next to a large straw hat. Damn
the bitch--she's gotten Davie high! He knew all too well how fast wine
goes to the head on a hot afternoon!
Davie stretched her body languorously, a controlled reaction to he
disturbing sensations of pleasure that were coursing through her body.
Despite a feeling that she was getting into something she shouldn't
allow to happen, she couldn't help becoming excited by her older
friend's tender application of warm oil on her body. She felt a little
dizzy from the wine, and from the relentless sun. But it was so
wonderful to lie here and feel those gentle, knowledgeable hands on her
flesh. Trish was a wonderful friend, and so understanding . . .
Talking to her was like talking to a therapist; she made no judgments,
raised no eyebrows . . .not even when Davie confessed what had happened
at those slumber parties. Every kind of lovemaking is beautiful, Trish
had said, though there's nothing like a man. But pleasure is pleasure,
and why (deny your body any of the wonderful experiences that are
possible between two people . . .?
Lying under the island sun, so far away from the dreary and
depressing life in New York City, Davie had to concede that what Trish
said was probably right.
The lustful blonde's blue eyes widened as she placed her oil-laden
palm on Davie's blossoming breasts and began to caress the tender flesh
in slow, thoughtful circles. Her lips curled into a self-satisfied
smile as the young nipples swelled to hardness under her ministrations.
She used both her hands to massage the firm mounds of sensitive flesh,
feeling her own cunt secreting the liquid of her desire in increasing
flow. Trish was almost trembling from pent-up arousal as she continued
stroking and massaging Davie's breasts gently, slowly . . . ever so
gently and ever so slowly. She had promised herself that she would not
touch the teenager--today--but Davie's accounting of her lesbian
"slumber parties" was more than she could have hoped for. This kid has
had her cunt eaten before,
and she's licked a few pussies herself. But she's never been sucked by
a pro like Trish Byers! she said to herself. This is going to be easier
than I thought . . . God, oh God, this is going to be the sweetest
little cunt I've ever had!
The voluptuous blonde eased her fingers off Davie's upthrust
breasts and poured more oil into her hands. Then she resumed her
caresses, allowing her hands to slide down and across the smooth, flat
belly and over the sloping hips and down the sides of the excited girl's
thighs and calves, pressing her fingers between each of Davie's toes and
massaging her instep and arches.
Shit! Peter Knight swore silently, the hitch really knows her
stuff. She's going to turn Davie on for sure! He agonized over the
lascivious sight, wanting to interrupt and spare his lovely daughter the
shameful experience of being seduced by the sex-mad stewardess. But
Davie would die of embarrassment if she knew her loving father was
spying on the two of them. That would really give her cause for shame!
She just might decide she couldn't or didn't want to face him ever
again, and he would swallow sand before he took that risk. It was
horrifying, but he had no choice other than to lie low and pray to God
he could get out of there without being discovered. But as for the
blonde pervert--he'd fix her ass, all right!
Trish's hands were moving slowly up the dark-haired teenager's bare
legs now and Davie's flesh shone with the generous coating of sun tan
oil the stewie had applied.
"Doesn't it feel great, Davie?" she whispered to he naked teen.
Her voice was ragged with sexual excitement.
"Yes . . . oh, yessss," Davie answered quietly. She squirmed on
the towel a bit, so that her thighs were even further apart. I know a
man's hands would feel better, but, whatdya gonna do?" she said with
feigned lightness. "There ain't nobody here but us chicks!"
Davie managed a weak smile.
The clever batch! Knight said to himself. She's not only out to
seduce Davie, she wants to turn her onto men, too! I'll cut her tits
off! Despite his anger and revulsion, he was becoming increasingly
turned on himself, and it was all he could do to keep his own hand away
from his aching cock. He couldn't understand it--ever since Davie had
arrived he had found himself giving in to the animal in him, a lusting
beast he had had, of necessity, to keep in a cage. Now the beast was
roaring from its cave, and louder all the time. That Trish has got to
be the hottest fuck around, he was thinking as she bent over his
daughter and let her skillful hands roam wantonly on the young girl's
flesh. I'll cut her tits off . . . but maybe I'll get a taste of them
first!
The blonde was poised over Knight's daughter now, her face
dangerously close to the sixteen year old's; her puffy, globular breasts
only inches from the upthrust schoolgirl's. Wordlessly, she reached for
Davie's hand and placed it on one of her fleshy, hanging mounds.
Davie's eyes flew open momentarily and she found herself looking up into
the smiling lips of the stewardess. "Don't worry, honey," the blonde
vamp reassured her, "There's nothing wrong with it. I just want to make
you feel good. That's what friends are for . . ."
She was unable to control herself any longer, so great was her
desirefor the tender pussy of her young initiate. Her own cunt was
soaked with the juices of her lust. This was the moment she had so
patiently waited for!
She leaned further towards tile young girl and touched her lips to
Davie's half-open mouth, letting her pointed pink tongue flick across
the warm softness. Davie moaned softly, knowing she shouldn't accept
the other woman's mouth, but she was too filled with needs of her own to
protest. The sun, the wine, the sexy photographs of the guy who looked
like Randy and the frank conversation with Trish had all conspired to
release her inhibitions and set her longing for experiences she had long
had secret fantasies about. At that moment, she just wanted to cum . .
.. to feel that feeling like no other sensation in the world. And the
perverted aspect of he association with a woman who was eleven years
older than she stoked the fires of her confused desire. She didn't care
whether it was wrong or not; she just wanted to keep feeling the
wonderful sensations that surged throughout her body.
Her arm came up, encircling Trish's neck. Peter Knight nearly
fainted. The blonde's tongue began to work insanely inside Davie's
mouth as she let her hand slide down the aroused girl's body until it
came to rest on the down pubic mound. She entwined her lacquered
fingertips in the soft, dark hair and began to tickle the flesh beneath
it. Davie's thighs parted further, giving the blonde seductress tacit
permission to continue her manual exploration. Which she did.
She parted the soft, wet labia and pressed a long finger gently
into the sticky cuntal crevice, causing Davie's clitoris to throb so
hard that Trish could feel the little pulse, like the heartbeat of a
frightened bird, against her excited slit. She pressed her full-blown
breasts into Davie's and ground them around and around, thrilling to the
delicious contact of breast on breast, and nipple against nipple. She
pushed her finger into Davie's vagina, and the girl let out an
involuntary gasp.
But she wasn't going to spot things for Randy. She had promised
him a cherry, and that's what he would get. She wanted a taste of the
pie!
Trash left the girl's mouth and began to kiss the turgid, swollen
areolas of her sweetly tender breasts, evoking more gasps of excitement
from Davie. Then she scooted away slightly and threw her leg over
Davie's hips so that she was straddling the breathless teen. Their
pussies came in contact, and Trish began to rock back and forth, her own
cunt a volcano of desire. She let out a few moans of her own, but she
was bent on sucking that luscious little slit and not even the fiery
sensations produced by pussy-to-pussy contact could stay her from her
intended task. She could wait no longer.
Sliding backwards along Davie's thighs, she bent down over the
girl's oil-and-sweat slickened body and flicked her tongue into the
small crater of flesh that punctuated her abdomen. The dark-haired
beauty gasped.
"What a lovely little navel you have, Davie!" Trish said between
pants. "Tasty. Very tasty."
The young girl's hips began to undulate more freely on the towel.
Soooo nice . . . Oh, how good it feels. So what if it's wrong? . . .
and maybe it isn't alter all. It just feels sooooo good. I can't stop
it . . . I need to cum so much . . . Davie was dazedly thinking.
Peter Knight had some pretty dazed thoughts of his own. Oh, Davie,
my dearest darling girl . . . what's happening to you? Why are you
letting it happen, sweetheart? It's wrong, what she's doing to you.
You shouldn't let a woman do that to your beautiful little body--that's
a man's job . . .
He was suddenly brought up short, realizing what he had just
thought. Good God, he was mentally advocating sexual relations between
his beloved daughter and a man! He didn't mean that. He couldn't mean
that. She was too young. It was too soon for her to know the pleasure
a man could give her. Yet, she knew what pleasure a woman could bring.
Wasn't that worse? Yes, that was perverted! Did he really want Davie
to continue her sexual experimentation with the opposite sex, though?
Hell, no! So what was she supposed to do . . . nothing? It was a
little late for that.
Peter Knight was racked with confusion and torment--much of it
coming from his gonads. He couldn't deny that he was excited beyond
belief by the obscene spectacle between these two outstanding females,
both with incredible bodies. But one of them was his own daughter. If
he had a shred of decency, he would turn away from the sight . . . hell,
he would have gone out the way he came in; like a guerrilla scout in
enemy territory--very, very quietly, and very, very fast! But he
couldn't not look. He had to watch, though he had a case of lover's
nuts that would break the Guinness Book of Records!
Trish's head hovered over the young girl's silky pubic mound and
her hot breath fanned the glistening curls that framed the rosy lips of
the teenage cunt. Her hands followed, moving from Davie's breasts down
her belly and coming to rest on her marble flanks. She used her thumbs
to gently part the trembling cunt lips, exposing Davie's clitoral button
to her wanton gaze. "What a beautiful little pussy you have, honey.
Oh, what a darling cunt!" Trish enthused, pausing for a moment to peer
into the delicate folds of tissue she hungered for. It was sweet
torment, this delay. But she was suddenly seized with unabridged desire
and, without further ceremony, buried her face into Davie's succulent
cunt and began to plant fervent kisses on the delicious flesh. Her
tongue was a hot poker as she squirmed lower on the sand to position
herself most effectively for the sucking feast she had begun.
Trish's tongue came in contact with the moist, hot clitoral bud and
she began to circle it tauntingly. In a reflex movement, her breath
escaping from between her teeth and her body consumed with raging
desire, Davie reached for the stewie's head and entwined her fingers in
the blonde tresses of her wanton seductress. Trish let her hands slide
upward again over the soft belly to Davie's firm breasts, cupping and
squeezing them greedily while she continued her oral assault on the
young girl's nether parts with her mouth and tongue.
"If Daddy could see her now!" Trish mused inwardly as she relished
the taste of Davie Knight's young cunt. She derived a spiteful
satisfaction from her prurient act, as well as a deeply pleasurable
one. Peter Knight was the one man she hadn't been able to fuck--as
yet. He had to play hard-to-get, with his formal, untouchable demeanor,
as though his cock was too good for the average woman. Most likely, it
was! But she was no average woman! And she intended to make damned
sure he found that out! Before she got through with him, he'd be
begging to tuck her pussy . . .
She took Davie's throbbing clit between her teeth and nipped it
gently while she ran her tongue around the heated little orb in
concentric circles. Davie cried out and tightened her grip on the
blonde's head as she writhed and bucked on the beach towel from the
waves of agonizing pleasure being transmitted through her flesh. Her
head was flailing from side to side in total abandonment to the obscene
act of tongue-fucking that was being perpetrated on her by the sexy,
older woman.
Trish opened her mouth still wider, moving her tongue downward
along the smooth furrow of the teen's slippery slit, wanting to devour
Davie's pussy; wanting to swallow it whole. She began to tongue fuck
her then, reaching as far into the secret hole of Davie's maiden vagina
as she could, delighting in the whimpering mewls of pleasure she was
evoking in the willing girl. If this was any indication of Davie's
capacity for turning on--and it certainly was--Randy would have smooth
sailing right up into her little channel! Really--there would be plenty
to go around for both of them!
Davie writhed and moaned from the incessant lickings and probings
into her moist, hot depths. The passion was mounting in her steadily,
and she knew she was very close to orgasm, very close to cumming right
on her friend's mouth! Maybe it was "dirty" . . . but it sure felt
incredibly good.
She was straining and twisting on the towel and she couldn't keep
herself from verbalizing her desires. "Ohh, ooooh, Trish, you're
driving me crazy. It feels so good, so exciting when you lick me that
way. Suck it . . . ohhhh suck iiiiittttt . . ."
And the stewardess obliged, her tongue becoming a slimy piston as
it drove in and out of the teen's hot, clasping vagina. Davie was more
than she had expected--much more! She was so hot herself that she
couldn't keep her fingers out of her own cunt, and she substituted the
thumb of one hand for the thumb and forefinger of the other to keep
Davie's cunt lips apart while she reached down and made digital contact
with her own fiery pussy, stroking her clit very rapidly, the heat of
impending orgasm roaring like an inferno through her flesh as she
desperately sought her own release.
It wouldn't be long now, for either of them.
And Peter Knight knew that, as he continued to watch the entire
erotic display from his sheltered hiding place among the dense, bushy
growth. His balls were close to bursting. The pain was excruciating.
Never in his life had he seen anything to equal the excitement generated
by those two beautiful women on the beach. Yes--two women. For he knew
he couldn't pretend Davie was a little girl any longer. She was very
young, yes. But she had a woman's body and a woman's sexual responses.
How could he bear to have her live with him as his little girl when he
was witnessing her as a young and desirable--and desired--woman?
Daughter or not, a female, particularly one like Davie, would drive him
out of his mind. That was a thing he couldn't cope with. The
alternative to a filial relationship with Davie was too unnatural to
even consider for a moment. And yet, he a ready had considered it, in
his fantasies. Oh God, why did she have to come to French Leave at
all! It might have been better for both of them if she had simply
stayed in New York . . .
His pretty daughter's cries of animal pleasure were becoming louder
and louder as the young woman continued to swirl and flick her tongue
around the velvet depths of Davie's pulsating vagina. Her firm buttocks
jerked and spasmed beneath the plunging tongue of the expert cunt
sucker. She was going to cum soon; the feeling was building and
building . . .
Trish, her own brain a bubbling cauldron of lust, flailed her
finger faster and faster against her throbbing clitoris as she
feverishly plunged her tongue in and out of her young friend's pussy.
Davie writhed and squirmed beneath the insane licking and sucking until
she thought she would scream from sheer ecstasy. Every muscle in her
body was tensed, and her long, sable-colored hair swept the towel as she
flailed her head wildly from side to side. She ground her crotch up
into the blonde's lusting face as the waves of rapture began to rise,
then gather, then crest until . . .
"Oooooh . . . oooooohhhh . . . I'm . . . c uuuuu mmmm iiiii nnnng!"
she shouted through the hoarse gasps of pleasure. She broke out in
goosebumps and rocked crazily on the beachtowel, her whole body a mass
of frayed electric cords that sent sizzling surges of ecstasy through
her. She drew the blonde head into her loins with all her might. Her
cunt juices inundated the stewie's face and tongue, flowing down along
the crease of Davie's trembling buttocks and pooling beneath her rectum
on the towel. Again and again she screamed out her delirium, and again
and again the invading tongue and lips brought her continued thrills. A
second later, Trish was screaming out her own orgasm and undulating on
the fine-grained sand, creating a human foxhole with her voluptuous,
climaxing body. Her oscillating finger sent wave after wave of orgasmic
pleasure through her body.
Peter Knight breathed into his hand to stifle the sound of his own
heated breathing, though the two climaxing females on the beach below
were hardly alert to sounds other than each other's cries. He felt
heartsick at what he had witnessed, but it was also the most unbearably
exciting spectacle he had ever witnessed. He suddenly remembered how
Francine had liked for him to go down on her. It was the one thing
sexual she did like, the bitch. And it was the one thing Davie and her
mother had in common, he thought ruefully. Then the devil voice spoke
again in his head: "Shrewd observation, Dr. Watson. Now, what are you
going to do about it? . . ."
He forced himself to lie perfectly quiet until the girls dashed to
the water for a swim. Then he backed down the dune and headed for the
Porshe, his mind a blur and his balls a bloated bag of thwarted desire
that screamed for merciful release.
Chapter 6
Peter Knight hurried into his beach house and locked the door
behind him. He was sweating, and his temples throbbed. The ache in his
groin reminded him constantly of his manhood. The devils were dancing
in his head, playing cruel tricks on him, evoking wicked, disjointed
thoughtsin his mind. He had to rest, to sleep, to get back his
equilibrium before Davie came home . . .
He ripped off his clothes and flung them onto a chair. He fell
into bed, wincing as his hard, erect cock thudded on the mattress. He
had some unfinished business down there . . . he couldn't stand the
agony any longer.
Grabbing his long, beefy pole in his hand, he once more stroked his
enraged organ hotly until he came all over the bedsheet. It was only a
matter of seconds. Exhausted then, he knew he should get up and wash,
but his body refused to budge, and he fell fast asleep without
remembering the need to cover himself.
When Davie got home a couple of hours later, she was surprised to
find the door locked. She figured she must have done it without
realizing it. No problem. She remembered the door to the lanai--that
would be open for sure.
She wanted to shower and change and wash the salt water out of her
hair before she appeared at the lodge to see her father. Perhaps she
wanted to wash the scent of sex and another female body away, too . . .
The hours she had spent with Trish were beginning to bother her. She
wasn't dazed with wine any more, and the reality of what she had
participated in with the blonde stewardess was beginning to weigh
heavily on her conscience. Oh God, what's happening to me? I'm not a
lesbian .. . I don't want to do it with girls! I couldn't help myself,
it felt so good. But it's wrong. It's not the way I want things to be.
She opened the lanai door and stepped inside, a worried expression
on her young face. She could feel the first tautness that follows
overexposure to the sun, and she knew she had lain on the beach too long
for the first day. Yes . . . she had lain too long on the beach for
alot of reasons . . .
She turned toward the small chest of drawers that held her
clothing. An unexpected groan caused her to look in the direction of
her father's bedroom. From where she was standing, she could see only
his head and his bare torso. He was sleeping heavily, his mouth open
and emitting soft but coarse sounds that bordered on snoring. Davie
smiled as she watched her father reposing on the big bed. She looked
over at him with pride, thinking how peaceful he seemed, how handsome he
was. His chest was broad and hairy; his muscles were well developed.
He was a very masculine man.
She thought she could get her things and tiptoe quietly past him
without awakening him, so she gathered her shampoo and creme rinse and
took another long dress out of the drawer and stepped through the
doorway into his bedroom.
An involuntary gasp escaped the young girl's throat as she found
herself looking at her father's totally nude, sleeping form. There he
was, sprawled on his back, his muscular legs spread apart, exposing the
full sight of his genitals to his daughter's widening eyes. His flaccid
penis was cradled in the hairy hammock of his enormous testicles.
Daddy's penis was huge! Davie was hypnotized by the sight of her
father's massive prick and his plump, hirsute testicles.
It 's so big! How could any woman possibly have a thing that big
inside of her? It would tear her to pieces! It must be over ten inches
long when it's . . . when it's hard it's twice the size of those models'
in VIVA magazine! And theirs were pretty big . . .
Davie felt a sudden dryness in her mouth and throat as she stared
at the naked, powerful body on the bed. She knew she couldn't continue
to stand there gaping at him. And she didn't dare take a shower for
fear of waking him up. He'd know she had seen him. So she carefully
tiptoed back to the lanai, replaced the clothing in the drawer and went
out the door. She hurried to the lodge and used the phone to call him
up.
"Y-yes . . ." a groggy voice answered.
"Hi, Daddy," she said brightly, "it's your sun-baked daughter. I
think I'm about medium rare."
"Davie! Where are you, sweetheart?" he asked, sitting up. He was
suddenly springing to alertness.
"Sheboygan, Wisconsin. Really, Daddy," she teased, "where do you
think I am? I'm at the reception desk."
He had difficulty marshaling his reason. All he could think of was
Davie being eaten by that vixen, Trish. "Well, eh, what are you doing
there, darling? I thought you were . . . on the beach."
"I was. Now I'm here. I came to look for you because the door's
locked, so I figured you were at the lodge. Daddy, are you all right?
I mean, this conversation is ridiculous!" She said it with mock
reproach, then followed it with one of her girlish giggles.
"You're right, darling. It is. l didn't realize how heavily I
slept. Still trying to clear the cobwebs out of the attic. Why don't
you come along to the house?"
"Thanks, Daddy. I'm dying to take a shower. Bye." And she hung
up, leaving Peter Knight with a dial tone and a glazed expression on his
face.
Moments later he was covering the telltale stain on the sheet with
another sheet, then dashing to the door to unlock it, then scampering
into the shower for a necessary cleansing. By the time Davie reached
the house, he was out of the shower and half-dressed.
Davie was suspiciously cheerful, it seemed to him. Of course, he
knew what had happened between her and Trish Byers and he suspected--and
hoped--that his winsome offspring was feeling guilty about the whole
perverted episode. He was bothered as hell himself, and couldn't look
her squarely in the face, but he also couldn't take his eyes off her
nubile bikini-clad body.
She acted awkward and embarrassed, and he thought wistfully to
himself what a sad thing is the loss of innocence. He blamed himself
once more for what happened on the beach. He should have been there, to
save Davie from the sexual clutches of that rapacious female! Why was
he never there when she needed him? If he had stayed with her in New
York, none of this would have happened. But then, he didn't. All he
cold do now was make damned sure nothing like that ever happened to her
again.
When she had showered and dressed in a most becoming long dress,
Davie joined her father in the living room. He was having a drink, and
offered her a coke on the rocks, which she smilingly accepted.
"Tell me about your day," he began. "Did you enjoy the beach?"
"Very much. It's so beautiful. I've never seen such white sand.
And the water is glorious. You can see all kinds of fish as plain as
anything. Like looking through a tinted window. I saw this one mean
looking fish with a lot of teeth. Trish said she thought it might be a
barracuda, so we got out of the water fast!"
"Trish? You went swimming with her, eh?" he asked, eyeing his
daughter carefully for giveaway expressions. But Davie was artfully
cool. That disturbed him, too.
"Oh yes. She came by this morning with a super lunch for the two
of us--you have the best food here, Daddy. We walked way down the
beach, found a spot and just roasted ourselves all day. Of course,
Trish could take it. She does it all the time--sunbathing, you know.
That's why she has such a beautiful color. Look at me, I look like a
half cooked lobster!" She giggled at herself again, and Peter Knight
returned the grin. But inwardly he was agonizing. He couldn't blot the
image of his naked daughter on her back with her pussy in the blonde's
face from his mind. He couldn't shut out her cries as she lay there
cumming, brought to the peak of pleasure by that sex-starved woman who
had acted as Davie's. . . lover! Trish was a dangerous influence on the
impressionable Davie. If she spent too much time alone with Trish, she
might become as venal as the stewardess. The bitch would have Davie in
a gang bang with all the guests at French Leave looking on. Christ, what
a thought! No, Davie was still pure, she was still innocent. She
didn't know what the hell she was doing today, or at school. They forced
it on her. Davie needed a man to straighten her out. Her soft, young
body, her lips, her ripe breasts and her beautiful pussy cried for a
man's caresses . . . a man's body to complement hers . . . a man's cock
to fill her precious little cunt . ..
My God, what I am thinking!, it suddenly occurred to him. I'm
thinking of Davie as though I were her lover! As though she needed
that! She only belongs to me spiritually . . . that's the only way I
can have her. That 's the only way that's right between a father and
daughter. Any other way is sick, degenerate . . . as degenerate as what
Trish did to her today.
"Daddy, is anything wrong?" Davie suddenly asked him. He had been
lost in thought for several moments. He found himself staring vacantly
into his scotch glass. When he looked up at Davie, her eyes expressed
concern.
"Sorry, honey I'm still half asleep, I guess." He smiled at her
reassuringly. "Let's go have dinner at the lodge. I really should be
on hand most of the time."
A yachting party arrived during the dinner hour and Peter Knight
had to leave his daughter alone for several minutes, during which time
Trish Byers and her brother appeared in the dining room and got in line
forthe sumptuous buffet spread. By the time the resort owner returned,
Trish and Randy had joined their table, a thing which did not please
Peter Knight in the least.
"Good evening, Miss Byers, Randy," he said politely, offering a
curt smile.
"I'd be so pleased if you called me Trish," the seductive blonde
told him, giving him a flashing smile. She looked stunning in a low-cut
white cotton dress that did little to hide her feminine assets. Her
feet were shod in the barest of high-heeled sandals, making her long
beautiful legs seem even longer. Her tan was deep and golden against
the electric whiteness of her dress. She oozed sensuality from every
pore. He was seething inside and he wanted to slap her half way across
tile dining room. He hated everything about her, except her face and
her voice and her body . . . He was caught in a repulsion-attraction
syndrome--his reason repelled, but his being drawn to her like a magnet.
Davie's thigh accidentally brushed against Randy's and she moved
hers away hastily, but not before the contact had produced a tiny
electrical charge in her loins. She couldn't help thinking of the
pictures in VIVA, and now that he was seated next to her at the dining
table, she found herself comparing him more and more to the guy in the
photograph. She speculated on the size of his penis, and wondered if it
resembled the man's in the magazine or that of her father. What would
Randy be like? What would it feel like to have his thing inside me?
He's very sexy, just like his sister, with those bedroom blue eyes and
all that soft blond hair. He does have a fantastic build . .
The young girl felt her face flush. It was already hot from the
hours of harsh sun. She couldn't look at Randy directly; there was
something about him that both frightened and intrigued her. He didn't
talk much, and seemed very shy himself. But she couldn't suppress a
little shudder when she thought again of his resemblance to the man in
the photographs.
They lingered over dinner, with Knight having to excuse himself at
intervals to attend to one kind of business or another. During his
absences, Trish focused her attention on Davie, giving her enigmatic
looks across the table. At Other moments, she did the same thing to her
brother. Davie felt there was something peculiar in their
relationship. Sometimes she seemed to be flirting with him! Once or
twice, Randy looked down at Davie from under his sleepy eyelids and she
found herself melting inside. And the liquid warmth manifested itself
in her panties! When Randy asked her if she'd like to go for a walk
after dinner, she readily agreed. Peter Knight had other ideas.
"I think it's getting close to your bedtime, young lady," he said,
in a very paternal way. To his surprise, Davie was angered.
"Really, Daddy! I'm not a child. Besides, it's not that late.
I'm not a baby!" she said, her voice tight and her eyes sparkling with
indignation.
"She's right, Peter," Trish added without solicitation. He gave
her a chilling look. "I'll make that decision, if it's all right with
you," he said to her levelly. "Randy, why don't you escort Davie to the
house. I'll be along shortly."
"Sure. My pleasure, Mr. Knight," Randy said, rising to his feet.
Davie got up, too, and left the table without another word to her
father. She was embarrassed to tears, as only a sixteen year old girl
can be.
Her anger, fanned by guilt and the confusion that resulted from her
turmoil and frustration brought sudden and unexpected tears to her eyes
as the two youngsters walked out into the refreshing night air. "Why
did he have to say that? He was talking to me like I was some kind of
two year old moron. He sounded just like my mother!" she protested
hotly.
Randy put a comforting arm around her shoulder. "Don't take it so
hard, Davie. Your old man's just looking out for your interest, that's
all. He doesn't want his little girl out with a big, bad wolf like
Randy Ferns!" (And with good reason, he added silently.)
She had to smile. She looked up at him and he gave her an
endearing grin. She thought he had the sexiest eyes she had ever seen.
They walked slowly on, and she began to feel more relaxed in his
company. He really was a nice boy. He was as understanding as Trish ..
..
They laughed a lot. He wasn't nearly as shy as she thought he
was. Maybe he was only shy in a crowd. At one point he casually took
her hand and she felt another surge of excitement go through her. Every
now and then, their bodies would brush against one another. The air was
cool and fragrant. Crickets chirruped and the sea gently slapped the
shore. Davie felt warm and contented to be with this understanding,
masculine boy . ..
In another part of the compound, Peter Knight was declining an
invitation to 'come in for a nightcap.' "Thank you, Trish, but I'd
better get home."
"Why so soon? Afraid the boogie man is going to get your darling
daughter?" she taunted.
"Look," he said through clenched teeth, "my daughter is none of
your goddamned business! And as far as that goes, I'd be ever so
grateful if you left her the hell alone! A girl like Davie doesn't need
a woman like you as a friend!" He hadn't intended to loose his
cool--Trish Byers was a guest, though she wouldn't be a guest ever
again! Still, he prided himself on self-control; on maintaining an
unruffled, professional posture with both guests and help alike. He
didn't want to show his hand; the bitch just might tell Davie that her
father had seen them making love!
Trish felt her own anger bob. "How would you know?" she railed
back at him. "You haven't even seen her for three years! It just so
happens, Mr. Big, that Davie does need my friendship. Who else is she
going to talk woman to woman --YOU? Yes, I suppose she could . . ."
That hit home. She had slashed at his manhood, and any residual
control that he had fled with the wafting island breeze. He reached
pasther, opened the door and thrust her roughly inside. The light from
the moon illuminated the room enough so that he could see her striking
features clearly. He looked at her bright, sensuous mouth, remembering
vividly that it was the mouth that kissed Davie, that licked and sucked
her tender breasts, that ate her teenage pussy . . .
He grabbed both her arms and held her in a viselike grip. He
looked at her long and hard. Her face was close to his as he breathed
the words out through his rigid jaw.
"You know what you are? You're a vile, low-class scheming bitch!
Worse than that--you're a cunt a real cunt!" (God, how he wanted to
fuck her. He wanted to tear her apart with his cock. He never wanted
to fuck a woman more in his life than he wanted to fuck this big-titted,
sexy blonde bitch!)
"Flattery will get you nowhere!" she snarled back at him, her lips
curled in a defiant pout.
"I don't want to get anywhere, cunt!" he growled back through
clenched teeth. "I wouldn't fuck you with a ten foot pole!"
"Braggart! You'd touch me with any kind of a pole--if you had
one. But obviously, you don't . . ." She had him now, and she knew it.
Peter Knight smarted visibly from the gauntlet she had flung so cruelly
across his face. If that assault on his masculinity didn't get him to
drop his pants, nothing would. She looked up at him with disdain in her
big, blue eyes. She smiled a mocking little smile with dewy,
half-parted lips.
He could feel her hot breath on his flushed cheek, scalding him
like oil from a boiling cauldron. Her bare knee touched his trousered
leg, searing his flesh through the sharkskin. Oh Geezus, he had to fuck
her! He didn't care about Davie being home alone; he didn't care
whether the blonde bitch was a guest, or that he hated her guts; he
didn't care about anything! He only knew that the cum in his balls was
being boiled to a broth. He had to put the meat to this pagan,
she-devil cant standing so tauntingly before him, had to teach her a
lesson she would never forget. . . with a fucking she would never
forget! When he got through with her, she would crawl back to Nassau!
He was dimly, very dimly aware that later, when it was all over,
there would be remorse and self-loathing. But at that moment, nothing
else mattered except funding the shit out of the so ft. warm, musky-
smelling evil woman who was only inches away from his throbbing,
granite-hard ten inch cock . . .
Without another word, he pulled her to his body and kissed her
brutally on the mouth, pressing his teeth into her yielding lips and
forcing his tongue into her oral cavity. He tongued her mouth, and she
answered with hot caresses from her oral member. Suddenly, he bit
it--hard, causing her to cry out in a gagged scream of pain. He
relished her agony. Then he bit her lip, drawing a warm, salty trickle
of blood from the petal-soft flesh. Trish began to fight him, pummeling
him with her fists to try and push him away. But he was a pillar of
stone, and she, with her 120 pounds of female flesh, was hardly a match
for the enraged resort owner.
Peter reached behind her and unzipped the pristine white dress with
one deft yank of the zipper, drawing her in tightly to his loins as he
did, forcing his truncheon-like cock against her pubic bone as hard as
he could; grinding it into her in a way he knew was bruising. Trish
struggled against him, a look of fear and pain contorting her lovely
features. She saw the look of a madman, the frenzy of the rapist in his
blazing hazel eyes. Still, it excited her. She had wanted this man for
so long; she never figured him to show the balls he was showing. Of
course, she had goaded him into it; but she had expected to call the
shots. He was definitely out of her control. What was he going to do?
"You bitch . . . you cunt . . . you frigging whore . . ." he kept
muttering over and over under his breath, as he reached up under her
dress and grabbed the sheer nylon panties she wore and ripped them down
over her satin hips, leaving them around her thighs like a ragged
tourniquet. She gasped under his harsh stripping as his clawing hands
left angry red tracks in her sun bronzed flesh. Then he shoved his
middle finger into her hotly steaming vagina, and she bucked from the
suddenness of his harsh and abrupt entry, even though her pussy was a
cauldron of desire, and the juices of lust lubricated her cuntal
passage.
She started to groan as he finger fucked her deeply and she swayed
on her feet, her eyes closed. Seeing her reaction, he abruptly withdrew
his hand and wiped his finger across her supple mouth, saying, "Here,
slut, eat this! You like the taste of pussy, I'll bet; take it. Lick
it!" He worked his finger into her mouth as though it were a cock, and
slid it back and forth between her lips and around the inside of her
cheeks. His other hand was up under her dress, pinching her ripely
curved ass-cheeks as hard as he could.
Trish wanted to bite his finger, but she was afraid of what he
would do. This man was capable of anything now, she realized. God
knows what he might do to her if she retaliated. Besides, she liked the
taste of her pussy; it was a taste similar to the sweet, aromatic pussy
of Peter's teenage daughter. Hah! If only the bastard knew!
Yesss . . . that was it! What better way to get even with the
stuck up son-of-a-bitch than to arrange for a little private
"exhibition" . .. with the star performer being his darling little girl!
He suddenly brought both his hands up to her shoulders and pulled
the white dress down until it fastened like a straight jacket around her
body, just below her melon-like breasts, pinioning her arms to her
sides. The stewardess was unable to slip the dress either up or down,
and stood there, her face a mask of impotent rage.
"Get me out of this goddamn thing, you bastard!" she shouted out at
him. She drew up her foot and kicked him sharply on the shin. She
followed it with a knee to the groin.
Her aim wasn't true; he hardly felt it. But a devilish sneer
appeared on his lips. "Oh . . . so you like to play rough, eh? Ok,
hitch. We'll play rough!"
He picked her up and slung her under his arm as though she were a
store mannequin. She was screaming and kicking her legs. He literally
threw her on the big bed, on her back, and tore the sandals off of her.
Trish was still straight-jacketed by the crumpled, constricting dress,
which had worked its way up to her hips, exposing her dark blonde mat of
pussy hair to his wanton, rapacious gaze. While she lay there kicking
and screaming, he ripped off her panties, then hastily removed his
jacket, shirt and trousers. He slipped off his loafers and socks and
peeled down his shorts.
Her eyes widened as she gazed at his naked, ten-inch rod of man-
flesh, the blood-engorged head purple with rage. His huge, hairy
testicles hung tautly between his sinewy thighs. He was a tower of
virility before the wide-eyed stewardess, who thought she had seen
everything there was to see in the bedroom--until now! He looked so
powerful, so cruel and menacing as he loomed above her, his handsome
face grimacing with vindictive lust.
"Like what you see, cunt?" he asked, reaching for his massive pole
and grasping it gingerly in his hand as if it were a baby club.
"Oh my God, Peter . . . Oh my God!" was all she could say.
"This is what you wanted, isn't it? Isn't this what you've been
after all along . . . every time you gave me one of your
come-up-and-see-me-sometime looks? Every time you wiggled your hot
little ass at me, or stuck those big round jugs under my nose? You
wanted me to fuck you, didn't you, slut? You wanted me to stick my cock
up between those good-looking legs of yours and fuck your hot little
whore pussy, didn't you? . . . "I . . . I . . . yes . . . YESSSSSS!" she
cried out at him.
"Yes, what?" he taunted, a victorious sneer on his face. "What did
you want me to do? See, I have to be sure you really want me,
becauseI'm very insecure, and I might not be able to get a hard-on until
youreassure me . . ." he said, sporting an erection that would do credit
to a prize bull!
"I . . . I want you . . . to . . . fuck me," she breathed.
"How's that? I also have a hearing problem. You'll have to say it
louder."
"I want you to fuck me. FUCK ME, goddamnit!" she screamed, the
veins in her temples and the cords in her neck distending as she raised
her head off the bed to shout at him. "FUCK ME . . . FUCK ME . . .
NOW!"
Chapter 7
"Do you think your dad will let me show you around the island
tomorrow?" the good-looking blond youth was saying to the pretty
brunette as they sat on the steps of her father's house.
"He'd better!" Davie answered. "I know I can talk him into it. I
don't know what was the matter with him tonight. He was acting funny
all evening," said the innocent teen. Randy's thigh was pressed lightly
but deliberately against her thigh. She was talking with great
animation, the excitement and anticipation in her fluttering tummy
channeled into her voice. She knew what both of them were thinking as
they sat there side by side in the seducing shadows.
"I'll come by around eleven tomorrow morning. OK? Bring your
bathing suit and a big jug of sun tan lotion!"
They both laughed then, and he put his arm around her shoulder in a
friendly way. But when she turned to him, they both stopped smiling,
and he looked deeply into her sparkling hazel eyes. Davie's heart was
pounding wildly in her chest. He gave her a slow, irresistible smile.
Then he leaned towards her and kissed her on the lips. It was a
harmless, non-committal kiss--at first! But they lingered at each
other's mouth's, and soon the kiss deepened, and Davie felt the boy's
warm, probing tongue snaking in between her lips. She thought it was
the most exciting thing that had ever happened to her; so much more
exciting than being kissed by another female. There just was no
comparison. She had never been kissed by a boy who kissed the way Randy
Ferris did. No boy had ever made her feel that way!
Her young pussy began to tingle, and she could feel the wetness as
her cunt juices began to flow and puddle in her panties. Her heart beat
wildly, and she found it hard to get enough air in her lungs. She was
suddenly afraid . . . afraid of the sensations in her body. All she
could think of was the pictures in the magazine . . . the naked man who
had Randy's face and body, and what he was doing to the naked,
dark-haired girl . . .
Far fucking out! Randy thought as he kissed the luscious teen.
This kid's already getting worked up! What a sweet, sexy little piece
of ass she's going to be! Hell, she doesn't even know how sexy she is.
If Knight wasn't on his way back here, I'd put the make on her and fuck
her little ass off right now! But, easy, kid, easy does it. Trish said
"hands off!" until tomorrow . . . and she's got it timed down to a rat's
eyelash. Got to win the kid's trust first. Got to make her think I'm a
harmless simple kind of dude who only wants to show her a good time . .
.. yeah, I'll show her a good time! Right in her virgin little pussy! A
real fucking good time!
Without explanation, Randy drew back suddenly. Davie's lips were
still parted. He looked into her eyes, giving her a serious, thoughtful
and penetrating stare from under his sleepy eyelids. She suppressed an
involuntary shudder.
"I'm sorry, Davie. I didn't mean to kiss you like that. Just lost
my head, I guess. You're the kind of woman that really turns a guy on .
.. ."
He got up stiffly then, pretending to turn away in order to hide
the embarrassing bulge in his tight pants. But Davie's eyes went
instinctively to his groin, and her face grew hotter when she spied the
noticeable knot under his fly. It seemed that there was a wild thing
inside, straining to break free. She wanted it to . . .
"See you tomorrow," he said, waving his hand to her as he sauntered
off.
"Right," she answered feebly. "G'night, Randy . . ."
The sexy blond boy grinned in the moonlight as he walked down the
road towards his sister's bungalow. Wait 'till Trish gets a load of
this!, he thought smugly to himself. That Knight chick is as good as
laid!
Once out of Davie's sight, he picked up his pace and strode briskly
on, anticipating the night in bed with his gorgeous sexpot sister,
confident that she would be alone when he returned to the bungalow. He
kept expecting to meet the stiff proprietor on the path.
He was totally unprepared for the sounds that drifted out the open
window from the sequestered one-room house--sounds which prompted him to
tiptoe quietly for the last six feet and peer cautiously inside, after
first looking around to check for possible "spies."
"Geezus Christ!" was the expletive that escaped involuntarily from
under his breath. There was Trish, her dress a wrinkled rag around her
arms and torso, tying spread-eagled on the bed, with the very naked,
very hard Peter Knight standing above her, holding his elephant cock in
his hand! Goddamn . . . he's got a schwanz that must be a good
ten-inches long! Randy thought.
"I want you to fuck me. FUCK ME, goddamnit!" Trish screamed at
him. "FUCK ME . . . FUCK ME . . . NOW!"
Randy's mind was whirling. He was bowled over. The timing was all
wrong. This wasn't supposed to happen unto tomorrow--that's what Trish
had told him. But neither was her eating of Davie Knight's pussy--and
look what happened! It was all like a scene out of "Future Shock" . . .
He suddenly saw an opportunity to accelerate his own cherry-popping
plans. Quickly, he turned and tiptoed away from the window and hurried
back to the Knight cottage . . .
Davie had watched Randy until he disappeared around a clump of tall
bushes, his words echoing over and over in her young head: "You're the
kind of woman that really turns a guy on . . ."
He called me a woman . . . a woman!, she thought giddily to
herself. There could be no greater compliment for a breathless sixteen
year old. She added silently: And you're the kind of man that turns me
on, Randy Ferris!
The disturbing wetness in her panties increased, and she found
herself squeezing her thighs together to heighten the tingling
sensations of pleasure that were coursing through her pussy. A lurid
fantasy of Trish slavishly licking her cunt to orgasm pervaded her mind
then, only to be supplanted by a three dimensional enactment of the
poses an the VIVA photographs. She was hot! She had to do something!
She only wished so badly that Randy were there at that moment. She
didn't care if he lost respect for her, or what she felt afterwards.
She only knew that her body demanded satisfaction. She needed to cum!
Davie rushed into the house, her cheeks flaming and her whole
sun-baked body on fire with lust. She went straight to the lanai, puked
off her clothes and threw them on top of the big pillows on the floor
and scrambled into bed without putting on her pajamas. She crawled
under the sheet, perspiring heavily and trembling with desire.
The tingling sensation had magnified tenfold now and her breathing
became ragged and labored. Her fantasies became more vivid, bolder, and
the passion increased accordingly in her breasts and belly. Her body
ached for caresses: hands, lips, cocks! She reached under the sheet
with a feverish hand and grasped one of her button-like nipples,
crushing it between her fingers. A low moan escaped her parted lips,
and the ache in her virginal cunt increased.
Slowly, then, she began to massage her breasts; first one, then the
other, cupping the naked, sun-kissed mounds tenderly, then stroking each
nipple in turn. Whirlpools of passion seethed within her young body.
Her left hand remained at her taut, firm breasts stroking and caressing
them, while her right traveled slowly downward, over the smooth, flat
expanse of her heaving belly, then lower still, to the glistening curls
of her pubic mound. Her legs were spread wide apart, and with trembling
fingers, she spread her pussy lips, exposing the throbbing clitoral bud
which stood erect as a miniature phallus. She thought of Trish, and the
way the blonde woman had spread the quivering lips of her pussy that
afternoon before she put her mouth and tongue right on Davie's sex
mound. At this moment, she would have welcomed her friend again. But
she really wanted it to be Randy's mouth . . . his lips, his tongue.
What would they be like? What would it feel like to have his big, hard
penis inside her vagina? Or her father's . . .
God, no! How could she have such a fantasy . . . even at the peak
of her arousal? What kind of perverted monster was she, anyway, to
entertain thoughts of her father's penis inside her? Wicked, shameful,
that's what it was!
Her mouth was open wide now, and she panted like a puppy as she
slid her middle finger along the fleece-lined furrow of her cunt,
rubbing the distended little button of lusting tissue as she moved down
to the warm wetness of her steaming furrow. The feeling generated by
her finger on her burning clit elicited a gasp of rapture from the young
beauty's throat as she rubbed and massaged the dewy nest with increased
ardor.
She could feel the climax building, building within her; filling
her body with excruciating delight. Her left hand continued to squeeze
her breast, and she raised her head to her chest, sticking out her
tongue as far as it would go, to lick at the inflamed nipple. She was
on fire as she had never been on fire before, chanting under her breath
as she rubbed the sensitive slit up and down, faster and faster and
harder and harder. Randy . . . make me cum, Randy . . . make me cum . .
.. You're going to make me cum, Randy . . . You're going to make me . .
.. CUUUUUMMMMM!
"Aaaaaaggghhh! Aaaarrrgghh!" she cried out in a harsh, gasping
whisper as her body shook with orgasmic release. Over and over she
spasmed, and she kept rubbing her finger across her sensitized clit to
intensify the bursting rockets of release within her, all the time
massaging her pliant, longing breasts. Her climax seemed to last for a
rapturous eternity before the delicious sensations began to ebb. Then
finally it was over, and she took her hand from her young pussy and
wiped her finger on the sheet. She lay flat on her back, her eyes
closed, her body weak and drained and tingling with the afterglow of
rapture.
An unexpected knock on the door sent a stab of terror through her
and caused her limpid eyes to fly open. She sucked in her breath.
Someone was outside.
"Davie! Davie, are you awake? I have to talk to you!" the voice
called to her. It was Randy! Why??? Why had he come back? Her father
would be here any minute, and he would be blazing mad if he found Randy
still here!
Her mind a blur, she threw back the sheet and sprang to her feet,
her balance unsteady from the rocking orgasm. She looked for a robe or
something to put on. Then she spotted her dress. She climbed into it
hastily and zipped it up, without bothering to put on shoes or panties.
She fluffed her silky, sable-colored hair with her fingers as she
hurried to the door.
Randy stood there out of breath, a strange expression on his face.
"I'm sorry to bother you again Davie," he said, "but I . . . I didn't
know what else to do. Could I . . . would it be all right if I came in
for a few minutes?"
"I don't understand, Randy. What's the matter? I mean, it's OK
with me if you come in, but my daddy's going to be here any minute, and
that could spoil things for tomorrow if he finds you're still here."
Something in his expression alarmed her. She felt an unexplainable knot
of dread. She also felt terribly embarrassed, having just finished
masturbating her way to orgasm with his name on her lips. She was
afraid he might be able to read her thoughts.
Randy sighed heavily, then he gave her a quiet grin before he
resumed his concerned, serious mien.
"I don't think your daddy's going to be here for a while. In fact,
he won't be here for a long, long time."
"Why? What's happened to him?" Davie asked urgently, her large
hazel eyes growing wide with fear.
"My sister's happened to him, that's what. They're together . . .
at her place."
"So? You mean they're having a drink together or something?"
"Or something. You know what I mean, Davie. Your dad and my
sister they're . . . making love." He wanted to say, They're fucking!
But he didn't dare--yet.
Davie Knight was crestfallen. But another part of her was excited
by the image of her strong, virile father with his penis inside Trish
Byers. She would give anything to see that and yet, she was afraid to.
Somehow her father was holy he was a god. Gods just didn't do things
like ordinary people do. Or did they? . . .
"You're putting me on, Randy. How would you know that? I'm sure
they're not going to invite you in to watch!" she said indignantly. If
it were true, she resented Randy's intrusion on the intimate scene.
"Oh yeah? Well it just so happens that I was going over to Trish's
to tell her goodnight, and I heard all this noise coming from her room.
There weren't any lights on, so I went over to the window and looked
in. I'm not about to tell you what I saw, Davie. You're a little too
innocent to hear those things . . ."
"You said I was a woman!" she blurted out. "Besides I still don't
believe you. You're playing a mean trick on me, I bet!"
"Trick, huh?" he said, eyeing her smugly. "Give me your hand."
"My hand? What?" she asked uncomprehendingly.
"Come on, baby. You asked for it. But don't say I didn't warn
you!" And he took her by the hand and led her quickly to his sister's
bungalow, where . . .
Peter Knight's mouth was fastened on one of the blonde woman's
pneumatic breasts, and he was rolling it around and around on her chest
with the broad, wet blade of his tongue! The stewardess was squirming
on the bed, her legs churning against the naked man who lay half atop
her. Their bodies glistened in the moonlight, which was bright as a
light bulb in the room. Trish had something around her arms and under
her breasts, like a bandage. It was her white dress--a crumpled swatch
of fabric not more than five-inches wide! She was bound with her own
dress!
Davie's knees buckled slightly and she sagged against her blond
companion, her eyes like saucer-like and her mouth agape. She was about
to let out a cry of protest when Randy's warm hand came from behind and
muffled the imminent shriek before it was voiced.
"Oooooh . . . yesssss! Oh God, lover! Fuck me now!" Trish cried
aloud. Then, "Ooooowwwwwww! Aaaahhh! Don't hurt me like that!" Peter
Knight's teeth flashed in the moonlight as he bit into the tender,
succulent flesh. Trish's face was contorted with pain. Davie couldn't
understand why her daddy would be so mean to Trish. Is that the way
people make love? Did Trish really like it like that? She sure didn't
seem to, judging from the look on her face! Oh, it was all so
sickening, so gross. She felt nauseous, but she couldn't take her eyes
off the pair on the bed.
"Yes, baby. I'm going to fuck you all right. I'm going to fuck
you like you've never been fucked before. You wanted it--now see how
you like this!" Davie's daddy said, as he drew back from the stewardess
and rose to his knees. It was then that Davie saw his penis fully erect
.. . . it was huge! It was even bigger than she expected it to be! Was
he really going to be able to get that thing inside Trish's vagina?
Noooo. Not in her vagina. The enraged resort owner had no
intention of shoving his cock inside the captive bitch's vagina--he was
going to ram it into her asshole!
He climbed between her legs and kneeled upright, poised before his
conquest. He'd show the bitch--she'd think twice before she ever begged
somebody to fuck her again!
There was breathless anticipation on the blonde wanton's face--at
last she was to feel Peter Knight's huge cock in her scalding pussy.
She gave him a provocative smile and stretched her legs further apart
and arched her back in open invitation to the virile man. Outside the
window, Randy had a huge erection of his own from watching the
lascivious, exciting scene on the bed. He drew young Davie slightly
closer to him, so that the tip of his protruding cock was just touching
her firm, ripe ass cheek. He wanted to hoist up her dress and plug her
right then! She shifted her weight slightly, so that she was somehow
just a little bit closer . . . He had one hand over her mouth and the
other around her tiny waist.
The handsome, well-muscled man on the bed reached under the
writhing stewardess with both hands and pulled her body close to him.
He was kneeling on his haunches now, his muscular thighs forming a vee
on the bed. He raised her ass high in the air until her legs dangled
near his shoulders and she was almost standing on her head, a position
which gave the two young voyeurs outside an unobstructed new of her
nether parts.
Davie flushed crimson with embarrassment. Here she was, standing
against a boy she hardly knew, watching her father and Trish in the most
blatant throes of love-making . . . violent sex, that's what it was.
She wanted to run away, to crawl in a hole and never we any of them
again. How could she face her father, or Trish? How could she bear to
look at Randy? . . .
His hand was circling his throbbing penis, guiding it closer and
closer towards the moist lips of her surging pussy . . . parting the
fleecy cunt hair with the blood-engorged head. Suddenly, he flexed his
hips and drove his mighty organ deep up into the hot, gaping mouth of
her hungry cunt with a flesh-tearing thrust that hammered his balls
against the naked and defenseless flesh of Trish's upturned buttocks.
"Uuuuuaaaahhhhhh!" she screamed beneath him. The elastic sheath
consumed his fleshy rod as it raced to the full length of her belly and
rammed hard against her cervix.
"Ooooohhh!" she howled again. "Aaaaahhh, that's it, lover . . .
that's the way to give it to me . . . that's the way to fuuuuuuccckk!"
You're not going to give me any lessons, bitch!, he thought
angrily. For a moment he was caught up in the caressing sheath of her
slippery pussy, and he was tempted to forget his vendetta and fuck her
to a fare-thee-well just like that. It felt so goddamm fabulous! But
maybe later later he could fuck her pussy; after she had sucked his cock
.. . . which would be after he fucked her in the ass!
Davie had seen enough. My father. . . and Trish . . . oh God,
they're . . . they're . . . doing it . . . like animals . . . both of
them naked and thrashing around on that bed, his thing all hard and wet
and jammed far up inside her belly. She must have a pretty big pussy to
be able to take all that. Noooo . . . it's too much . . . I don't want
that to happen to me . . . noooo!
Her mind rolling, her stomach churning with queasiness, Davie
struggled in blind panic and freed herself from Randy's captive grip.
She had to get away, had to run from that vile scene, from that sinful,
animalistic display! How could I have ever thought I wanted something
like that to happen to me? Oh God, nooooo . . . please dear God, don't
let anything like that happen to me--ever!
The tormented girl broke out in a dead run for her father's house.
Fear and anguish sent adrenaline coursing through her veins, and she ran
like the wind to get back to the safety, the privacy of her own bed.
Randy followed, maintaining a brisk pace to keep her in his
sightsand yet, staying far enough away not to alarm her further. Shit!,
he swore to himself. The goddamn thing's backfired. Scared the
begeezas out of her! Now I'm going to have a helluva time getting into
her box! I'll have to walk on water to get into her pants tonight!
Back in the bungalow used by the curvaceous blonde guest at Peter
Knight's resort, the two sweating figures on the bed were caught m the
throes of a grudge fuck, with Trish Byers coming out the worst. Her
vindictive, dark-haired lover had abruptly withdrawn his rigid cock from
the warm closing depths of her hungry pussy, much to the blonde's
bewilderment and frustration, and was again kneeling before her wide-
spread, flailing legs, a sadistic leer on his normally handsome face.
The woman's blue eyes were wide with apprehension.
He grasped her legs under the knees and yanked her up even higher,
so that her head was twisted and her chin lay uncomfortably on her
collar bone. He scooted forward, throwing her long, willowy legs back
until she was completely jackknifed, her knees hovering on either side
of her head. "Oooowww. Not like this, Peter. Not like this!" she
cried, but he held her legs in place while he used his cock as a probe
to find the puckered little entrance to her rectum. The crevice had a
rivulet of perspiration trapped there, and he bathed the tip of his
prick in the salty moisture, stirring it around the brown nether
entrance with his cockhead. Without warning, he thrust forward,
splitting the resistant sphincter ring with his massive cock. Trish
screamed out in pain.
"Aaaaawwwww! Nooooo! It hurts! IT HURTS!"
Fired by her cries and brazen in his vengeance, Knight pressed
further into the tight elasticity of her nether passage.
A searing shaft of pain accompanied his brutal penetration. The
lovely blonde cried out again, and tears filled her eyes. She begged
him to stop. But to no avail.
He thrust again, imbedding his steely pole even further into her
tortured anus. She writhed and squirmed and tried to get out from under
her assailant, but she was helplessly pinned to the bed, and her
contortions only succeeded in driving his cock further into her ravaged
ass. She felt as though she were being disemboweled by a flaming
spear. Her whole body trembled with pain and she cursed him aloud for
his brutality. "I'll get you for this, you son-of-a-bitch! I'll get
you! Bastard! Goddamned fucking bastard!" she railed at him over and
over again. But with each epithet she shrieked, the frenzied resort
owner rammed deeper and harder into her tortured anal passage, until
there was no where left to go but out.
He rested for a moment, flexing his cock inside her, eliciting more
cries of pain from the switch hitting stewie. Then slowly, ever so
slowly, he put it in reverse and began to pull out, until only the
bloated head was lodged inside her stretched anus. He reached forward
to grab her beefy breasts with his hands, massaging them roughly;
pinching the nipples hard between his fingers. She groaned under his
manipulations, her body racked with trembling. He was paying her
back--punishing her for what she had done to his beautiful, innocent
little girl. He was settling a score for Davie . . .
He thrust forward again, burying his cock up to the hilt in Trish
Byer's tight and tortured asshole, until his balls smacked lewdly
against her upturned ass cheeks, evoking another banshee cry of pain
from the stewardess. Then he began a determined sawing motion with his
fully inflated, lusting cock, feeling the pressure building and building
in his bails. He had to cum soo. He had to, had to! If he didn't fill
her ass with his fiery seed soon, he was going to go out of his frigging
mind! Oh, oh, oh he had to cum!
I have to cum . . . have to cum . . . have to . . . he chanted
wordlessly as he fucked deep and hard into the tight, hot and harassed
rectal passage. Take that, bitch . . . and that, Francine . . . his
mind screamed, as he thought of his cold ex-wife and her emasculating
indifference to his needs. Take that!, he shouted silently, as he
envisioned her blowing the fairy who was being sodomized by his faggot
lover. There's only one . . . only one . . . pure (thrust) beautiful
(thrust) loving (thrust) desirable (thrust) woman (thrust) Davie
(thrust) . . . Davie (thrust) . . . DAVIE!
The hot, sticky load began its frenzied rush from his bloated
scrotum along the fiery tube of his cock. He began to spew hot, thin
streams into the blonde's clasping asshole in a raging torment, emptying
his frothy payload deep, deep up into the tortured inner depths of her
violated rectum.
"Aaaaaggghh, fuck it, baby, fuck it haaaaarrrrrddd!" the stewardess
was screaming at him as she lay writhing on the bed, her legs jackknifed
against her breasts and her crotch fully expanded for his pleasure. Her
eyes were rolling in her head, and her face was contorted with lust and
pain as she desperately sought her own release.
No! Oh no you don't, bitch!, he said to himself when his blurry
thought congealed. He pulled his stud hard cock out of her anus as if
it were a greased pig. The suction noises were embarrassing. His
cockhead traded stringy, mucous-like strands of semen as he hovered over
her and pulled her legs down on the bed. Her face was tear-stained and
black mascara smudged her cheeks. Her lipstick was smeared across her
face. She looked anything but the cool, confident seductress who had
goaded him into fucking her. He felt a wave of pity for her then; she
was so vulnerable, so totally demoralized. God, how he despised her!
She whimpered at him pathetically. "Please, Peter, please don't
hurt me anymore. Let me love you, honey. Let me show you what kind of
woman I can be for you . . ."
"Of course, sweetie. Of course I'm going to let you show me . . .
right now . . . right this moment, my dear . . ."
His voice was calm and quiet. He smiled warmly at her--too
warmly. He reached up to her and began to ease the constricting dress
down her arms. It wasn't easy. Finally, he rolled it down around her
hips, so that her arms were free. It was a simple matter to get it off
her after that.
There were red marks on her arms where the cloth had bound her
limbs. He took each arm in turn, and rubbed it vigorously, evoking a
grateful smile from the unsuspecting vamp. Then he began to kiss her
breasts again, only lightly, tenderly now. He raised each of his legs
and pushed hers together between them. Then he walked on his knees up
the bed, until his half-hard cock was only inches from her mouth.
"Now, Trish. Love me now. Love my cock. Take my cock into your
mouth, sweetie, and lick off every drop of cum . . . And if you love me
well, if you're really a good little cock sucker, I'll let you love me
with your pussy. I'll let you suck out some more of my cum with your
hot, hungry cunt!"
Chapter 8
Davie had flung herself across the bed and was sobbing as the
scheming, incestuous brother of her so-called "friend" kneeled beside
her on the floor, a comforting hand on her back.
"That's right, Davie, let it all out. Just cry away--everything
you saw going on in that room. Let that whole scene between my sister
and your dad wash right out of your eyes," he told her tenderly,
cunningly.
The distraught young girl cried even harder, her pitiful sobs
filling the darkened bedroom. She felt lost, empty, and she didn't know
where to turn. Her father . . . the one person in the world she loved
and respected . . . lying there naked on the bed rutting with a woman
she thought was a trusted friend . . . the same woman who had . . . been
with her at the beach today . . . Oh God, oh God! The whole world was
crashing down around her! She thought everything would be all right
once she got to Eleuthera. Isn't that what Trish said? Isn't that what
her father had said: "Everything's going to work out fine . . just
fine!" Yes . . . for them!
Now Randy was her only friend. She had been betrayed by her father
and Trish . . . and yet, they were doing something that's perfectly
natural; something all grownups do . . . they wouldn't have done it in
front of her. Still, she had always thought of sex as something good
and clean, something you did with someone you really loved--not just the
slapping together of bodies . . . She was so confused. If only she
hadn't seen them together . . . if only she hadn't seen her mother with
those two disgusting fairies . . . if only she hadn't let Trish lick her
between the legs this afternoon . . . It was all too much, too fast.
She didn't really hate her father, and she didn't really hate Trish,
either; but something was lost, gone forever . . . Something had
changed in her attitude toward the man who had sired her, and toward the
woman who she thought was her friend--and she didn't know what it was.
It only filled her with an unutterable sadness. She felt like a little
girl lost.
The tears gushed freely until her lovely eyes stung and she felt
her nose was a red balloon. She was only dimly aware that Randy was
whispering consoling words in her ear; that he was stroking her dark
hair and rubbing her shoulder comfortingly. His voice was hypnotic, his
touch, reassuring.
". . . and just forget it, Davie. Forget that they were naked on
that bed . . . forget that they were all turned on and saying things . .
.. all those dirty words. Don't think about how they must have felt . .
.. what it must have been like for them on that bed . . . no, honey, just
put all that out of your mind . . ."
Put it out of her mind. That's what she had to do, of course.
That is what she would do. She'd put those pictures out of her mind,
too . . . the ones in VIVA . . . Randy and that Oriental girl . . .
No!, not Randy . . . somebody else . . .
Randy got up and sat on the edge of the bed. Her face was turned
away from him and he kept stroking her hair and whispering comforting
words, over and over . . . Then he stroked her shoulder again, and her
soft, bare arm. His hand was warm; his touch was delicate, deft. It
felt so good to be caressed by this handsome, understanding boy who was
her only friend now. He was right, she mustn't think about what she saw
a little while ago in Trish's bungalow; she mustn't let that image
remain vividly implanted on her brain . . .
"Don't, Davie . . . don't think about it anymore . . ." he said as
he gently took her shoulder in his hand and turned her over on her
back. He brushed some wispy strands of hair away from her fevered face
and smiled at her tenderly. He knew that his words were having the
desired effect on her now; she was thinking about her father and Trish,
of course, just as he had hoped she would. It's going to work after
all, he thought sexultantly. I'm going to score with this tight little
cherry tonight!
Davie looked up into his strong, handsome face. His words seemed
to flow like molasses into her ears. She was fully aware that he was
telling her not to think of what she had witnessed, but the vision
became fixed in her mind instead. In fact, the more he droned on, the
more he stroked her hair and her arms and talked to her in his soporific
way, the more clarified became the scene in her mind. She didn't want
to think about it, but she couldn't put it out of her consciousness, she
just couldn't.
And strangely enough, the images in the lovely teen's brain were
beginning to have a certain physical effect on her innocent flesh as
well. She could feel a strange, twitching sensation deep in her belly;
the same kind of sensation she had felt when Randy kissed her on the
steps. She suddenly felt like being kissed again, and she must have
communicated this to the hot-blooded youth, for he slowly leaned over
her and pressed his lips to hers again, not French kissing her this
time, but just kissing her softly and tenderly and very, very
excitingly.
She began to tremble slightly under the pressure of his chest
against her body, not from shock or weeping now, but from something far
more basic, something that was the captive woman inside yearning to
break free . . .
Randy felt the young girl trembling beneath his embrace and he
smiled inwardly. She's almost ready . . . almost. Easy does it,
fella. This is the crucial moment, right now. Just a little bit more
and you'll be home free!
He let his face rest on hers while he continued to stroke her hair
and brush it away from her fevered face until finally, he let his hand
move down, down ever so slowly and gently onto the swelling mound of her
nubile young breast. She was breathing faster now, and so was he, as he
continued to implant the image of her father's sexual escapade with his
lucious, naked sister in her confused young mind.
He began to rub the pliant globe tenderly and lightly and he felt
her stiffen at his touch. But she made no initial effort to push his
hand away. He smiled to himself, confident that he had won the first
round. He kept caressing her breast, running his thumb across the
hardened little nipple, his heart pounding in his chest and his cock
leaping like a wild bronco in his pants.
Suddenly, a red light flashed in Davie Knight's brain, warning her
to stop this gentle boy's caresses, warning her to stop before it was
too late, before her own body betrayed her and she was suddenly