REWARDING DAD free porn video

'm not out to make a distinction here. I enjoyed what I did and that's enough.

Of course, titillating circumstances contributed much to my sexual development. It punctuated my life with honest pride, in which later, I found myself absorbed. Yet, five fabulous years of reckless wallowing in the mud can make even a pig like me feel bloated, full.

What else can a number of men offer but his cock? Whether rigid, stout, massive or long, it remains their first instrument of choice for instant pleasures. But when it becomes limp, everything else vanishes with it. So that eventually, I sought once more what I cherished before—the warmth, sincerity, and comfort of my father's love—true, honest, and real no matter how we endured.

You see, I had an intimate relationship with my dad, which turned complicated. I was not expecting others to understand it, corrupting our situation with their malicious minds, waggling their dirty fingers at our brief, wonderful love affair. I guess I was either too naïve or just dumb, or simply stupid at the time...

"Honey, will you drive Tia to school? I'm late for my appointment!" shrieked Rona, my mother, already on her way to the garage, adding kindling to the tempest in my flesh. It was only 5:30 in the morning when I heard her called my dad. I had a restless sleep, rolling anxious in bed, aroused and dreamy, half-naked in a sheer chemise. My hands kept sliding between the inner smoothness of my thighs, my fingers inserted deep in my pussy hoping to calm the wet excitement oozing so hot and sticky inside.

My breasts shook proud, engorged with the heat of my lust this early in the morning as I rubbed myself vigorously. My nipples popped out, indecent and puffy while my fingers traced and squeezed the pointed succulence of my tits—ooh, so silky and warm!—yearning for a lover's greedy mouth. Cradling the roundness of both, I crushed the velvety softness hard against my arms, gasping at the tingling pleasures at the hardened tips.

I stood up, feverish, catching my breath. I inhaled deep. I can't wait any longer—my wetness raged, smouldering in my pussy. My luscious tits bobbed, felt wicked and vulgar in my flimsy dress, waiting for someone's lips to slurp and gobble up each mouthful, to suck and nibble its ample globes. In a rush, as I made sure I heard Mom starting her car—and without bothering to change my clothes or check how I looked—I went downstairs.

I found my dad sitting at breakfast in the kitchen nook and yelled also, "I'm late, too, Dad!" surprising him. I mimicked Mom, shouting for her benefit so she will not suspect. I kissed my father, unmindful of my nakedness bared in the sheer night dress falling off one shoulder, and allowed him to see my sexual cravings already bursting in the yielding warmth of my flesh.

My father laughed, and kissed me also on the cheeks. But without hesitation, pulled me closer and embraced me tight as our lips met—our tongues ravenous—entwining, licking the heat of our lusts within. I sat astride on his lap at once and felt little prodding eruptions tickling my whole body, his hands groping free all over me—pulling, squeezing, stroking further under my chemise the fire already ablaze within me before I went downstairs. Our warm breaths merged in every excited exhalation, eager and wanting as always for the touch of each other's skin.

Oh, how I love my father! His natural scent mixed with the aroma of fresh ground coffee, blended with the earthy scent of raw clay and glaze paints he used in his studio—his muscles, strong, firm, and tireless after long hours of moulding, shaping earthenware—excited me anytime I'm with him. Long-haired in casual dreads and often in baggy clothes—a loose rock t-shirt and faded shorts with his bright orange crocks, his favourites—he's an artist so open and candid with me, treating me more like a bestfriend without any pretentions, excuses, or show of parental authority—especially, when we're together alone.

"Hey, baby, what's up...," he muttered in my ears, while I pushed myself down on his lap in a circular rhythm, testing his arousal, teasing his cock, glancing in a hurry where Rona could be. I felt Dad's cock hardened. Elongated more, as I moaned delighted, kissing his neck. "You're so hot and wet like your pussy, Tia," he whispered, and fingered me slow and deliberate. His strong large fingers wriggled gently between the lips, seeking deeper the slippery warmth raging inside, opening my thighs wide as I quivered involuntarily in ecstatic pleasures.

A tremor so sweet and exciting jolted and seized me, permitting my father to fondle and feel with abandon the simmering lust in my wet pussy. His fingers stroked the fat lips, while his large thumb pressed and tickled lightly the uncontrollable excitement wrapping my moist clit. His mouth, like a suction cup, gripped my breasts one at a time—alternating, swallowing, igniting the purest pleasures provoking my indecent moans.

"Oohmm, Dad—Daad, oohh!" He sucked my tits, my nipples; his lips and tongue tasting, tickling, teasing the luscious plumpness of each. I gasped, giggled loud, and squirmed. My hips trembled and I let go, gyrating, mashing my naked pussy on his cock, digging it free from his shorts as soon as we heard Mom's car zoomed out of the driveway.

I was no longer a virgin, to my dad's consternations, shock, and regret when we first fucked. I was eighteen when it happened and became his captured and obedient beloved pet, although he did not expect it to be so, even if he wanted me that much. I guess I was in love with him all this time, and our feelings were mutual.

We kept a discreet agreement between us, unspoken and erotic, yet clear and certain as my alluring sexuality betrayed its raging peak. Often, I would find him staring at me, eyeing my body where I sat in my skimpiest shorts and shredded tank top. My choice of clothes around him whenever we're left alone in the house, allowing him a peek at the lips of my pussy, the bountiful swells of my breasts, the luscious bounce of my butt. He knew I don't wear any undies, especially when Mom was out.

It's my costume of seduction, enjoying the torrid temptation no matter what small opportunity found us alone anywhere in the house. Blossoming at eighteen, I was a sexually active woman-c***d, a nymph cavorting with my dirty desires glimpsed in my passionate, innocent eyes—my full lips wild and pouting, begging for his attention and love.

I was confident Rona will not catch or notice us, either with Dad stroking my pussy in the car or sucking and mashing my tits behind the door. Or me, giving him a blowjob under the table or when we both hide, fucking, bent in the laundry room, wherever and whenever a chance came up.

"Am I beautiful, Dad?" I asked him often, flirting with him, fingers caressing his face, loving every moment we shared, demanding his devotion reserved only to me—wanting him, watching him, wooing him—often jealous of my Mom.

I tore off my night dress and shoved the softness of my aching tits in his face again, the delectable mounds brushing, melting against his greedy lapping lips. His cock enlarged some more, elongated further, then glided its full length and rigid mass inside my hot slippery pussy. I felt his massive cock tore open my hole, entered and pounded my pussy without hesitation or regard for my youth or delicate beauty, sending torrents of prickly shivers in my flesh—a thrilling sensation I only felt with him, always.

"I want you, Dad...," I whispered, bucking on his lap, licking his ears; my pussy pushed down in slow pumping motion on his cock with all my weight. "You're on my mind all night, Dad—you know, caressing me, loving me—oohh, oohh!!" I said, moaning with the electrifying heat of pleasures coursing through my flesh, nibbling his face as his initial hesitation with Mom catching us doused off quickly.

Dad was aware I was already immersed in my wanton eagerness even before he ate me for breakfast. To secretly fuck during breakfast before he drives me off to school was a shared habit— knocking me out of my mind with wicked ecstasy—if Mom was out, like today. We did it right beside the breakfast table, amidst the clutter of plates, glasses, cups, fruits and food. Dad devoured me, eating me in a lazy deliberate way, pouring honey on the jutting cones of my breasts—laughing and smirking as my body shuddered, tickled—massaging and stroking my fiery desires with his mouth and lips.

We kissed, long and languorous while he quickly lifted and fondled my breasts, squeezing both. He milked the pointed nipples with his large strong hands, moulding and kneading hard the globes in circular motions along its tips—my pussy wobbled, folded and dripped in uninhibited wetness, rubbing in anxious rhythm against his hairy crotch—his cock thumping inside me up to the hilt in a deliberate, naughty tickle.

He grabbed my hands with a sudden forceful jerk, steadying my body. My arms stretched on my sides, my shoulders straight—bobbing out my breasts, bared obscenely in his face. He burrowed greedily again, his face squashing my tits, harsh and wild with savage abandon. Like an obedient servant, I obliged my master—a strict, demanding teacher to an adoring pupil—his rigid cock pumping upwards, relentless, ravaging my youth, fucking my innocence to shreds with brutal pleasures of carnal madness.

I felt his cock sliding in and out inside me, hard and massive in length and girt, pushing deeper in each eager stroke, separating wide my quivering hole...The tickling sensation growing stronger and powerful, the mounting pleasures trembling in my flesh—my body quivered from the top of my head to my toes. I can no longer delay the swelling delirious thrills.

My legs kicked out. I wriggled—a captive, simmering a****l unable to escape the excitement of lascivious delights. My head bounced back, my body tipped away from him, my whole being shuddering in shameless spasms. His massive erection pumped continuous and jabbed upwards deep inside the soft, warm hole of my pussy—the smacking, sloshing, slushy rhythm of our union our lusty music in the kitchen nook—as I squeezed his cock, too, his face contorting in a smirk of pleasures surging within him.

It was a trick I probably inherited from Mom. Thrilled to hone it later in school—cutting bananas and breaking raw eggs with my sorority pals—then practiced it alone with my sex toys and wanton experiences with strangers, boyfriends, and a handful of lucky profs. But I still have to try opening a beer bottle, though I think, it would be much later.

Dad treated me as his whore whenever we fucked, his forbidden bitch in the house, his lovable toy and pet, excited to **** me each time. The cruel, almost violent manner with which he fucked me chilled my flesh, terrified my senses, humiliated my being, tore my values and discarded my morality, reducing me to an unspeakable creature of carnal delights—and yet, I glowed with it—I loved it!

I enjoyed fucking my father too much. After all, I am a dirty slut as I rode his cock while he bucked like a horse, counter pounding his heavy upward thrusts each time. I started to slobber, whimpering—a moaning, quivering slave of his pleasures on the verge of losing my sanity. The bursts of delicious ripples gushed out spreading wild in my trembling body, coming one after the other in successive, explosive force.

"Dad...Oh, Daddy—oohh, oohmm!!" I cooed, and showered his face and neck with lewd wet kisses. My fingers gripped him tight, clawing his arms as I wilted at the onset of my squirting series of eruptions. I felt my body convulsed, arching wild backwards while he held my arms—the heat of youthful, reckless arousals overwhelmed me early—spraying his body with my juice.

My orgasms came in copious sprays—splashing his belly and thighs with cum, if not his face. I screamed, bounced hard, trembled and exploded again, and again—a playful sprinkler showering both of us with the warmth of our love.

"You're so gorgeous, baby...Oh, you're so beautiful!" my dad whispered. "Lucky is the man who'll pluck your heart away from me, Tia," he continued, trying to hush the tremor in my still quivering flesh, my pussy gripping hard his cock, forcing ejaculation. He exploded outside my body as we both laughed and giggled hard like k**s under the stairs. His cock jerked on its own, shooting his hot fluids on my breasts, belly, and thighs.

I know I cannot control my seductive provocations any more than I can hide my love for my father. It wasn't a****l lust or immoral desires but more of an innocent passion, an admiration where I find my dad not only attractive but also possessing the physical good looks and sensuous, tender behaviours I wanted and adored in a man. Add to this his sexual expertise, his sincerity and honesty—caring, loving attitudes expressed before, during, and after violent sex—which I enjoyed very much with intense pleasures, that I extended and hid from everyone our secret unions.

My mother, unfortunately, was deeply inhibited, if not conservative. The fact that I was the only c***d attested to her cold, weary interest in sex. Although ironic and truth of the matter is, my father met her when she worked as massage attendant in one of the prostitution dens posing as spas. For whatever reason unknown to me and not privy to, Rona lost her appetite for sex, and made life open and exciting for me and my father, allowing us to enjoy our forbidden relationship.

Suffice it to say my dad and I communicated on an emotional and physical level, understanding one another by mere hints and glances—where no words or explanations were necessary or required. We plunged into the depths of our desires without fear, hesitation or inhibitions or doubtful disgust. We enjoyed ourselves and did what we most liked—proud, open, naked and c***dlike—without guilt and thrilled beyond ourselves no matter how trivial or brutal our wishes and demands. Dad made me feel always young and fragile, even innocent at my naughty age, yet at par with him—tireless, energetic, and full of enthusiasm, loving every moment we shared.

Still, I knew he approached and avoided our delicate familial relationship with extreme care and a father's cautious control. Later, both through safe sex and moral accounting of my selfish behaviour, he kept me responsible and obedient at arm's distance.

I kept bugging him though, not contented with just his fingers, lips, and tongue, which did the enviable duties of satisfying my wants from boobs to cunt in some small portions. He's there for me, always at my command, services, and lascivious pleas—seducing him for long vigorous fucks at the most suitable time.

Thus, he went about his obligations and chores as father and house husband, and managed to pursue his craft. He creates arty ceramic wares, and sells them online. This kept him indoors most of the time—and since I was a precious only c***d—gave me more intimate hours with him than with Mom.

Now don't think I encouraged this, as any illicit affair in erotic stories and porn flicks tend to happen and unfold. No, though my secret indulgences with my father were stoked by circumstances brought by some free time we enjoyed together, in and outside the house...

"Oh, Dad...We should do this often," I whispered hot in his ear once, breathing hard, still crumpled in the seat of the car, half-naked with my school uniform strewn on the seats and floor. We were parked in the shades a few meters from my school—a strict coeducation Christian college where I was enrolled in Mass Communication.

I gave him a long wonderful blowjob as we drove from house to school, passing through deserted side streets and vacant back lots, and then I fucked him, as we parked. I got dressed as best as I could, and with a wet kiss, winked at him and mooned, my twin cheeks naked under the long skirt of my school uniform, both of us laughing and lolling our tongues out with malicious promises of doing it again.

This arrangement between us felt too good to last, as I was always anxious to find any free time we can have together anywhere. I had no qualm at all doing it in public. In fact, it seems the presence of people and the danger it posed for us to be discovered excited me more. There was not an instance we did it in a public place that I wasn't dripping wet or ablaze with the heat of my arousals, teasing and prodding my father to fuck me hard.

"My god, baby—take it easy...There are—ooh, people—uuhh!" he whispered one time, nervous as he tried to warn me, terrified we might get caught. I pulled his pants down as soon as we got inside the old service lift at the back of the school museum on our way to a ceramics exhibit, pushed the buttons for the top floor and flicked the express switch on. I masturbated him, prepared him for a blowjob inside the slow-moving elevator while it climbed to the gallery on the top floor.

The door opened and we heard voices along the corridors. Dad's reaction was quick as he jammed his hands on the elevator buttons sending us back down. His cock slipped in the 'O' of my wet lips, sliding in and out as I savoured and felt all the curls and knots of the veins livid in the long, massive stem. His eyes rolled in nervous anticipation.

I teased his cock, licked the edges of the crown. My lips played along its smooth bald head, and tongued the slit with rapid flicks, squeezing it open at the tip. "What if the elevator—oohh, opened suddenly—ahh, shit!" he said, grabbing my head, unable to stop me as his legs folded and jerked. I was already on my knees and his cock inside my slurping, sucking mouth—the obscene familiar sounds soaking the emptiness of the descending lift.

I giggled, wiping his cum off my face and mouth. His explosions sprayed my face and hair with hot thick semen as he held my shoulders trying to free his cock from the tight grip of my mouth. "Relax, Daddy...," I said, "We can always go up if we ran out of floors." I climbed on top of him standing up, edging his cock inside me without any assistance from my hands. I sensed the elevator moving up again.

My pussy opened and gobbled the head of his cock still swollen and rigid after his furious ejaculations, and slid the length all the way through with my weight pressing down on him. We fucked fast, humped with eagerness as if it was our first time.

Dad braced me against the wall of the moving elevator, and crushed my pussy and tits like a r****t so overjoyed at the opportunity of finding a lovely teen like me alone in the lift. His cock banged hard inside me, pounding, squashing the wetness in my hole with every jerk and jab as he pulled and squeezed my tits. And true to my estimates, my delirious screams died down before we reached the basement parking lot. We missed the exhibit, attempting for the fourth time.

In these delicious short spurts of sexual amusements, my mother, Rona, never once suspected why I would sometimes insist on staying home rather than go with her shopping, even if the promise was a new dress or a pair of shoes. Maybe it was because my dad tried to indulge my mom also, doing his duties when she required or whenever time allowed.

Rona's business schedules as salesperson in a kitchenware company sometimes kept her busy, coming home late, spent and tired, which did not allow Dad to perform his obligations for her in bed—or maybe, consummate his own sexual needs, too, each night. But my mother was a beautiful woman, conscious of her body and sexual appeal, though she abruptly stopped thinking of having another c***d as soon as I was born.

Still I believe even to this day there were other unforeseen factors—call it coincidences or divine providence or preordainments that contributed, if not facilitated, my clandestine affair with my father—and therefore, felt it was really meant to happen anyway.


For one, I was exposed and became enthralled with sex. Aside from my physical allure, curiosity, and interest in sex, I browsed quite often most of the porn sites in the guise of research projects. My malicious giggle while browsing betrayed me more than my actions that sometimes, I couldn't help but share with my father what I found.

"Dad, it says here size matters. They say it's more pleasurable—"

"Size need not concern you yet, baby," he said then, calm and feigning indifference. Yet his eyes stole glances at my sleeveless tee and tight shorts, seated and relaxed on the floor with my laptop in front of his worktable, comfortable of not wearing any undies at all. My cleavage exposed and well emphasized by the swells of my firm protruding breasts, my long legs bent on its knees open and spread apart—the skin so smooth that a fly would sk** on it.

Jeez, how many times did I notice him lapping with his eyes the lips of my pussy bulging with its soft, luscious cheeks, all wet and succulent? "When it happens, Tia—you'll understand why," I heard my father continued, assuming a semblance of disinterest, but only for a moment. The bulge of his hardening cock pushed against his work shorts, his eyes darting fast to check the door of his studio, hoping it was locked. I stood up and walked to him, my smile suggestive and impish, jiggling my breasts.

"Understand what, Daddy?" I whispered close to his ears, my breasts brushing soft against his arm. Already consumed of my selfish arousals—my nipples stood erect, the areolas puffy, tickled against my tees—a warm wetness spreading luxurious against the thin cloth of my shorts. On fire and confident of what I wanted, I opened slow my seductive game, exposing myself in small salacious portions for the appreciation of my dad, trapping him inside my irresistible sexuality—just like other men, for life.

It was something I indulged before, unknown to my father and Rona, as I worked in a strip club far from school and home. I'd come home late armed with excuses, and because they knew I was a sultry attractive teen, both assumed it was a boyfriend. Until I rented a condo unit, but told them I was in a school boarding house.

Still, I later confessed. I did everything at the time only to support the demands of my luxurious lifestyle—keeping up with my rich and gregarious classmates.

"All of it was peer pressure, Dad...My eagerness to please them, to be with them—to be their equal," I said then, admitting my little adventure after he asked me where in hell I learned to dance so daring and tempting it never ceased to give him a hard-on. "I was hoping my friends were honest, sincere with their affection, their attention...But they gave me false friendships, instead," I continued, and calmed his concerns with a mushy, slow hand-job.

We were sitting on the couch in the living room that afternoon after school, his pants opened as I inspected and measured the rigidity and length of his cock. He was enjoying it, more so when my lips and tongue took over—sucking and licking all around the thumping pipe of his cock—when he remembered to ask suddenly where I learned these pleasurable indulgences.

Thus, without hesitation, I told him how it happened, and showed him too, what I learned. Not as a bonus, though, but to indulge in our arousals heating us up, his jealous concerns betrayed in his eyes.

"I needed fun money," I began between gasps. His long enormous cock all the way inside my mouth, ripping and jolting my flesh with thrills and pleasures I always imagined yet remained new and surprising to me—a discovery titillating my throat each time. He was giving me a face-fuck.

At the time, I said, continuing my story, I swallowed everything whole with embarrassment—plunging into the lewdness required of strip acts in the clubs—closing my eyes, humiliated at the perversity of the performances required. I was still new in school and new at the game, yet I needed to prove myself to everybody. The experience introduced me without hesitation to the wanton joys of depraved exhibitionism, which I found suited me, filling my senses with unexpected joys all alluring and flattering, s**ttering away any standards I had for decency.

I was a tall, slender teenager with the desirable body of a voluptuous woman-c***d—more than mouth-watering to satisfy every lonely man's sexual dreams. My face can turn the glances of motorists in the highways, more so, with a smile. My steady struts can provoke wolf-whistles from the crowd, whether from admiring educated men or naughty truck drivers did not bother me a bit.

Of course, my sexy, uninhibited pride of my beautiful body, my breasts, butt, and pussy magnified by the clothes I wore left no doubt to anyone what I wanted. I was an innocent, desirable hot angel dropped from hell, overflowing with unspoken cravings and wanton desires only a teen can imagine. And every man was invited to take part in it—but only in their wet dreams. For what I am, and all that I am, was reserved only for my loving father.

Yes, I got paid a lot with tips and fat commissions—more than snack money that allowed rent in a condo unit—for the club was always full. The sly owner unmasked early the truth of my con—that I was younger than I claimed to be—capitalizing on it, seizing the unexpected opportunity of a decent college student dancing in his den.

True, I was hesitant and anxious at first. Yet my carnal appetite and eagerness to learn and wallow in the secrets of seductions lured me. Who wouldn't, when every performance was a proud testimony of my enticing, delectable beauty? And with Dad on my mind in each mischievous, sexy performance, I was doing my best always.

The rowdy customers included college boys and I was afraid at first the school would know. And my parents would find out, also. Yet, after all my guilty examinations of intentions, my initial shedding of inhibitions and moralistic values, I felt delighted to try.

"I was so excited to do it, Dad...Aroused, in fact," I said, already naked lying on my back on the couch, my father's mouth busy sucking the jiggling globes of my plump tits. "I-I got nervous during the interview—oohmm, oohmm!" I screamed, electrified by the thrill shooting down to my belly, wriggling and curling inside my pussy as I pressed, rubbed my warm wet body closer and tighter against him.

"I-I came early one afternoon to apply...," I continued, already perspiring and nearing my explosive itch, "I saw the cheap WANT AD." It was a flyer tucked in the bulletin board along the corridor near the ladies' room, the usual school prank, as several of my classmates giggled and k**ded themselves around, reading the ad.

The club was looking for '...pretty young thing, with good and sociable personality...eloquent, eager to prove herself a winner, to be trained by professionals. Interests must include dancing, singing, or anything related to entertainment; good salary with commissions...' etc., etc.

The owner was looking for dancers, period. And I was not stupid not to know. It was a strip club called Golden Horn, with sauna, massage parlour, and billiards downstairs; the private stage shows, the dance hall, and the expensive bar were upstairs.

But what attracted me to the ad was the location. It was a 20-minute commute from school, and the place was not a hangout choice for my rich college pals. The club was quite isolated, and together with some pool halls, game rooms, one Chinese restaurant, an old movie house showing adult films, a beer joint, and a mini mart with dirty comics in bookshelves at the back, it completed the menagerie of entertainment in the area for the local folks.

There were several houses and business offices within the vicinity, and perhaps, some rich k**s, too, but that was all and nothing less. A perfect place for me to earn a little cash without anyone knowing it, while I get sexually educated, simultaneously.

It doesn't mean I was still a virgin then.

I really didn't care—nor did I ask my father if he did—when or to whom I lost my virginity. But something tells me, his artist's dirty mind would bet I lost it by myself—ha-ha!—and not to any dude or lover in school.

Yes, I masturbated, what with Rona cautioning me against the dirt and evil of using sex tools when I reached the surging heat of my youth. I guessed I got carried away—enjoyed and indulged in the desires and vivid pleasures whenever I fucked myself. The mother-daughter consultations did happen though, as I did with my dad. Except the questions between me and Dad were different, as it became more actions than queries, physical and salacious, lascivious and wild.

So that in my youth, I displayed candid wantonness already skirting along the insatiable itch of a nympho to that of a rutting bitch...And rather than see any shit fuck me at will, my father obliged my tease, showing his love and care for me than anyone else. I think and honestly feel he was only doing a loving father's concern in our forbidden relationship, instead of corrupting me, his only c***d, whom he loves very much.

Thus, I came confident and prepared to apply for the job. I've been enjoying my sex life with Dad—and with no boyfriend at the moment or steady, yet with lots of dates lasting only after my target of a dozen orgasms per guy were achieved, no matter how short, long, or serious the relationship, I was having fun. A healthy sex life was my priority, not promiscuous but safe...Still is, up to now.

I wore my wide, dark sunglasses then, careful not to bump into someone I knew, and proceeded straight up to the third floor, to the office of the manager, or perhaps, the owner of the club. There were no other applicants, and I was relieved to know I had been a little early.

"Early bird swallows the Horn, Dad—ha-ha!" I said, stroking his cock, my lips still wet with cum, preparing him for another round. "I was eager, Dad—and this is how it happened, believe me," I said, continuing my tale...

"Hey, sweetie pie—you're just in time!" the man greeted me, after I knocked and pushed open the door where the loud MANAGER plastic sign was attached, together with the want ad stuck on it—'Hey! Hey! Want to play?'—it says, with a photo of a cavorting stripteaser beckoning a finger to her pussy.

"Like this, Dad," I said, palming my pussy in a suggestive way to make the photo come alive in his eyes, my breasts bouncing as my body undulated with each self-pleasuring stroke, delighted to see my father's cock hardened again, elongating and sturdy as a pole once more...

"I was about to put a 'Don't Disturb' sign and make calls—but what the heck!" the man said behind the wide glass-top table, smirking at me. "You're here and you look cute—so, come in, come in! Don't be shy!' he continued, and waved his hand at me as if swatting a fly.

"You cannot be in this business if you're shy, sweetie pie," the manager said, the foul smell of fruity alcohol, floral air freshener, and cheap cologne tumbled and reeked inside the room. The air conditioner barely hummed a cold sigh.

Though spacious, the room was littered with an assortment of male and female adult magazines, boxes of beer cans, discarded ladies' dresses, various underwear, sexual paraphernalia—the kind seen on X-rated movies—fancy jewelleries, toys, give-aways, and lots of assorted whatever.

A mismatched sofa leaned sadly near the table; one perched on the opposite side, perhaps for visitors. A red-brown carpet with an embroidered Golden Horn logo—a white, funny-looking goat against a black circle for background encircled by the club's name in gold fancy letters—graced the floor. The faded carpet looked like thick, braided woollen fibres ready to unravel any minute out of the curl.

It seemed there was no one to clean up the place.

The manager ambled in front of his table and sat on the edge, pushing a bit of the confusion with his butt. "Closed the door, please...," he motioned, waving a vigorous hand at me. "Let's see what you got."

I entered and shut the door. I was not born during the Holy War not to know what the man wanted. Yet, I bided for time.

"How much?" I said, and took off my sunglasses.

My school pals say I'm pretty, while the boys angling for a date think I'm sexy. I really think I'm beautiful, and Mom felt I would be a Miss Universe contender someday. My confidence at the moment was above my head, as I heaved a deliberate, seductive sigh—bobbing my breasts out to great advantage. I wasn't wearing any undies, as I chose to do in school, already away from home.

"Hey—heeey! I don't pay what I don't see, sweetie pie," the man said, folding his hairy arms on his chest, eyeing me with a sticky leering stare. "Tell you what...Give me a hard-on, okay?—and the job is yours," he said, and hiked up his pants in front to emphasize the bulge of his cock. It looked large, but for his age, I doubted for once if I can do it.

The manager or owner was about sixty five or seventy; a burly, squat man with a shock of curly white hair and a large head too big for his height. If this was his business, if this was how he earned a living, he knew what he was talking about, I supposed.

"Go on...Do what you do in your bedroom," he added, indifferent, yet his eyes gauged my willingness to undress, measuring the appeal and tease of my nakedness to arouse him. But if his business was to mingle with nude, attractive women everyday, how will he react to my body? How will I looked different from the rest?

"It crossed my mind, Dad...I'm game, but also weighed my options," I said, inserting his cock inside my pussy once more, riding it slow and easy, feeling the rising tremor in his body despite the earlier blowjob and fuck.

I knew it would be difficult to bargain for a price if he doesn't have an idea of what I have to offer. Any lecher and shrewd businessman knew this—it was still business, after all, and I was only a merchandise. "I felt conscious, nervous—what if he rejected me, Dad?" I continued, changing position as he mounted me and began a rhythmic, delicious pounding of my pussy. I must admit my story added obscene fuel to our stolen smouldering fuck inside the house, with me excited to tell him the result of my job application, and my father anxious to know how I got it, what I did to earn it.

"Okay...," I told the man, "But no touch," and kicked off my stiletto shoes one at a time. I considered everything fast, and decided not to strip since he was used to the act. My only advantage was my youth, lying to him already about my real age. But since I noticed he knew I lied, rightly assuming I was still in school, I must act as he and other dirty, horny men expect a teen to behave: quickly aroused, bursting in tempting, unrestrained sexuality.

I was a precious find for the man, drifting to this small club instead of the popular, better joints in the city. But without music to accompany me if I dance, I felt at a disadvantage. The manager wanted me to give him an erection, but I cannot just strip and do a dance number, knowing he's used to the act.

Still, I was confident, assured, and ignored the challenge: Didn't my father ogled, drooled, and leered at me even in my casual clothes? Didn't his erection bulged in his shorts whenever I made a quiet parade—cat-walking in slow mischievous struts in front of him—while he's deep in concentration with his art? Didn't we fuck after each and every game I played, arousing him?

I was wearing a short, one-piece deep green dress with spaghetti straps, with tiny floral patterns s**ttered at the hem, a foot above my knees. The low neckline allowed only a peek at my cleavage—no buttons in front or back, no zippers—and with no bra or panty at all, the delicate dress languorously hugged my curves. The cloth was light and airy, but not enough to be translucent, and I felt comfortable and sexy in it.

"May I?" I said, and gestured to sit on the sofa beside the table. But quickly pulled it instead on its coaster wheels and dragged it in front of the man, even before he can nod or say yes. I positioned the chair about two meters from the table facing him and sat down.

The man eyed me with a curious grin, sensing my hesitations, enjoying my unease and inexperience—my youth and unfamiliarity with the vacant job, exposed—which I wanted him to believe as I decided on my act. It was not common with dancers applying in a strip club to dawdle or give a second thought in taking their clothes off, even in the presence of many men. And here I was, only with the manager, yet I had to pull a chair—biding my time, thinking of options...Or so he thought.

"You've done this before, sweetie pie?" he said, widening his grin, confident of his assumptions, aware of a growing nervous quiver in my flesh. He smiled to himself, already certain I was a good investment—with little practice and exposure, I can gain confidence and learn to dance and be a star in his club.

He did not suspect it was my mounting anticipation—an eagerness to display my allure, to show my captivating charm—yet bluffing the truth of my sexual experiences while admitting my real young age: A fresh, new pussy shuddering at the thought of disrobing, dancing in front of leering men and women, overwhelmed with embarrassment, yet the hesitations doused with extreme need for cash.

Thus, the manager felt he found a jackpot.

The sofa was a narrow, low bucket type with worn black leather cushion. It swished air as I sank with my full weight on it, and dropped my butt lower—more than a foot from my knees, hiking up my dress, exposing my thighs. I sat unmoving at first, half-slouched, yet allowed my legs locked at the knees to slowly move apart.

As the man stared and waited, I leaned out and arched my body upwards, my head touching the backrest. At once, the bobbing globes of my naked breasts popped halfway out of the neckline of my dress—luscious in its yielding softness, silken and aroused—its provocative mounds tempting, aching to be squeezed, sucked, and mashed, the nipples bulbous against the cloth.

With my body bent in an outward horizontal arc on the sofa, and both arms stretched on the armrest for support, I parted my legs wider in front of the man, slow and deliberate. Then, lifting both feet on tiptoe, allowed the hem of my dress to slide down my thighs some more, exposing the sinful wetness of my pussy's lips—the slippery gloss of the hole gaped open within.

"Wow!" the man whispered and fidgeted, as if his wife was there to see him—eyes wide, rolling all over my body. He wiggled back and forth on his heels, agitated in an unabashed attempt to see more under the rising skirt, my legs spreading loose and apart all the more.

"How much?" I said, and opened my legs wider still. I can feel my pussy burning, the hole soppy and hot, tickled by the man's nervous reactions—swallowing hard and licking his lips—eager to see more.

"Uurhmm...Uh, can we deal?" the man said, the bulge of his erection already obvious, hardening and elongating, a massive rod pointing at me, pushing against the front of his pants.

"How much do I get?" I said again, and lifted my legs slow this time from the floor, bended high on the knees. I placed my feet apart on the edge of the sofa, while my hands cupped and mashed my tits lightly in a circular tease, exposing its succulence. My body curved upwards in a languid, gentle swirl—rotating, pumping, fucking air—my luscious pussy smacked in the man's gawking face.

"Ahh, l-let me think," the man said, coming closer. He saw what every hot-blooded male wanted to see: The inner lips of my young, pinkish pussy already moist with arousals from behind the subtle wisps of pubic hair, my hole delicately opened, oozing with the heat of wetness I can feel rolling, dripping down between the cheeks of my butt.

The man felt the wonderful rush of erection in his extending cock, uncontrolled. His tongue licked his lips with indecent delight, eyes bulging in horny anticipation of a free fuck...Excited to come across an adolescent in bad need of cash."Oooh, well, uh—I'll give you, uh—5% commission of the ticket sales for the night...," he said, evaluating his investments. "Plus, of course—uurhmm, your salary...70 a show, 3 times a night, 3 times a week. OK?" he continued, assured of my worth, his cock thumping wild in his pants, certain of a complimentary fuck as I continued my unabashed seduction in his eyes.

The quick, salacious demonstration made me all wet and aroused, true, and with only an old dirty man to watch. What more would it be, I imagined, when I'm already on the stage and dancing—cavorting and displaying without inhibitions my naked, gorgeous body for every male to lap, see, and devour—admiring, craving, wanting me? I was more than certain everyone will get a hard on!

"Make it 10% and a hundred per show—I told him, Dad," I said, and stood up. I crouched on the couch low, wanting a doggy-fuck, offering Dad my cunt from behind. This is one of my favourite positions, which we often do anywhere outdoors, adding excitement to the adventure. "Twice a week, I told the man...I'm still a student. And please, no I.D., no papers to fill, no questions asked—oooh, Daad!!" I screamed, my pussy crushed by my father's wild violent fuck—his cock bursting bigger inside me in every stroke.

I started to feel feverish, flowing with the rhythm of my dad's cock pushing and pulling in and out of my pussy from behind. The banging sound of my butt smacking faster and faster on his crotch as he fucked me harder became louder, adding malicious pleasures to my moans and whimpers. "I-I'll do my own choreography and music, I told the manager. Ooohmm—provide costumes, which I'll choose...oohh, and a dance instructor. No touch...Deal?" I said.

The man, reeling from my impromptu performance, groped with both hands the edge of his table on his way back to his chair, his eyes still ogling me, caressing my body. "Uh—okay, it's a deal...Umm, when can you start—and what do I call you?"

I fixed myself then and put on my shoes—I had to get out of the room before I lose control and change my mind, fucking the old man on the spot. "I felt terribly hot, Dad...Aroused, I was so aroused," I muttered, as Dad reached in to mash my breasts, squeezing both hard in rhythm to his pumping, pounding motions.

"The man's eyes...He devoured my wet pussy...Oohh, my body throbbed—oohmm!" I wriggled in my crouching, fucking position as streams of excitement swelled and rose. "The man made my skin quivered with pleasure, Dad, and—oohmm, with the thick swath of his cock bulging large and obvious, it was irresistible—ooh, oooh, Daddy, shit!!" I screamed, convulsing in orgasmic explosions.

I turned around quickly to face my father, pumping hard upwards, meeting every thrust he made with my pussy squeezing his cock, then letting go. "Just like yours, Daddy," I said, teasing him, smiling amorously, pulling him tighter close to me, licking his face, sending him to explode also, together with me.

"Give me two weeks...," I said then, out of the door. "And call me Greek."

I left in a hurry, giggling, careful to avoid bumping into other applicants who arrived on my way down the stairs.