The Scandalous Stewardess
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"The Scandalous Stewardess"
Chapter 3
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 k**! 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 a****l. 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 c***d, an
innocent c***d. 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 i****tuous 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 k**,
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 k**s 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 g****s, 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 3
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 k**! 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 a****l. 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 c***d, an
innocent c***d. 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 i****tuous 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 k**,
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 k**s 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 g****s, 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!"
Mikhaela
- 11.05.2021
- 31
- 0
