Peter Knight hurried into his beach house and locked the door behind him. He was sweating, and his temples throbbed. The ache in his groin reminded him constantly of his manhood. The devils were dancing in his head, playing cruel tricks on him, evoking wicked, disjointed thoughts in his mind. He had to rest, to sleep, to get back his equilibrium before Davie came home…
He ripped off his clothes and flung them onto a chair. He fell into bed, wincing as his hard, erect cock thudded on the mattress. He had some unfinished business down there… he couldn't stand the agony any longer.
Grabbing his long, beefy pole in his hand, he once more stroked his enraged organ hotly until he came all over the bedsheet. It was only a matter of seconds. Exhausted then, he knew he should get up and wash, but his body refused to budge, and he fell fast asleep without remembering the need to cover himself.
When Davie got home a couple of hours later, she was surprised to find the door locked. She figured she must have done it without realizing it. No problem. She remembered the door to the lanai – that would be open for sure.
She wanted to shower and change and wash the salt water out of her hair before she appeared at the lodge to see her father. Perhaps she wanted to wash the scent of sex and another female body away, too… The hours she had spent with Trish were beginning to bother her. She wasn't dazed with wine any more, and the reality of what she had participated in with the blonde stewardess was beginning to weigh heavily on her conscience. Oh God, what's happening to me? I'm not a lesbian… I don't want to do it with girls! I couldn't help myself, it felt so good. But it's wrong. It's not the way I want things to be.
She opened the lanai door and stepped inside, a worried expression on her young face. She could feel the first tautness that follows overexposure to the sun, and she knew she had lain on the beach too long for the first day. Yes… she had lain too long on the beach for a lot of reasons…
She turned toward the small chest of drawers that held her clothing. An unexpected groan caused her to look in the direction of her father's bedroom. From where she was standing, she could see only his head and his bare torso. He was sleeping heavily, his mouth open and emitting soft but coarse sounds that bordered on snoring. Davie smiled as she watched her father reposing on the big bed. She looked over at him with pride, thinking how peaceful he seemed, how handsome he was. His chest was broad and hairy; his muscles were well developed. He was a very masculine man.
She thought she could get her things and tiptoe quietly past him without awakening him, so she gathered her shampoo and creme rinse and took another long dress out of the drawer and stepped through the doorway into his bedroom.
An involuntary gasp escaped the young girl's throat as she found herself looking at her father's totally nude, sleeping form. There he was, sprawled on his back, his muscular legs spread apart, exposing the full sight of his genitals to his daughter's widening eyes. His flaccid penis was cradled in the hairy hammock of his enormous testicles. Daddy's penis was huge! Davie was hypnotized by the sight of her father's massive prick and his plump, hirsute testicles.
It's so big! How could any woman possibly have a thing that big inside of her? It would tear her to pieces! It must be over ten inches long when it's… when it's hard it's twice the size of those models' in VIVA magazine! And theirs were pretty big…
Davie felt a sudden dryness in her mouth and throat as she stared at the naked, powerful body on the bed. She knew she couldn't continue to stand there gaping at him. And she didn't dare take a shower for fear of waking him up. He'd know she had seen him. So she carefully tiptoed back to the lanai, replaced the clothing in the drawer and went out the door. She hurried to the lodge and used the phone to call him up.
"Y-yes…" a groggy voice answered.
"Hi, Daddy," she said brightly, "it's your sun-baked daughter. I think I'm about medium rare."
"Davie! Where are you, sweetheart?" he asked, sitting up. He was suddenly springing to alertness.
"Sheboygan, Wisconsin. Really, Daddy," she teased, "where do you think I am? I'm at the reception desk."
He had difficulty marshaling his reason. All he could think of was Davie being eaten by that vixen, Trish. "Well, eh, what are you doing there, darling? I thought you were… on the beach."
"I was. Now I'm here. I came to look for you because the door's locked, so I figured you were at the lodge. Daddy, are you all right? I mean, this conversation is ridiculous!" She said it with mock reproach, then followed it with one of her girlish giggles.
"You're right, darling. It is. I didn't realize how heavily I slept. Still trying to clear the cobwebs out of the attic. Why don't you come along to the house?"
"Thanks, Daddy. I'm dying to take a shower. Bye." And she hung up, leaving Peter Knight with a dial tone and a glazed expression on his face.
Moments later he was covering the telltale stain on the sheet with another sheet, then dashing to the door to unlock it, then scampering into the shower for a necessary cleansing. By the time Davie reached the house, he was out of the shower and half-dressed.
Davie was suspiciously cheerful, it seemed to him. Of course, he knew what had happened between her and Trish Byers and he suspected – and hoped – that his winsome offspring was feeling guilty about the whole perverted episode. He was bothered as hell himself, and couldn't look her squarely in the face, but he also couldn't take his eyes off her nubile bikini-clad body.
She acted awkward and embarrassed, and he thought wistfully to himself what a sad thing is the loss of innocence. He blamed himself once more for what happened on the beach. He should have been there, to save Davie from the sexual clutches of that rapacious female! Why was he never there when she needed him? If he had stayed with her in New York, none of this would have happened. But then, he didn't. All he cold do now was make damned sure nothing like that ever happened to her again.
When she had showered and dressed in a most becoming long dress, Davie joined her father in the living room. He was having a drink, and offered her a Coke on the rocks, which she smilingly accepted.
"Tell me about your day," he began. "Did you enjoy the beach?"
"Very much. It's so beautiful. I've never seen such white sand. And the water is glorious. You can see all kinds of fish as plain as anything. Like looking through a tinted window. I saw this one mean looking fish with a lot of teeth. Trish said she thought it might be a barracuda, so we got out of the water fast!"
"Trish? You went swimming with her, eh?" he asked, eyeing his daughter carefully for giveaway expressions. But Davie was artfully cool. That disturbed him, too.
"Oh yes. She came by this morning with a super lunch for the two of us – you have the best food here, Daddy. We walked way down the beach, found a spot and just roasted ourselves all day. Of course, Trish could take it. She does it all the time – sunbathing, you know. That's why she has such a beautiful color. Look at me, I look like a half cooked lobster!" She giggled at herself again, and Peter Knight returned the grin. But inwardly he was agonizing. He couldn't blot the image of his naked daughter on her back with her pussy in the blonde's face from his mind. He couldn't shut out her cries as she lay there cumming, brought to the peak of pleasure by that sex-starved woman who had acted as Davie's… lover! Trish was a dangerous influence on the impressionable Davie. If she spent too much time alone with Trish, she might become as venal as the stewardess. The bitch would have Davie in a gang bang with all the guests at French Leave looking on. Christ, what a thought! No, Davie was still pure, she was still innocent. She didn't know what the hell she was doing today, or at school. They forced it on her. Davie needed a man to straighten her out. Her soft, young body, her lips, her ripe breasts and her beautiful pussy cried for a man's caresses… a man's body to complement hers… a man's cock to fill her precious little cunt…
My God, what I am thinking! it suddenly occurred to him. I'm thinking of Davie as though I were her lover! As though she needed that! She only belongs to me spiritually… that's the only way I can have her. That's the only way that's right between a father and daughter. Any other way is sick, degenerate… as degenerate as what Trish did to her today.
"Daddy, is anything wrong?" Davie suddenly asked him. He had been lost in thought for several moments. He found himself staring vacantly into his scotch glass. When he looked up at Davie, her eyes expressed concern.
"Sorry, honey I'm still half asleep, I guess." He smiled at her reassuringly. "Let's go have dinner at the lodge. I really should be on hand most of the time."
A yachting party arrived during the dinner hour and Peter Knight had to leave his daughter alone for several minutes, during which time Trish Byers and her brother appeared in the dining room and got in line for the sumptuous buffet spread. By the time the resort owner returned, Trish and Randy had joined their table, a thing which did not please Peter Knight in the least.
"Good evening, Miss Byers, Randy," he said politely, offering a curt smile.
"I'd be so pleased if you called me Trish," the seductive blonde told him, giving him a flashing smile. She looked stunning in a low-cut white cotton dress that did little to hide her feminine assets. Her feet were shod in the barest of high-heeled sandals, making her long beautiful legs seem even longer. Her tan was deep and golden against the electric whiteness of her dress. She oozed sensuality from every pore. He was seething inside and he wanted to slap her half way across tile dining room. He hated everything about her, except her face and her voice and her body… He was caught in a repulsion-attraction syndrome – his reason repelled, but his being drawn to her like a magnet.
Davie's thigh accidentally brushed against Randy's and she moved hers away hastily, but not before the contact had produced a tiny electrical charge in her loins. She couldn't help thinking of the pictures in VIVA, and now that he was seated next to her at the dining table, she found herself comparing him more and more to the guy in the photograph. She speculated on the size of his penis, and wondered if it resembled the man's in the magazine or that of her father. What would Randy be like? What would it feel like to have his thing inside me? He's very sexy, just like his sister, with those bedroom blue eyes and all that soft blond hair. He does have a fantastic build…
The young girl felt her face flush. It was already hot from the hours of harsh sun. She couldn't look at Randy directly; there was something about him that both frightened and intrigued her. He didn't talk much, and seemed very shy himself. But she couldn't suppress a little shudder when she thought again of his resemblance to the man in the photographs.
They lingered over dinner, with Knight having to excuse himself at intervals to attend to one kind of business or another. During his absences, Trish focused her attention on Davie, giving her enigmatic looks across the table. At other moments, she did the same thing to her brother. Davie felt there was something peculiar in their relationship. Sometimes she seemed to be flirting with him! Once or twice, Randy looked down at Davie from under his sleepy eyelids and she found herself melting inside. And the liquid warmth manifested itself in her panties! When Randy asked her if she'd like to go for a walk after dinner, she readily agreed. Peter Knight had other ideas.
"I think it's getting close to your bedtime, young lady," he said, in a very paternal way. To his surprise, Davie was angered.
"Really, Daddy! I'm not a child. Besides, it's not that late. I'm not a baby!" she said, her voice tight and her eyes sparkling with indignation.
"She's right, Peter," Trish added without solicitation. He gave her a chilling look. "I'll make that decision, if it's all right with you," he said to her levelly. "Randy, why don't you escort Davie to the house. I'll be along shortly."
"Sure. My pleasure, Mr. Knight," Randy said, rising to his feet. Davie got up, too, and left the table without another word to her father. She was embarrassed to tears, as only a sixteen year old girl can be.
Her anger, fanned by guilt and the confusion that resulted from her turmoil and frustration brought sudden and unexpected tears to her eyes as the two youngsters walked out into the refreshing night air. "Why did he have to say that? He was talking to me like I was some kind of two year old moron. He sounded just like my mother!" she protested hotly.
Randy put a comforting arm around her shoulder. "Don't take it so hard, Davie. Your old man's just looking out for your interest, that's all. He doesn't want his little girl out with a big, bad wolf like Randy Ferris!" (And with good reason, he added silently.)
She had to smile. She looked up at him and he gave her an endearing grin. She thought he had the sexiest eyes she had ever seen.
They walked slowly on, and she began to feel more relaxed in his company. He really was a nice boy. He was as understanding as Trish…
They laughed a lot. He wasn't nearly as shy as she thought he was. Maybe he was only shy in a crowd. At one point he casually took her hand and she felt another surge of excitement go through her. Every now and then, their bodies would brush against one another. The air was cool and fragrant. Crickets chirruped and the sea gently slapped the shore. Davie felt warm and contented to be with this understanding, masculine boy…
In another part of the compound, Peter Knight was declining an invitation to "come in for a nightcap". "Thank you, Trish, but I'd better get home."
"Why so soon? Afraid the boogie man is going to get your darling daughter?" she taunted.
"Look," he said through clenched teeth, "my daughter is none of your Goddamned business! And as far as that goes, I'd be ever so grateful if you left her the hell alone! A girl like Davie doesn't need a woman like you as a friend!" He hadn't intended to loose his cool – Trish Byers was a guest, though she wouldn't be a guest ever again! Still, he prided himself on self-control; on maintaining an unruffled, professional posture with both guests and help alike. He didn't want to show his hand; the bitch just might tell Davie that her father had seen them making love!
Trish felt her own anger bob. "How would you know?" she railed back at him. "You haven't even seen her for three years! It just so happens, Mr. Big, that Davie does need my friendship. Who else is she going to talk woman to woman – YOU? Yes, I suppose she could…"
That hit home. She had slashed at his manhood, and any residual control that he had fled with the wafting island breeze. He reached past her, opened the door and thrust her roughly inside. The light from the moon illuminated the room enough so that he could see her striking features clearly. He looked at her bright, sensuous mouth, remembering vividly that it was the mouth that kissed Davie, that licked and sucked her tender breasts, that ate her teenage pussy…
He grabbed both her arms and held her in a viselike grip. He looked at her long and hard. Her face was close to his as he breathed the words out through his rigid jaw.
"You know what you are? You're a vile, low-class scheming bitch! Worse than that – you're a cunt a real cunt!" (God, how he wanted to fuck her. He wanted to tear her apart with his cock. He never wanted to fuck a woman more in his life than he wanted to fuck this big-titted, sexy blonde bitch!)
"Flattery will get you nowhere!" she snarled back at him, her lips curled in a defiant pout.
"I don't want to get anywhere, cunt!" he growled back through clenched teeth. "I wouldn't fuck you with a ten foot pole!"
"Braggart! You'd touch me with any kind of a pole – if you had one. But obviously, you don't…" She had him now, and she knew it. Peter Knight smarted visibly from the gauntlet she had flung so cruelly across his face. If that assault on his masculinity didn't get him to drop his pants, nothing would. She looked up at him with disdain in her big, blue eyes. She smiled a mocking little smile with dewy, half-parted lips.
He could feel her hot breath on his flushed cheek, scalding him like oil from a boiling cauldron. Her bare knee touched his trousered leg, searing his flesh through the sharkskin. Oh Geezus, he had to fuck her! He didn't care about Davie being home alone; he didn't care whether the blonde bitch was a guest, or that he hated her guts; he didn't care about anything! He only knew that the cum in his balls was being boiled to a broth. He had to put the meat to this pagan, she-devil cunt standing so tauntingly before him, had to teach her a lesson she would never forget… with a fucking she would never forget! When he got through with her, she would crawl back to Nassau!
He was dimly, very dimly aware that later, when it was all over, there would be remorse and self-loathing. But at that moment, nothing else mattered except funding the shit out of the soft, warm, musky-smelling evil woman who was only inches away from his throbbing, granite-hard ten inch cock…
Without another word, he pulled her to his body and kissed her brutally on the mouth, pressing his teeth into her yielding lips and forcing his tongue into her oral cavity. He tongued her mouth, and she answered with hot caresses from her oral member. Suddenly, he bit it – hard, causing her to cry out in a gagged scream of pain. He relished her agony. Then he bit her lip, drawing a warm, salty trickle of blood from the petal-soft flesh. Trish began to fight him, pummeling him with her fists to try and push him away. But he was a pillar of stone, and she, with her 120 pounds of female flesh, was hardly a match for the enraged resort owner.
Peter reached behind her and unzipped the pristine white dress with one deft yank of the zipper, drawing her in tightly to his loins as he did, forcing his truncheon-like cock against her pubic bone as hard as he could; grinding it into her in a way he knew was bruising. Trish struggled against him, a look of fear and pain contorting her lovely features. She saw the look of a madman, the frenzy of the rapist in his blazing hazel eyes. Still, it excited her. She had wanted this man for so long; she never figured him to show the balls he was showing. Of course, she had goaded him into it; but she had expected to call the shots. He was definitely out of her control. What was he going to do?
"You bitch… you cunt… you frigging whore…" he kept muttering over and over under his breath, as he reached up under her dress and grabbed the sheer nylon panties she wore and ripped them down over her satin hips, leaving them around her thighs like a ragged tourniquet. She gasped under his harsh stripping as his clawing hands left angry red tracks in her sun bronzed flesh. Then he shoved his middle finger into her hotly steaming vagina, and she bucked from the suddenness of his harsh and abrupt entry, even though her pussy was a cauldron of desire, and the juices of lust lubricated her cuntal passage.
She started to groan as he finger fucked her deeply and she swayed on her feet, her eyes closed. Seeing her reaction, he abruptly withdrew his hand and wiped his finger across her supple mouth, saying, "Here, slut, eat this! You like the taste of pussy, I'll bet; take it. Lick it!" He worked his finger into her mouth as though it were a cock, and slid it back and forth between her lips and around the inside of her cheeks. His other hand was up under her dress, pinching her ripely curved ass-cheeks as hard as he could.
Trish wanted to bite his finger, but she was afraid of what he would do. This man was capable of anything now, she realized. God knows what he might do to her if she retaliated. Besides, she liked the taste of her pussy; it was a taste similar to the sweet, aromatic pussy of Peter's teenage daughter. Hah! If only the bastard knew!
Yesss… that was it! What better way to get even with the stuck up son-of-a-bitch than to arrange for a little private "exhibition"… with the star performer being his darling little girl!
He suddenly brought both his hands up to her shoulders and pulled the white dress down until it fastened like a straight jacket around her body, just below her melon-like breasts, pinioning her arms to her sides. The stewardess was unable to slip the dress either up or down, and stood there, her face a mask of impotent rage.
"Get me out of this Goddamn thing, you bastard!" she shouted out at him. She drew up her foot and kicked him sharply on the shin. She followed it with a knee to the groin.
Her aim wasn't true; he hardly felt it. But a devilish sneer appeared on his lips. "Oh… so you like to play rough, eh? Ok, hitch. We'll play rough!"
He picked her up and slung her under his arm as though she were a store mannequin. She was screaming and kicking her legs. He literally threw her on the big bed, on her back, and tore the sandals off of her. Trish was still straight-jacketed by the crumpled, constricting dress, which had worked its way up to her hips, exposing her dark blonde mat of pussy hair to his wanton, rapacious gaze. While she lay there kicking and screaming, he ripped off her panties, then hastily removed his jacket, shirt and trousers. He slipped off his loafers and socks and peeled down his shorts.
Her eyes widened as she gazed at his naked, ten-inch rod of man-flesh, the blood-engorged head purple with rage. His huge, hairy testicles hung tautly between his sinewy thighs. He was a tower of virility before the wide-eyed stewardess, who thought she had seen everything there was to see in the bedroom – until now! He looked so powerful, so cruel and menacing as he loomed above her, his handsome face grimacing with vindictive lust.
"Like what you see, cunt?" he asked, reaching for his massive pole and grasping it gingerly in his hand as if it were a baby club.
"Oh my God, Peter… Oh my God!" was all she could say.
"This is what you wanted, isn't it? Isn't this what you've been after all along… every time you gave me one of your come-up-and-see-me-sometime looks? Every time you wiggled your hot little ass at me, or stuck those big round jugs under my nose? You wanted me to fuck you, didn't you, slut? You wanted me to stick my cock up between those good-looking legs of yours and fuck your hot little whore pussy, didn't you…?"
"I… I… yes… yessssss!" she cried out at him.
"Yes, what?" he taunted, a victorious sneer on his face. "What did you want me to do? See, I have to be sure you really want me, because I'm very insecure, and I might not be able to get a hard-on until you reassure me…" he said, sporting an erection that would do credit to a prize bull!
"I… I want you… to… fuck me," she breathed.
"How's that? I also have a hearing problem. You'll have to say it louder."
"I want you to fuck me. Fuck me, Goddamnit!" she screamed, the veins in her temples and the cords in her neck distending as she raised her head off the bed to shout at him. "Fuck me… fuck me… now!"