Jewel Breckenridge
Daddy_s little girls
CHAPTER ONE
She was, after all, only a child.
As she walked down the arrow-straight road from the school bus towards home, her head barely cleared the taller hedges and her blonde hair tossed at her shoulders, one of which was slightly raised from the effort of carrying her schoolbooks. She had a light, inoffensive manner of staring through every gate and through every window which looked inviting as she stepped along. The quickness of her glance seemed right for her pert walk, her smallish, lean frame, her age – but this quick gaze was dictated also by the quickness of her mind and temperament.
Thirteen-year-old Ellen Johnston was precocious, an inventive young genius, a little dynamo. Her long blonde hair twirled as she spun her head for a quick look at anything interesting – but what interested her most in this old, familiar Cape Cod neighborhood was not the respectably stuffy people or the fifty thousand dollar houses so much as the newness of her own experience. Ellen was fast becoming a woman, and she was very much aware of the fact, and aware too of the subtle changes that were going on inside her slowly maturing body. When asked her age, she said she was "going on fourteen", and it was true. Ellen would be fourteen in only eight more months.
Not too far behind Ellen, Roger Johnston swung his big Rolls Royce around the corner by the school bus stop. The car was a rich lustrous black, only a few months old, but already covered with dust. Inside a crisp unseen voice droned out the day's predictable news of scattered wars and disasters which Roger gave only half an ear to. The interior of the car reeked of new leather, although it had already acquired an unkempt look from a back seat covered with papers, a kleenex box broken and spewing its contents over the rear shelf, and sand, dried mud, and a forgotten soft drink bottle on the floor.
Roger valued the quality and prestige of an auto only when he bought it, seldom giving it a thought thereafter, since to him a Rolls, no matter how new, was nothing new. It was checked only when his garage phoned him to remind him to bring it in. As forgetful and distracted as he was these days, he should have had both a chauffeur and a mechanic – and before long, he probably would.
While he was so preoccupied by his troubles to give only half an ear to the news, and not to notice at all the early degeneration of his car, his eye spotted rapidly the beautiful young blonde girl on the road ahead of him. She had on a very short skirt which bounced along with her walk, revealing every few steps the beginning of the curved, full rise of her smoothly rounded buttocks clad in what seemed to be pink bikini panties. He looked more closely at the spot where the short skirt sometimes bounced up as he guided the car along behind her absent-mindedly by instinct. Yes, they were pink, this little blonde bombshell had on pink lace bikini panties! He could even see the tight, firm cheeks of her almost naked buttocks rise and fall beneath the skimpy pink cloth, jiggling saucily and invitingly, until he got too close and could no longer get the right angle. If only he could slow down without being obvious! Now he raised his eyes to the narrow girlish waist and the delicate curve of her back rising to slender sloping shoulders under a faded, clinging sweatshirt.
Johnston came up directly beside the girl and saw now that the jutting breasts beneath that sweatshirt were bouncing provocatively together with her walk but not as much as he had expected. They seemed taut, firm and youthfully full. Yes, but not as much as the tightly revealing clothes, the full hips and buttocks, the long inviting bare legs, and the long swirling blonde hair would suggest. The girl must be very young and, as a matter of fact, those must be school books under her arm. But damn was she appealing! Her stiffened nipples thrust enticingly far out against the worn material of her clinging sweatshirt. Jesus! That he could see! If only he could slow down, or if only he were on foot and could follow her; but no, now he was fully past and he raised his eyes directly to her face and found himself looking squarely at… could it be…? His own daughter.
His own daughter! Holy Jesus Christ! And he had been looking her up and down like some cheap whore! Fortunately she had not noticed him, looking instead into the yards of the houses she was passing, and he shifted his gaze and continued driving, badly shaken emotionally. This girl whom he had examined as best he could from ankle to breast, on whom he had allowed his frustrated, sex-starved desires to speculate wantonly – this girl was his daughter Ellen, his own child. Christ almighty! But she had not seen him and he continued driving. Perhaps he should stop – or should have stopped, to give her a ride the rest of the way home; but now, thank God, it was too late.
Roger Johnston guided the dusty Rolls Royce down the long straight road and into an opening in the hedges which led to his garage. There he parked the car, gathered up some of the papers from the back seat, knocking others onto the floor, and rushed into the house with them. The house was cool, quiet, and deserted, and he was glad for that since his present guilt demanded peace and solitude. He called out his wife's name perfunctorily, but he knew she would be out on one errand or other. There was no answer.
He went up the winding staircase and directly entered his study where, tired, without giving a thought to changing his clothes, his hands trembling as they clutched the papers, he sat down at his desk. Peace was what he needed, and he would just sit now and think the whole matter through. He laid the papers down and began to sort through them, spreading them out before him. Oh yes, there was the property transfer for the new fish catcheries, and the rough draft of the prospectus for the Hyannis Hotel which he had to look over – these things were fairly reassuring.
Yet he could not concentrate and his mind drifted until he opened the cabinet at his side and poured a Scotch, downed it, and poured another. This should have calmed him, but instead it merely removed the last inhibitions in his mind standing between him and direct contemplation of his young daughter Ellen's lust-inciting body. His thoughts returned to the road and the full profile of her full firm breasts, the swell of her rounded young buttocks rising and falling invitingly beneath the pink bikini panties as she walked, the gentle untouched virginal look of her curvaceous body together with her light skin, her bare arms and legs, her long blonde hair… He polished off a third – and then a fourth – Scotch, and then the world began to soften around him.
Roger suddenly leaped up, raced out of his study and ran shakily, all the way down the stairs to the basement. There he found a large nail and hammer and carried them back up to the study, where he stood heart thudding, hands trembling, facing the wall separating his study from Ellen's bedroom. Despite the influence of the alcohol, which had now turned him into a different person, his mind still hesitated. Yet his hands did not; he held the nail at eye level and pounded through the wall. He removed it, blew out the plaster and wood, and yes, there was a direct view into his daughter's bedroom. And she would not see the hole since her walls were finished in a rough knotty pine.
He returned to his desk and pretended to look at the hotel prospectus, but he knew he was pretending, really waiting to peek through the hole.
There was a noise downstairs.
As Ellen entered, she too thought the house was empty. Looking through the pile of mail and finding none for her, she dropped her books on a chair and began slowly climbing the circular staircase. Like her father, the young teenager had put in a long day and was tired. She entered her bedroom next to her father's study, closed the door, sighed, and immediately started to undress.
Roger stood with his eye pressed hungrily to the hole he'd just drilled as his curvaceous teenage daughter pulled her sweatshirt quickly up over her head, unzipped and dropped the short skirt, and turned unknowingly to face him as she removed her brassiere. Her full, uplifted breasts swayed lushly into naked freedom right before his eyes. Against the milk-white skin of the proud young breasts her small erect nipples stood out as inviting pink buds, as cherries only waiting for someone to pick. Roger's eyes scarcely had accommodated themselves to his daughter's quivering white breasts when she slowly peeled down the sheer pink panties and tossed them onto the floor, revealing a tiny blonde triangle of sparsely curling pubic hair, at the bottom of which he could see the start of the gentle fleshy folds of her pussy. This was his daughter – God almighty! What a body! What a tantalizing and unbelievable body! Young and virginal, but physically a full woman, perfect in her lush nakedness.
Ellen was not posing, did not suspect that she was observed, and as soon as the pink lace panties dropped to the floor she bent immediately to pick them up, turning her back to the wall, the round trembling cheeks of her buttocks spreading enticingly as she stooped, revealing the other end of her thin pink vaginal slit through the curly blonde pubic hair from the rear, and farther up the shadowy cleavage between the upturned half-moons of her buttocks, Roger stared heatedly at the tiny secretive ring of her anus.
She sprang back to her feet and moved around the room putting her clothes away. Her ripely jiggling young breasts popped in and out of view as she walked about the room, and her firm but fluid buttocks rose and fell, rose and fell, as they had on the street except now it was so much more lust-inciting to see them naked. Roger was sure she was unconscious of his gaze, yet even so she seemed to like being naked, or at least not to consider it unusual as she put her clothes away, straightened up the cosmetics on her dresser, moved to a window to glance through a crack in the drapes out at the sky and the ocean.
All the while Roger kept his eyes glued to his daughter's body. And what a body! He had never suspected it was this good – before today he'd never given it a thought. Occasionally the alcohol he'd drunk dimmed his focus, but generally his view of his young daughter's curvaceous body was extremely clear, as the large straining bulge in Roger's pants obscenely announced. He looked at the tender, still unwrinkled body as it nakedly circled the room, still tanned from last summer except for the two narrow strips of white from where the skimpy bikini bathing suit had been. He watched the round, pliable cheeks of her smooth young buttocks knead against each other, swaying side-to-side at the bottom as well as up and down while she walked; he drank in the upturned spheres of her ripely budding breasts set close together with the taut pink nipples rising into tantalizing little buds; he studied voraciously the lips of her virginal cunt which undulated beneath the sparse blonde triangle as she walked.
With Roger's eye at the nail hole so full it was popping from his head, Ellen suddenly pulled a pair of white nylon panties from the closet and tugged them on, for a moment giving an unwittingly good view of her entire young pussy. Then she took a sheer white brassiere, worked the soft flesh of her breasts into the lacy cups, and forced the back shut. As she topped this off with a short, loose-fitting house dress, her smooth cream-white body already began to fade into Roger's memory.
But what did not fade in Roger's mind was the guilt.
He returned to his desk and passed what he had done over and over in his mind, unable to think of any excuse or justification for his behavior. She was, after all, his daughter! His own daughter, only a child! Yet that body…
One excuse in time did occur to him and now sat almost empty at his side – his ender of troubles these last weeks – the bottle of Scotch.
Roger heard Ellen close the door to her bedroom just as he was fighting an impulse to check the hole again to see if she was still fully dressed. Roger groaned, and forcibly steadying his hands, poured himself another large, stiff drink, downing it with a shudder.
CHAPTER TWO
Cape Cod was nice in the spring, but as he walked, Roger Johnston was only partially aware of the green trees on his street, the sounds of the many birds, and the seagull coasting overhead. The spring was well along now, and throughout it Roger had been – to his credit – more aware of the spring than of the fact that he owned a Rolls Royce, yet this awareness was crushed by his brief look at his young adolescent daughter Ellen's body. He had not looked through the hole in the wall again – though he had not patched it up, either.
Still a block distance from the neighborhood grocery, Roger was intrigued to see Ellen emerge onto the porch of the Green house along with her boy friend, Mark Green. They were holding hands as they walked down the steps, then Mark seemed to look around them to see if they were observed, not noticing Roger in the distance, and they went toward the Green garage. The garage door opened, in went Ellen and young Mark, and the door silently closed.
Mark was only fourteen, a tall thin boy, slightly awkward and shy, and Ellen was only thirteen. Yet Roger had just seen them with his own eyes go into the garage and he was genuinely shocked because Ellen was not even allowed to date. She called Mark her boy friend, but that only meant they went to one another's houses and to the beach, under parental supervision. Parental supervision! There seemed to be little of that at the Green house! But that's just what he himself would supply, and he would supply it right now. First, however he had to make sure his suspicions were correct.
Roger scanned the quiet, empty street to see if he was being observed, then walked to the side of the garage until he was totally hidden by a row of bushes and the garage wall. There was a small window, and he cautiously raised his eyes to it until he could see inside to where Ellen and Mark, in profile, were sitting next to each other on a pile of boards about four feet away from the window. Mark was saying something to Ellen and she was only smiling in return, although her long blonde hair tumbled onto his shoulder. Perhaps this was not so bad after all; it seemed innocent enough.
Roger was preparing to leave when he saw Mark suddenly push his hand up and clumsily grope at one of Ellen's ripening young breasts.
He saw it! His daughter being pawed! And by that conniving young snipe, Mark Green, who had eaten with them many times, who he'd driven to the beach, who he'd sat up evenings playing checkers with – who in short, he'd trusted. Roger would walk in right now and paste Mark in the nose – but no, Mark was too young. Better to simply break the two of them up, and then to later vent his rage verbally on Mark's father, Jason Green, the car salesman, who Roger couldn't stand anyway. He was about to take this course, when taking a last glance in the window, he noticed his daughter's reaction and it held him spellbound.
Her lips were parted in passion, and she was gyrating her softly mounded breasts beneath the young boy's exploring hands.
Then she reached up and, without further ado, began to unbutton her blouse as Mark watched with greedy, bulging eyes the wide cleavage of her young budding breasts come into tantalizing view. Then Ellen shrugged her blouse to the ground and it was clear that she – innocent Ellen! – had worn no brassiere. Had she planned for this outing? Her softly swelling young breasts stared out into the garage in quivering, self-conscious nakedness.
Roger was shocked beyond words, yet his attention was fully captivated by the salacious sight of his daughter's taut little breasts, one of them being gently cupped and massaged by Mark as he fastened his eyes on the other one and Ellen threw back her head. Her nipples were cherry pink, small and nicely shaped, and protruding straight out. She took Mark's free hand and forced it onto the other naked breast and now Mark was kneading the pliant dough of both shamelessly naked mounds, forcing them together, then flattening them, squashing them, squeezing them, and churning the sensitive nipple-buds into pebble-hard passion. Ellen dug her fingers into her boy friend's hair, and forced his head down until his mouth found one excitedly throbbing little nipple.
Ellen had done that – Roger vaguely noted in his mind – not Mark, but Ellen; and – holy Jesus – Roger could not believe what his thirteen-year-old daughter was doing now. She was dropping her hand slowly downward on Mark's trembling young body, rubbing and pressing against his chest, playing with her fingers between the buttons in his shirt, then running her hand down farther and with no formalities unzipping his fly in a single lewd motion, sticking her hand in, and greedily pulling out his youthful penis. In her hand the young boy's teenage cock was still half-soft, but, as she looked at it with obscene fascination and experimented, running her fingers over the smooth rubbery head, then clamping her hand around and beginning to softly massage it up and down – it grew ever large and harder. She was staring at it, as wide-eyed as Mark – who had one softly fleshed breast covered with red marks from his pawing fingers and the other totally wet from his mouth – was staring at her passionately heaving breasts. What her father didn't know was that she was staring so wantonly because she had never seen or touched one before and it fascinated her, this peculiar hard, rubbery device that she now controlled in her massaging hands but which she well knew was capable of penetrating, of subduing her virginal body.
And outside the garage, Ellen's spying father watched the whole lewd spectacle from the window, beyond all thoughts of breaking it up, now, for his own guilt came into play – he was complicit in what was going on here, he was watching and moreover he was enjoying watching. Yet his parental feelings were nevertheless bruised when he saw Mark – on his own and no longer needing prodding from his girl friend – began to run his hand searchingly downward over Ellen's innocent body. His groping hand reached her bared knee, and Ellen froze momentarily at the unexpected contact crawling insect-like over her naked sensitive flesh.
The aroused teenager, unsure, rubbed her knee for a full minute as though that were his only interest, then his massaging fingers slowly crept an inch higher. He continued rubbing, stroking, raising his hand almost unnoticeably farther up her tapered young leg until he was sneakily pushing the hem of her short dress. Soon enough his relentlessly moving hand was halfway up to the crotch band of her sheer panties and then it was all the way up and, trembling, reaching for the soft smooth mound enclosed so temptingly beneath the white nylon panties up between her legs. His fingers made tentative contact and Ellen jerked, but simultaneously she spread her shapely legs a tiny bit to give him better access. Mark understood and began to run his fingers hungrily over her warmly moistened pussy-slit, pushing, and discovering. Soon he was pressing gently up into her widespread little cunt, but still separated from her naked pussy by the thin white panties.
The excited young blonde squirmed away a little as her friend's middle finger began a gentle stroking motion, pushing the folds of her skimpy nylon panties into her suddenly throbbing vaginal crevice. She sat on the pile of boards with the boy's erect, blue-veined cock clasped in one hand, and her enticingly curved legs now widening more, relaxing somewhat to admit Mark's more-persistently probing hand.
With a lustful lurch, the hand probed suddenly beneath the tight elastic leg band of the panties, and Roger shuddered watching the outlines of the boy's searching fingers make contact with his young daughter's unviolated pussy up beneath the sheer white material. The fingers began to stroke, finding a slow teasing rhythm, pressing lewdly into her thin spread cuntal slit now, as Ellen herself – head thrown back in lewd abandon and unaware of anyone – began, to Roger's shock, to grind her hips experimentally, and her head began to toss.
Ellen had done this herself sometimes, but to have someone else fingering her excited pussy was a new experience, and her young round buttocks lifted up off the pile of boards, grinding back and forth to the obscene tempo of the fingers probing tantalizingly up into her pulsating opening.
Suddenly Mark pulled his hand away from her impassioned cunt and peeled down her flimsy panties as far as her knees, then returned his hand to stroking her hair-fringed furrow also running some extra explorations over her now nakedly accessible white buttocks. Ellen wiggled her long, dangling legs from the wood pile to shake the panties off the rest of the way, finally succeeding in kicking them forcefully to the ground. Her lewdly exposed pussy was in full view to her father now from the nearby window as the teenager stroked his extended middle finger up and down her parting blonde-fringed slit which was wet from the secretions seeping excitedly from Ellen's pouting pink cuntal lips. The finger slid up as far as the tiny pink bud of her erect little clitoris, and probed desirously down as far as the very opening to her virginal cunt.
Roger's precocious daughter now totally relaxed her full inner thighs to give the young boy greater access to her slippery cunt, and at the same time increased the lewd tempo which she so enthusiastically stroked and jerked his swelling cock in wide-eyed fascination. With each obscene stroke the youth's stimulated penis expanded into greater lust-inflamed hardness, just as Ellen gyrated her hips more, her naked white buttocks lifting well into the air now in wanton invitation as she helped Mark skewer his extended middle finger into her tightly resisting hymen, entering slightly into her narrow unstretched vagina. She seemed to like it even though it hurt, and she twisted her blonde-fringed cunt wantonly around his inserted finger. She stared shamelessly at the ever-enlarging cock against which her hand looked like a doll's. And then – her own excitement seeming to egg her on – she bent her head, her long blonde hair tumbling around the boyish cock, to get a closer look, her pussy still thrashing wildly all the while into Mark's cupping hand, which had the finger now permanently sunk up into her virginal vagina to the second knuckle, with tiny droplets of blood and her own eager cuntal secretions running down onto the skewering fingers.
If the whole scene had shocked Roger from the very start – from seeing Ellen traipsing off with a teenager into the garage, to seeing Mark rub her soft round breast and Ellen respond by excitedly removing her blouse, to seeing that she intentionally had worn no brassiere beneath, to watching her blatantly force Mark's head down to suck her stiffened little nipples then probe into the boy's pants to fondle his throbbing cock; and above all her own passionate reaction to Mark's lewd probing of her chaste young pussy – if this shocked him, it was nothing compared to what came next! Roger's own sex life had been practically nil for sometime. Occasionally he and his wife did make love, but it was perfunctory and an unimpassioned performance which left them both nearly as frustrated as when they began. There was absolutely no erotic variation in Roger's sex life with his wife, and there never had been, not even in their college days when they had first gotten to know one another. In the beginning he had tried to push his wife's head down over his erectly waving penis but she had never taken the hint, or if she had, she'd promptly ignored it and escaped his grip. She was seldom ever willing to lay her hands on his lust-swollen cock, let alone her mouth.
And that is now what Roger saw directly in front of him just a few feet away through the garage window. His daughter's inquiring eyes and long blonde hair had tumbled so close to the erect boyish cock in her hand that she stuck her tongue out experimentally to sample the smooth texture of the round fleshy head, her tongue thrust yearningly toward the adolescent's swollen penis. Ellen shifted her position, to get her head nearer, which pulled her own cuntal softness from the reach of Mark's exploring hand. She lay supine on the edge of the woodpile, facing the window, her mouth teasing the entire blood-filled length, and now Mark shifted his own position to be able to continue exploring her nakedly widespread pussy, leaning his upper body on the woodpile behind and bringing his hand up through her legs from behind.
Everything was visible to Ellen's father from the window; he saw the tiny pink bud of her clitoris twitch and throb with obscene yearning during the instant Mark had broken contact with her wet cuntal mound in order to shift position and he saw her, when Mark had regained contact, lift one leg invitingly high into the air to admit his hand as she began to purse her lips and blow her steaming hot breath onto the end of the quivering fleshy rod. She blew and blew as the slender boyish cock stretched hotly for the ceiling. Then she opened her lips and closed her mouth suddenly over the smooth bulbous head of the lust-knotted cock. Roger could see her soft moist lips pucker as she sucked, and then loosen as her tongue swirled hungrily around the thick desire-inflated tip as though she were licking a lollipop. Mark's young hairless loins thrust involuntarily upward to hasten the process and soon Ellen had the entire length of the excited adolescent's penis enveloped tightly in the warm wet cavern of her mouth.
The pink inner flesh of her lips was being pulled out and stretched, as it clung to the flesh of Mark's driving cock while his daughter sucked hungrily, fully caught up in the lewd task with all of her teenage concentration. Her round girlish breasts jerked and danced obscenely from the effort and her naked young body began to glisten from the tiny droplets of perspiration forming over the skin. Mark shoved his loins up hard against her face in a quest for a final end to the delicious torture.
Suddenly Ellen began to rotate her pelvis wildly, to skewer her boy friend's middle finger deeper and deeper up into her tight innocent vagina, until she raised her buttocks entirely off the pile of boards, grinding the firm half-moons wildly as she gyrated with still more abandon, emitting a low groan from deep in her throat that was nearly choked to silence by Mark's penis thrusting into her mouth. She suddenly froze her buttocks in the air for one perfectly motionless instant, and then collapsed, quivering spasmodically, back onto the woodpile, where her legs flailed softly into the air for a moment and then fell exhausted, limp as butter.
Understanding, her youthful partner removed his wetly glistening finger from her shuddering vagina, and Ellen's violated pussy ecstatically gushed its milk-white secretion mixed with tiny telltale streaks of blood. The girl had her first orgasm, or her first orgasm she had not given herself, and its lust-inciting effect was only to increase the maddening tempo of her sucking on her boy friend's still inflated penis to the point that the wetly driving instrument seemed to ram cruelly all the way down to her tonsils. The ramming increased to a staccato fever-pitch as she hungrily licked and sucked in earnest, until suddenly the rock-hard member began to jerk involuntarily in her surprised mouth.
She had done it!
Mark's exploding penis spurted out its fresh young cum and Ellen looked astonished, frozen in her position, the boy's cock still sunk in her ovalled mouth even as his thick white semen began to pour wildly from the corners of her overflowing lips. She had not expected this – she didn't know how a male had his climax and her eyes had almost a look of terror. Suddenly she began to choke and force her head loose, helplessly spitting out the hot sperm, gagging, spitting out more, as Mark put an arm reassuringly around her and disengaged his inflating cock from her cum-filled mouth.
Ellen sat upright now, still spitting, her legs still unthinkingly spread apart on the woodpile with the large wet stains and streaks of blood soaking into the wood beneath her buttocks. It had been a session of many innovations and discoveries for the teenage girl, and the last one – the sea of hot swirling liquid in her mouth – had caught her totally by surprise.
Roger understood his daughter's suffering and wanted to rush in, calm her as Mark was doing, but that was impossible now. At this late moment he could not reveal his lewd role in this affair – participating in it, in the effect of not breaking it up at the beginning, and then by watching it, and finally by enjoying it. Enjoying his own pretty daughter being ravished, although it was only by a young boy's finger. Christ, what had he sunk to? He had forgotten in the interim that Ellen was his daughter and only now did the thought rush back to him with its full impact and make his skin crawl. He had watched his young tender daughter being debauched by – or more accurately, debauching – a gangly and rather repelling adolescent. And in a garage, no less! In broad daylight! The whole thing was just too fantastic!
The couple inside began to stir; Ellen was wiping her face with a hanky before she retrieved her clothing and began to dress. Outside, her father started to look hungrily again at her body as she moved about bending to pick up her clothes, but suddenly he checked himself. He had to go before they came out of the garage and discovered him, and he began to move fast, stopping only at the noise of the hedge scraping against the garage wall in his wake as he passed. He bent and switched to tiny steps until he emerged directly into the driveway and, for want of a gesture he glanced business-like at his watch. He allowed his eyes to quickly scan the street as he walked on, and was relieved to find the street was empty, and no one had seen him. That, at least, had been spared him.
What was he doing on the street? Oh yes, the grocery store – and for that he was walking in the wrong direction. He did an about-face and, just as he was ready to pass the Green house again, saw Mark and Ellen parting with a light kiss on the porch steps. Mark Green went inside and Ellen bounded in her father's direction.
"Hi, Roger," she said to him in passing, tossing her long blonde hair.
Roger watched her running ahead of him down the sidewalk until she disappeared around a hedge at the next corner. He crowed… she had never called him that before.
CHAPTER THREE
The remainder of spring trickled away entirely and now a summer sun burned over head. The gulls soared above the gray beach, shrieked to one another, and then dipped and swooped one by one to land on a large rock some distance out into the Atlantic as Roger Johnston lay idly watching. He was stretched out on a pop-patterned beach blanket his daughters had given him on his forty-first birthday. There were other blankets and other people on the beach, all in a cluster near Roger, but beyond this small collection the beach was deserted; for the people were his family – and the beach was his private property.
The beach was important to all the Johnstons because in the summer and sometimes in the late spring and also in the first few months of fall, he and his family made use of the beach – together or singly – every possible moment. While the Cape was swarming with tourists at the public beaches, and while most of the middle-class natives went to restricted beaches owned by – and thus crowded with – people from the local communities, Roger and his family had the luxury of their own beach.
It was not large since all Cape Cod beaches, as Roger well knew from his business, could scarcely be any higher priced than they were now, even if they had been plated with gold; and Roger was not a millionaire. Yet he had picked up this beach, which was at the end of the peninsula and separated from the nearby community beaches by two natural cliffs and a string of private piers. From his beach there were no other bathers, and scarcely any boats, to be seen. And as an additional indulgence he had built their private shelter high up onto the rise of one of the cliffs, where it sat, three-walled, the open side facing his stretch of water, like a makeshift castle or monument. It was a bit out of the way for them to traipse up there to change, but they did it, for the cliff was too spectacular not to be used in some way.
Cynthia – Roger's wife – came down from the cliff shelter clad now in her bathing suit. It was a one-piece outfit which did not facilitate his looking at her body. Pity, he thought, because he liked her body. She had kept a full trim figure, for a woman of forty the chief feature of which was her voluptuously rounded breasts, but she kept them fully covered by the prudish one-piece bathing suit, and at home when she undressed she always turned away so he could not see her naked curves, much as he loved every inch of them. He had only sucked her breasts half a dozen times in his twenty years of marriage.
He simply was not persistent enough in his physical desires, strongly as he felt them; and moreover, he was not experienced enough to know how to be persistent. Though he did not realize it, Cynthia had a latent hot streak which a skilled lover could have brought out and developed to a rich fruitation, but lacking such a lover, she made love only as a duty. She comported herself; she was so sexually frustrated that she was a virtual powder keg of inhibitions.
Her husband saw only the consequences – her distant attitude toward him, her frustration – and not the causes which he might have corrected if he had known them or been able.
Nor did Cynthia know the causes. The consequences, however, were so developed that she and Roger lived in separate world, worlds rushing daily farther apart.
Yet here she was bouncing along the beach – her full, wide-set breasts heaving beneath the confining suit – to lie on her blue blanket beside him, a soft curling tendril of wispy pubic hair escaping unnoticed from the tight leg band of her bathing suit. She began to apply her suntan lotion and, in the middle of the process, stopped to light a cigarette which she then allowed to dangle from her soft sensual lips.
She was not the only problem: the other was his business. He had begun as an insurance salesman and methodically over the years developed this modest start into an operation of his own, now employing well salaried people. That was the insurance end of the business, ever expanding, ever demanding more of his time. In addition, there was the other end of the business: real estate. Combining insurance and real estate in one company was often seen on the Cape, but for Roger it had proven an unusually successful formula.
The real estate branch now sported several new offices and at the latest count he was paying the salaries and commissions of fourteen people to run them. Managing the brokers was not easy, and some were a bit excessive in the wheeling and dealing they did in Roger's name, bringing him a string of law suits. This was his alley – he was a lawyer by training – and he always did get through the suits unscathed or only lightly damaged. Yet they grated on his nerves just as the whole business enterprise grated on him.
It all took too much time and concern, and the result was that he had begun to drink. This problem was about a year old now and had steadily escalated as he sought to drown his troubles in booze – the troubles, and more so, the sexual estrangement of his wife – although he felt guilty at trying to escape from reality this way.
Today he had taken off from work to try to face his problems head-on, intending to relax on the beach and think out the entire business. He would be with his family, and above all – what he repeated to himself over and over – he would not touch a single drop of liquor.
School was out for the summer now and out of the corner of his eyes he could see his daughter Ellen and his older daughter Louise reach the rock where the sea gulls gathered and, clambering up on it, scaring the gulls away into shrieking flight. Ellen stood glistening on the rock, just out of the water, both parts of her tiny two-piece white bathing suit nearly falling off from the ripening curves of her body. He thought he could see the top of the triangle of her young blonde pubic hair – but perhaps it was his imagination, and he felt relieved when Ellen tugged at her suit to pull it back up into place. But even then it could not mask the tantalizing cleavage of her jutting young breasts and in the back it did not attempt to cover the top inch or so of the narrow crevice between her two smoothly curved buttocks. The wetly clinging suit indented at the thinly dividing slit of her pussy – and he thought he could see the entire swollen length of it where the suit clung so lewdly.
He pulled his eyes forcibly away… he would have to get a grip on himself!
His older daughter Louise was totally a different creature, seventeen, and thus more fully developed than thirteen-year-old Ellen, with full beautifully rounded buttocks and firm voluptuous breasts just as developed as Roger's wife's. He stared at his older daughter as she smoothed her short dark hair while standing on the rock. He had not seen her naked since she was ten, and he couldn't help wondering what that ample, classically formed body would look like without clothes. He guessed her pubic curls would be dark brown like the rest of her hair, totally different from that of his fair blonde daughter, just as her dark complexion – fully tanned already by the first few beach outings – was also a sharp contrast to Ellen's. In height and build Louise was nearly the equivalent of two Ellens, and he momentarily studied her statuesque body outlined enticingly by the wet black bathing suit. This was the result of his vowing not to drink today and to be with his family: it only increased his frustration, only incited his slowly building sexual arousal.
The older brunette daughter was clowning around on the rock with Ellen, trying to push the smaller but stronger girl into the water, and the two of them flexed back and forth, climbing around the rock for new footings. Jesus Christ, the ass on Louise! – he had never really noticed until today. Her tight black bathing suit was also a bikini, but in keeping with his older daughter's more prudent character, it was not quite as brief as Ellen's, and it showed none of the crevice between her generously molded ass-cheeks but only the two saucy dimples on her back just above where the narrow crevice would begin.
Louise was like syrup: thick, flowing, moody and rich, tending sometimes towards lethargy, but it was an elegant and fluid, womanly sort of lethargy. She would make someone a good wife. She would make someone a good fuck too!
He heard her laugh as Ellen succeeded in pushing her loose from her footing, then he saw her thrash wildly in the water before clambering up onto the rock, and as she climbed up on all fours he saw from behind the tantalizing swell of her pubic mound and a few curly wisps of black pubic hair which escaped from the leg band of her black bikini panties as she struggled, laughing, back up onto the rock. As she jumped upright, her breasts, full and ripely matured, nearly tumbled out of the overflowing cups of her swim suit brassiere. She must have been a forty – God would he like to feel those twin mountains of soft flesh into throbbing passion! And those tiny nipples which he could see thrusting out against the thin material of her wetly clinging suit – how he could fondle and rub them into fleshy stiffness, how he could run his mouth and tongue moistly over them, how he could take the small sensitive tips of her breasts into his mouth and try to swallow them.
Christ, what was he thinking, what sort of a degenerate was he becoming, lying here on the beach and mentally seducing his own daughters? This was what not drinking led to!
Louise's personality fit with her body like a glove. She was smart but no genius like Ellen, enjoying heavier music of the romantic period and dating boys on the intellectual side – indeed, he wondered if she even kissed them, for always when he saw Louise and a boy friend they were involved in heated, hand-gesturing discussions. Her temperament was slow to react and, once reacting, was slow to stop reacting. All of this fitted with her slow, voluptuous movements, the extreme ripeness of her seventeen-year-old body, the womanly maturity she had required which was more than that of the ordinary seventeen-year-old girl.
She was steady and trustworthy and, unlike Ellen, was allowed to date freely, had in fact been doing so since Ellen's age. God, he wished she would spread her long shapely legs a bit more – she was sprawled back down on the rock and he could see the long narrow indentation of her cuntal slit where the black swim suit fitted snugly over the intriguing mystery of her covered mound. He put himself mentally into the scene; he was on top of her with his fingers creeping up inside the tight elastic leg band of her suit; he was teasing her softly curling pubic hair; he was separating the hot wet lips of her pussy and he was calling out to her: "Louise! Louise! Louise!"
Holy Christ, this he had not imagined – he had actually called out! She lifted her knee in surprise, giving a beautiful view of her large rounded buttocks peeking tantalizingly out of her suit, and then she came to her feet. She dived off the rock and then surfaced – head, arms, and firmly rounded buttocks – swimming towards him while his younger daughter Ellen and his wife on the blue blanket next to him paid no attention. Now she was on the beach walking towards him – dark, mysterious, jiggling succulently, dripping wet, her ripe voluptuous breasts swaying from side to side as she moved. She came up beside him and kneeled down at his side on the blanket, an innocent, inquiring look, on her cleanly sculpted face, Roger's eyes riveting guiltily on her fully hanging breasts, and the outline of her nipples while he counted, out of the corner of his eye, the wisps of soft black pubic hair curling from under the leg bands of her suit as she kneeled: one, two, three, four, five. Good God, how would he ever get himself out of this?
"Yes, Dad? What did you want? Is it time to go?"
"No, Louise. No, darling, I think we can stay awhile longer. At least if Ellen doesn't burn, if she has her sun-tan lotion on. She has very light skin you know."
"I know," Louise said.