"Daddy_s little girls" - читать интересную книгу автора (Breckenridge Jewel)

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.

"Her skin isn't dark like yours," he said forcibly shifting his eyes to the ocean. God, this was ridiculous. Why couldn't he think of something intelligent to say!

"I know," she said in a ripple of laughter. She paused. "I think Ellen's all right. She's got lotion on – in fact she's all greasy with it."

Roger swallowed audibly. Louise's provocatively hovering body was coming back into range of his eyes no matter how hard he tried to stare at the ocean. "The reason I called you, Louise, was just to say don't hurt each other out there on the rock. It's sharp, you could cut your… your skin. Don't be too rough."

"Okay, Dad. We'll be careful. Don't worry!" She smiled and left. Her attitude towards him had been maternal, consoling.

Roger glanced at his wife, relieved to find that she was reading a magazine and had paid no attention to the conversation. No one suspected anything, but Christ was it a close call! And now he was staring at Louise's full firm buttocks swinging invitingly left, right, left, in the bottom of the bathing suit as she walked away. God how he could knead those enticingly round ass-cheeks, jiggle them as they were jiggling now, clamp a firm grip on them one in each hand. If he could only stop this train of thought!

He lay flat on his back and watched the gulls, wondering how he had gotten himself into this. If only he hadn't weakened and lecherously pounded the hole in the wall that one time. And wait a minute – Louise's bedroom was on the other side of his study – he would only need to – no, stop, stop, stop!

Forty-one years old, he thought, forty-one years old and horny enough to ogle his own adolescent daughters. Yet he was in fact a responsible man, a good father until now, a sort of model in his community. When the neighbors had something they wanted done, they often came to Roger Johnston. His very manner, and his presence, incited respect and calm. And he was handsome, with a strong, athletically profiled face and a physique sturdy as that of a football lineman, though he was – he had to admit – putting on too much weight. He was anything the picture his friends and associates would have – or that he himself would have – of a desire of young teenage girls.

Still, after all, every man looked at women, even if they were his aunts, his mother, his daughters. It was only human – you had to notice when a tight little cunt like Louise's wagged before you on the beach. The important thing was not to let such thoughts cross into action; that line, above all, was firmly drawn and he would under no circumstances cross it, he vowed. Do not cross the line into action, he repeated to himself.

Louise, thank God, was out of the water again and now lying next to his wife on the same blanket reading the same magazine. Ellen too was gone from the rock, though he couldn't see where – probably she had gone for a walk. He felt better now, more braced up now than he'd realized that the important thing was in keeping his occasional thoughts, which might crudely be termed incestuous, only in the realm of thought and not in that of action.

Roger got up, pulled his stomach in as was automatic when he was on the beach, and strode proudly to the water. He plunged directly in and began pulling with swift, practiced strokes out into the ocean, and it felt good, the honest physical integrity of his still powerful muscles drawing him deftly through the deep water. He reached the rock, paused to tread water for a moment, and then took a dive straight to the bottom, about fifteen feet deep here. Interesting, he thought, the underwater world of plants waving in the current of bright-colored little crustaceans, of pressure, of bubbles. Next time he would bring his scuba outfit. Yes, he was all right now and he would put this whole business with his daughters into the past where it belonged. He blew out the last of his air and rose to the surface, taking in a full breath.

And he nearly choked on it.

Framed in the beach house – in the open side visible only from the water – was thirteen-year-old Ellen shamelessly removing the top of her tight bikini bathing suit. Not just removing, but tearing it off, and then twirling and discarding it over her shoulder, and then jiggling her firm naked breasts erotically side to side in a wild obscene gyration as she had when her boy friend Mark massaged them. Moreover – the biggest horror – she seemed to be looking Roger brazenly straight in the eye, though he was to far away to be sure, kneading her breasts, pulling the small pink tantalizing nipples out, tweaking them into excited erection. She cupped her nakedly white breasts from below, and began slowly, hauntingly, jiggling them. Her agonized father wanted to swim farther out to avoid this lust-arousing sight, yet he felt a compelling hardness in his swim trunks beneath the water and he had to keep watching if only to see what would follow.

Then turning her back to him, Ellen placed her hands on her curving hips, and slowly rolled the bikini panties of her swim suit down over her firm buttocks and then down her tapered young legs to her ankles. Stepping out of them, she picked up the trunks and sniffed lewdly at the loins as though it were exotic perfume. Where had she picked up this sort of thing, where had she learned it? She had certainly been doing some research.

Now she turned to face him again, put her arms up in the air, and stretched languidly. She bent backwards slightly, legs apart, massaging her invitingly curved legs upward from her knees to her well-rounded thighs, and – he was sure now that he had floated closer with the waves – looking him dead in the eye. She massaged her blonde, sparsely growing pubic hair and, bending her lithe golden body still farther back, with both hands spread the lips of her hair-lined cunt wide apart until he could see the moist pink cuntal flesh flashing between her parted thighs. Then – good God! She slowly, teasingly, wormed her own extended middle finger in, worked it way up inside the soft moist opening and began stroking in and out, flattening the palm of her hand against the hair of her pussy with each in-stroke. Her finger was wet and her excited cuntal secretions were flowing lustfully all over her inner thighs, as she finger-fucked herself harder and harder, twisting it and increasing it to the hungering pitch of five or six passion-incited strokes a second. She was being much more brutal to herself than Mark had ever been in the garage, almost as though she enjoyed masochistically punishing herself.

And then suddenly she stopped, apparently out of ideas how to perform, and moved slowly in a circle, lewdly bouncing her breasts and jiggling her voluptuous buttocks. After teasing her flattened hands up and down over her entire naked body, she stopped again, her back to the water and her father, legs spread wide apart, and bent to the ground to touch her toes, staying in the lewd position to let him see the entire length of her still virginal young cuntal slit and the tempting circle of vaginal pink set in the soft blonde pubic curls. Indeed, to let him see anything up between her legs that he wanted.

The precocious teenager reached slowly back behind her naked buttocks and began teasing around with her fingers again, still bent with her upraised buttocks before him, opening and closing the fleshy, reddish lips of her pussy, hotly worming her middle finger into her little virginal vagina and quickly pulling it out to tease the tiny hardened bud of her clitoris. The whole excited region up between her legs glistened now from the moisture of her flowing vaginal juices, and she turned for a second to look back over her shoulder.

Roger tried to look away and watch the waves, to study his wife on her blanket, to let his eyes roam over the beautiful rocky beach, but it was no use, he returned his gaze to his daughter's teasingly lewd play just as she pulled both hands away from her naked little vagina and, as though pondering on what to do next, looked down at one hand as she extended the middle finger straight out. Where had she learned all this? She put the finger in her mouth to lubricate it, and then waved it in the air as though it were a threatening instrument. Then she brought it around slowly towards herself from behind – at the same time carefully spreading the round-white ass cheeks of her luscious buttocks with her other hand to reveal the dark secretive ring of her tiny anus. Christ, what was she going to do now. As she brought her finger before the small puckered opening she held it suspended suggestively there, widening the spread of her ass-cheeks still more with the other hand, and she seemed by a force of will to make her entire girlish body relax in order to facilitate what would follow. She pressed hard on the finger until the small resisting anal passage was ready to give way.

All at once she stuck the finger brutally into its full hilt up her exposed rectum, her hands slapping the cheeks of her buttocks with what looked like a resounding smack, and it must have hurt for she gave a little cry. Perhaps she hadn't done it before, perhaps she'd only heard about it, or… seen it? Had she been watching some pornographic movies? Whatever, she seemed to be adjusting rapidly to the lewdly violating finger, for she placed her legs even wider apart until it seemed her young upturned buttocks would split – and begin to slowly pull her finger out, twist it, push it back in, twist it, pull it out, twist it, in a lewd rhythmic motion. It seemed to hurt her or to require great effort, for her nakedly curvaceous body was frozen motionless except for the sodomizing middle finger. Yet – for still more punishment – she now forced in a second finger as Roger watched with astonished eyes the nearly microscopic little anal mouth stretching helplessly to allow this double-finger manipulation.

And then an incredible thing happened: his thirteen-year-old daughter Ellen, began to toss her long blonde hair, and to shake her shoulders crazily as though freeing herself from painful sensations, as though beginning to enjoy this forbidden pleasure. She turned again, her eyes glowing with wicked passion – to ensure herself that her father was still watching – and then she began to lewdly gyrate her quivering buttocks, slowly at first, and then with increasing abandon until the speed with which she rocked and circled her hips matched that of her obscenely pumping fingers. He had never seen – or imagined – such a sight in his life as beautiful Ellen wantonly skewering her entire backside up and down on her two penetrating wet fingers.

She simply could not get enough now. She bent at the knees to grind the firm young buttocks even farther out and back to meet the lewdly impaling fingers, to rotate herself around them, the wide-stretched little anus expanding still more as she twisted her exploring fingers around and around up inside her rectum, the cheeks of her tantalizing buttocks vibrating and heaving, and her hips gyrating and grinding ever harder as she squatted deeper down toward the ground, totally consumed in an erotic animal frenzy which Roger had never known could exist.