Mike Andrews scarcely knew he was flying after his daughter's hot-blooded kiss. Only the reflexes of years told him when to drop the towline as his craft climbed.
He scouted three times back and forth along the cliff top before he dared set off across the valley. Even though the time he had started on tow was recorded, Mike was in too extreme a turmoil to compete. Other gliders spiraled up in the rising columns of air or swooped quickly between thermals. Two later-starting sailplanes had already begun their race across the valley floor before Mike had collected himself.
Mike plotted his course and dove sideways over the edge. Once away from the updraft of the cliff face, he had to take his direction from the birds, clouds, and other visual clues that showed rising air. The long wings flexed with the strain of his skidding turns. He flew recklessly, his usual caution paralyzed by his confusion. His balls felt swollen under the seat belt.
Time and again Mike dove to within fifty feet of the ground before entering a thermal. He rode each gust only high enough to dive and race into the next. He zigzagged over the fields. Mike even took advantage of the turbulent strip of air over an asphalt road to fly faster and lower, seeking the fresh-plowed field whose warmth could lift him a few seconds closer to the turnabout.
Mike's eyes played constantly over his gauges. His head craned, checking the other gliders and the faint shimmer of lifting air. He meshed the rhythm of climbing and swooping to his glider. He plummeted across to a stronger thermal or rose thousands of feet, playing altitude against time.
Hours later, Mike had forgotten about his lust-swollen balls. The lewd weight was just one more pain to put up with, along with his stiff neck and sweaty, bone-deep fatigue. He lined up on the runway of the gliderport, set the spidery bird down, and pulled the airbrakes. He was tired enough to hardly care how close he came to the pylon in the runway. When his glider tipped over, he was looking for his daughter.
Kathy ran up to the sailplane and helped her father out. His face was red around his sunglasses and his legs were unsteady. "Daddy! You did really good! You're five minutes ahead of the next pilot!" Kathy threw her arms around her father and the nearby officials grinned.
Mike looked down into her face. Kathy looked as bright and innocent as sunshine. A broad smile spread over his lined, sweat-streaked face and he hugged her. "Let's wait until everybody's back in," he said. "We've got days to go yet.”
They wheeled the aircraft back to their assigned spot and put it, piece by piece, into the long, narrow trailer. The razor-sharp wings went first, then the bulbous fuselage. Kathy felt her pussy moisten when she compared the blunt roundness of the glider's cock-pit to her single glance of her father's glans.
Milt Jackson came over as Mike locked up the trailer. He brought the day's results. Mike had finished two hundred seconds faster then Bob Williams, and the two of them led the other pilots by long margins. Kathy exulted at the news, but her spirits fell at Milt's next words.
"Why don't you and Kathy come to dinner with Mary and me?" He scraped his foot in the loose dirt of the impound area then added, "I think you might find it interesting. Besides, the Inn is putting on a party for all the entrants after dinner.”
Mike glanced at his daughter. Twelve years of raising her gave him the telltale signs. She didn't have to say anything, but Kathy's expression told him that she knew about her father and Mary Jackson.
"Why, sure! We'd love to go, Milt. What time should we meet you?" Mike couldn't help thinking, I'm in deep shit! If Mary acts funny at all tonight, I'm gonna die. Kathy already knows, and that's bad enough. If Milt finds out, it's gonna be ugly as hell! And what does he mean, it's going to be interesting?
Kathy glanced sharply at her father. She wondered about Milt's choice of words, also. A little of the bitterness that had disappeared after she sucked off Bob Williams came back. If Daddy makes eyes at that tramp tonight, I'll kick him! Better yet, I'll suck every man in the room!
After Milt confirmed the invitation, Kathy stood glaring at her father. "Don't you have to work on the glider tonight, Daddy?" she asked. The happy smile she'd greeted him with was gone.
"No, baby, it's in perfect shape. Everything worked beautifully today." He looked into her clouded eyes. "Come on, Kathy. Let's change for dinner." He reached for her hand, but she pulled away and stalked off toward the camper.
A ball-wrenching misery hit Mike as he called after her. The child's shapely behind underscored his words. "You're getting more like your mother every day!”
Milt Jackson spent most of the evening dropping hints to Mike and Kathy. The greying old flier tiptoed around mentioning nothing definite, but the gist was that Mike could name his price as a glider designer if he won the contest. Kathy wasn't sure, but Milt intimated that some of the spectators were very wealthy and interested in producing high-performance sailplanes.
Mary tried several times to start up conversations with Kathy. She was motherly, which Kathy resented, and condescending, which the little blonde hated. Kathy answered Mary's polite questions in monosyllables, then stopped her jawing with a glare.
Kathy watched her father closely after dinner. She quickly thanked Milt for inviting them before Mike could argue over the check, which all four knew he couldn't afford. The twelve-year-old girl was gratified to see that her father was no more than polite to Mary Jackson. She felt her chilly resentment melt away by the time they left the party.
Mike was chatty as he drove the truck back up to their campsite. He rambled on about the flying weather and the view. "Last night, Kathy, Milt told me I could take you up in his glider. He even offered to let you solo in it when you have enough instruction.”
His voice rambled lightly on, telling jokes about some of the other pilots and the crews who'd been at the party. He sounded happy, but Kathy caught a glimpse of his strained face in the headlights of a passing car. She climbed down from the high seat and knelt next to him, putting her head on her father's knee.
Mike reached down and caressed his daughter's fine blonde hair. It was softer than downy feathers, and he spoke gently to her. "You should go lie down if you're tired, Kathy. Pull your bunk down and I'll drive nice and slow.”
"I'm not that sleepy, Daddy. I just want to be close to you" Kathy cleared her throat and spoke again. "What will happen if you don't win, Daddy?”
Mike drove in silence for a while. He answered as they entered the campground. "I can sell this plane if we finish well. We can get enough for it to start building another one.”
"And if we don't finish well? What happens if we don't even finish?”
"Oh, Kathy, don't think like that! We're going to win. The plane will be worth three times what it cost to make if we win. We'd have enough left over to buy a good two-seater so we could fly together. Would you like that, honey?”
Kathy answered soberly. "Of course I'd like that, Daddy. But what happens if you lose badly?”
Mike responded lightly. He put on his best joking tone and said, "Well, baby, I'll have to sell the plane for whatever I can get for it. If it's a loser, I can still get the cost of the material back, and the protest fee will make a nice profit”
Kathy sighed and stood up. Mike cut the motor and lights. They had arrived at their campsite.
Mike saw her downcast expression when his pretty daughter moved to the back of the truck. He swiveled on the seat and spoke through the curtain between them, "Look at it this way, Kathy. I've still got my job, and we'll have more money if I quit flying. The house is paid for. It won't be so bad if I lose.
He watched her silhouette moving. The little yellow bulb was behind her and Kathy's shadow flowed across the curtain.
She undressed without replying. Mike watched the shadow as Kathy unbuttoned her blouse. Her pointed breasts showed sharp and firm against the light. Mike's paternal warmth and tenderness turned to pulsing lust. He struggled with the feeling, but kept watching.
Even in outline, the stiff length of Kathy's nipples showed. The square dots moved up when she hung her skirt. Her torso disappeared briefly behind the rectangular shadow of the cupboard door. The profiled curve of her firm buttocks made Mike's cock lengthen.
Fine strands of hair put a network of lines across Kathy's face. Her head turned and her upper body twisted when she undid her garters. The straps dangled enticingly from her slim hand when she hung the belt up.
Kathy bent and slid each stocking down. She straightened up and shook the gossamer shadows before folding them together. She opened the cupboard again and brought out a nightgown.
Mike cursed himself. He watched his own daughter like a voyeur, and his prick was harder than granite. He shut his eyes tight, but opened them within seconds. God damn! My little girl is growing up fast! Her mother's tits weren't much bigger than that when we were married!
Kathy stood facing the curtain. She raised her arms over her head and tiny curves showed the sides of her breasts. Even with her feet planted eighteen inches apart, the saddlelike fullness of her pelvis showed richly. The image on the curtain was so sharp that Mike saw the individual pout of each slender pussylip.
She's even growing hair! I bet it's as soft and fine as her mother's was, Mike thought. He'd glimpsed the softer shadow in the space between her thighs just as the hem of her nighty fell to mid-thigh.
"Daddy? Aren't you coming to bed? Kathy asked. She worked the latch of her bunk and pulled it down from the wall.
"Umm, yeah. Right away, honey. I, ah, was thinking about the meet." Mike winced when he thought of how that sounded. He realized that his rampant prick wasn't about to shrink, so he quit stalling. He brushed through the curtain and moaned inside. Why did I ever buy her that filmy little nightgown? Little girls shouldn't wear that kind of thing! Kathy had the sheet drawn up over her breast-tops. Thin, frilly pink straps rose over her shoulders and her straight, ash-blonde hair framed her face on the pillow.
Conscious of the throbbing mass in his crotch, Mike tried to turn away from his daughter's watching eyes. Her level gaze measured every part of him. He hung up his coat and shirt, then pulled the hammock from his cupboard and set it on the J-hooks he'd bolted to the walls.
Mike turned out the light. He sat on the big chair and removed his shoes and socks. His eyes became accustomed to the dark while he hung his pants and put them away. His prick shoved his boxers out like a tentpole.
Kathy timed it perfectly. She watched her father's shape move around in the darkness, heard his trousers slide down, then asked, "Aren't you going to kiss me goodnight?" She saw him freeze, folded pajamas in his hands. Kathy recognized the lust-heavy aroma of his nervously sweating crotch.
"O-of course, baby girl. Just a second, okay?" Mike whisked his shorts off and thrashed his feet into his pajamas. He struggled into the cotton shirt before he knelt next to her bunk. He wanted his hard-on to stay well out of his daughter's sight.
Mike bent down to give Kathy a quick peck on the cheek. He couldn't trust his waning willpower much longer. He murmured, "Sleep well, Kathy," and brushed his lips against her face.
Kathy threw her arms around her father's neck. When Mike pulled his head back in surprise, she locked her mouth onto his. The little girl thrust her tongue against his teeth and felt him surrender.
Only for a moment. Mike broke away. His prick throbbed with rushing blood. "No! Goddammit, Kathy, you can't do that! He unwound her arms from around his neck. "It's wrong! Little girls aren't allowed to do that!”
Kathy bit her lip. She sniffled at him, heartbroken. "What about you and Mrs. Jackson? Are married women allowed to blow any man they want?”
"She didn't! What makes you think she did?" Mike cocked his arm, ready to backhand his frail daughter. He caught himself and stood up. "I don't want to hear you talk like that again. Where did you hear that expression?”
Kathy looked up at her pajama-clad father and burst into tears. "I saw you! I saw you in here naked with her! I finished working on our glider and saw you in here! Everybody knows she's a-a cheap slut!”
Mike looked down at Kathy. His stony glare melted as she curled into a tight ball around her pillow. He unclenched his fists and made as if to touch her.
No-I can't. Not the way I react. What is happening to me? I can't even comfort my own daughter without getting a hard-on!
Mike turned away and sat on the hammock. He watched his daughter shake with sobs until her sniffles faded into slow, regular breathing.
He lay on his back. The hammock swayed from side to side as he drifted off. His worried thoughts of his daughter and his need for his dead wife faded into a dream. Connie stood in front of him in the back yard of the little cottage they'd first shared. She looked as young and shapely as when Mike had first met her. Her hair, as light as Kathy's, but wavy, tumbled down her back. Without a word, Connie led him to the center of the yard. She turned and smiled at him, then let her long, sleeveless dress drop to the ground. His own clothes disappeared.
Connie knelt in front of him. Her breasts were as wide as dinner plates, rising to deep pink nipples. She scratched at his sac, drawing long, sharp fingernails along the hardening lump in front of hit rectum. She gently tickled the rosebud surface of his sphincter.
Mike's cock stiffened, growing to monstrous size. Connie made a thin leather thong appear in her hand and she cinched it tight just behind his glans. His cockhead swelled, turned purple. The strip of leather kept the neck of his penis as small as his finger.
His lissome blonde 'wife tied another string around her nipples. Each pink tip swelled larger than her thumbs. The coronas stretched tight. The strap dug into Connie's tender breasts, and her titties were topped 'with blood-red peaks.
Connie touched one tight-tied nipple against Mike's tortured penis. He winced at the touch. Another gout of blood raced to the hard knob. The akin of his prickhead was stretched smooth as glass.
Connie rose to her feet again. Little drops of clear moisture decorated the golden hairs of her pussy. Each hair stood out, distinct. Her muff was full and proud, puffing lighter than a cloud from the soft sweetness of her slim labia.
She spoke for the first time. "Lick gently,” she said, guiding his mouth to her thong-bound bosom. He touched his tongue to one crimson bulb, and Connie gasped.
Her nipple was rock-hard. It blazed with internal fire. Mike's tongue rolled around the swollen bud for long, lascivious seconds. He put his hand around her slender waist. His fingertips nearly touched, circling her delicate slimness.
Mike felt her soft, cool hand push his forehead away. Connie tugged him down in the soft carpet of the lawn. She lay on her side, facing him.
Mike stroked the slim curve of her side, down across her waist to the full swell of her hip. Her velvety skin was dry and warm.
Connie put her cool hand on his cock. She rubbed her palm over the length of his shaft, then flicked the loose ends of the leather strip against his balls.
Mike's cock quivered. The head of his prick grew until the end slit opened like a tiny mouth. Dampness glistened inside the tube.
Connie trailed the knotted end of the leather lace around the broad oval of his glans. She popped it once, twice, a third time against the open edges of the slit. It felt like sparks of static electricity building up in his dickhead.
She lowered her mouth toward his prick. Mike watched almost fearfully. Her white teeth showed, sharp and even. Her tongue flashed out like a snake and plunged into his urethra.
Painful ecstasy raced through him like the sound of tearing silk. Mike wanted to jerk his body away, but the agonizing sensation fascinated him. She speared the center of his cockhead again and Mike shuddered with the ghastly thrill. He moaned in his sleep.
Connie, naked and voluptuous, opened her mouth wide. Her pearly teeth scraped the purple ridge of Mike's knob and he jerked convulsively. She put her lips just behind the tight knotted cord and her teeth closed on the thong.
Her palate and tongue compressed Mike's straining glans. He thought his knob would burst. Connie slacked her jaw and her tongue slid in a wet circle around his cockhead.
Her fingers pressed the ridge behind Mike's balls. He felt a surge of hot semen rising inside hi in, but her hand kept it in place. His cockhead ached for the savage release of a massive cum.
Connie bathed his prick with saliva. Her clenched fingers kept his need pent up. The walnut-sized lump of his prostate pulsed against the tight-pinched dam. He felt the sheets of orgasm sweeping through his loins, but Connie wouldn't free the murky fluid to let his agonizing cum end.
Mike's prickhead pulsed in mocking spasms. He pulled Connie's head away from his loins and groaned, "Let me cum, Connie, let me cum!”
The dream-ghost shook her head and looked sadly into his squinted eyes. The feeling in his crotch faded as she told him, "Save it for Kathy-save it all for Kathy." She unknotted the cord from his prick and rolled Mike onto his back, repeating, "Save it far Kathy.”
Mike groaned and shrank away. His daughter joined her dead mother in the dream, standing naked over him. Connie's hand trailed up over the little girl's rounded buttocks, and Kathy knelt.
Mike looked up. All he could see was Kathy's light-fuzzed pussy lowering over his loins. Connie's hand held his rigid cock straight up, pointing directly at his child's cunny.
The knotted cord scraped along his cock again. Mike felt lusty pain ravage his crotch. Kathy's pussy touched his glans.
Mike pushed his cock upwards into her descending body. Kathy's cunt was hot, wetly ready. She impaled herself fully on his shocked father. The soft folds of her pussy caressed his ironhard prick.
Connie's bushier, wet pussy appeared over his face. Mike watched with horrified fascination as Connie caressed Kathy's budding tits. He am el led the almost-forgotten aroma of his wife's cunt. The soft, swampy flesh settled over his mouth and nose.
Kathy wound in circles around his prick. Her wet little snatch milked at his cock, and Mike felt the doubled mass of cum gathering in his rod.
Mike was suffocating in the folds of Connie's crotch. He gasped for air, but his wind was cut off.
Kathy's cunt wrenched at his prick. It tightened unmercifully around his cock. She twisted, falling to the side, and Mike rolled with her.
Mike shot great, steaming bursts of seed from his cock. He snapped awake in the middle of his spewing cum. His prick pulsed and he heard the thick semen plopping on the floor. He couldn't see anything. He bucked and jerked in the swaying hammock, wondering of his smothered groans had wakened his daughter.