Mrs. Grant's Daughter

The Life of Ian Devure: P.I.

Ian was in over his head. Things had been getting sticky on his present-case, and there were more people involved than he felt comfortable with. This tight-little dame named Maessa Grant, had hired Ian at a welcoming wage, to find her missing husband. He wasn’t kidnapped, that was disproved by the bank accounts being empty the day he skipped town. He left behind a grief-stricken wife, and a beautiful daughter. Ian had sunk a few leads, one of those that took him to El Paso, a province of Mexico. He found nothing but dirty trails of where Mr. Grant had been, leaving behind a path of drugs, prostitution, and more drugs for the hell of it.

Gayla paged him on the speakerphone.

“Mr. Devure? Mrs. Grant is on the phone…” her voice was smooth and clean.

“Thanks, Gayla.” he replied before cutting her off and picking up the other line. “This is Ian…”

“Mr. Devure?” the voice was young and soft.

“Yeah?” he wasn’t sure who it was, but it wasn’t Mrs. Grant.

“This is Lexia…Maessa Grant is my mother?” she was waiting for him to acknowledge her.

“Uh…okay. What can I do for you?” he replied.

“I know we haven’t really spoken before, and I hate to do this but…I need a ride home from school…and I can’t get in touch with my mom…” he could hear her smiling. Maessa had told him before, amidst mild socializing, that her daughter was eighteen, and he wondered why the girl didn’t have a car of her own. He thought about it briefly, and sighed into the phone. She heard this sigh and replied to it.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Devure…look, I’ll give you some gas money…”

He laughed and rubbed his eyes. “No, that won’t be necessary, Lexia.”

She smiled on the other line and he continued.

“Which school is it?”

Clinton Memorial High, on the outskirts of the city, where mostly rich kids attended. Ian pulled into the parking lot in his craft, as a flood of kids were coming out of the building. Everywhere around him there were soccer moms, and beautiful teenage girls. He felt like a creep, waiting in the parking lot for a completely unrelated young girl.

A tall girl came walking towards his car. She had long, straight-blonde hair, and her eyes were lean and mature for her age. Her skin looked soft and full of color, and her jeans hung down around her hips, and there wasn’t enough shirt to cover her belly button.

Ian coughed violently when he saw her approaching the car, stunned by her beauty.

She leaned down and looked through the opposite window.

“Whats your name?” she asked.

“Uh…Ian..Devure…” he replied strangely.

Without speaking she opened the door, and sat down in the seat next to him, placing her knapsack in her lap. He looked at her silently, as she stared back with a faint smile.

“I’m Lexia.” she said, and held out her hand.

He shook it slowly and grinned.

“Okay…where to?”

“My house.” she answered. “You know where that is, right?”

“Yeah.” he replied, and sped out of the parking lot.

“So what, your like a real private investigator?” she inquired, looking him over.

He thought about his answer before delivering it.

“You could say that, yeah.” he answered, not looking away from the road.

“You find my dad yet?” she asked, and he felt awkward.

“No, not yet.” he answered, and glanced over at her.

“I hope you don’t. He’s a prick…” she replied, looking down at her bags. Her shirt was a pink tank-top, and her bra straps were exposed on the shoulders. The straps were red. Ian loved red underwear. And she was wearing that glossy lip-balm---shit makes their lips look luscious. Her breasts were small, but they hung-off of her tiny frame nicely.

“That’s what your mother tells me, anyway…” he mumbled and she laughed.

Then she looked at him with a different composure.

“How old are you, Mr. Devure?” she was cute as hell, and he hated telling her that he was old.

“I’m thirty-nine years old.” he sighed, looking out of his window casually.

She didn’t seem phased.

“Were you in the war?”

“Yeah…yeah I was.” he answered quietly, and his voice was rugged and cold.

“Was it as horrible as they say?” she was intrigued now. Ian paused for a good ten seconds before answering her.

“That all depends on how well you handle war…” it was the right answer for a man like himself. She thought it to be profound, and a show of strength within him. He was a gorgeously-rugged man, and his eyes showed echoes of pain that had been overcome but never extinct.

“And you handled it well?” she asked, and her voice was sassy now. She was beginning to grow comfortable in his presence.

“I don’t talk much about it. But I’m here, and I’m alive.” he replied, and she smiled.

“Do you mind if I throw my bag in the backseat?” and she was already turning around to throw it back.

“Go ahead.” he mumbled, and looked down at her waist, for as she twisted around, it pulled up, showing a large portion of her toned stomach. There was a white anarchist symbol on the top of her pelvis, a novelty of tanning.

“You a practicing anarchist?” he almost laughed.

She smiled coyly, and sat forward once again. Then she pulled her shirt up to her ribs, and looked down at the symbol Ian to the liberty to catch another look as well.

“Oh no…that’s just for the hell of it.” she giggled and caught him staring at her stomach before she pulled the shirt down. He quickly looked away and lit a cigarette. She watched it with pleading eyes.

“Uh…can I have one of those?” she asked quietly. He frowned his eyes towards her.

“No. They’re shit on your health…”

She laughed at this and moaned, “Please…I’ve been needing a cigarette really bad…”

“What troubles do you have?” he scoffed.

“What troubles? I’m eighteen. This is the pariah of life, Mr. Devure. Its horrible. I’m about to be tossed into the real world, fresh out of the closure of high school…”

He laughed. She was intelligent for her age.

“You should be anticipating the leap…” he replied.

“Hell no. I’m dreading the hell out of it…” she was certain and stern in this.

“You shouldn’t. You’re young and beautiful. You’ve got life ready to lie down for you already…” he replied, and she watched him closely. She liked his remark, especially the beautiful part. Even before she met Mr. Devure though, she had always hated guys her age. Not saying she necessarily liked Mr. Devure, but as far as attraction went, it was certainly there.

“You think I’m beautiful, Mr. Devure?” she asked, and her hands opened onto their palms on her legs. He took a nervous breath, fearing what may come, and didn’t look at her.

“I was generalizing, Lexia…” he wasn’t sure how to take the girl.

“So I’m not?” she replied with a cocky grin.

“I didn’t say that.” he answered, sticking to his guns.

“What did you say?” she replied, and she slid her fingers on the insides of her thighs, very inconspicuously. Still, he noticed.

“I said you’re beautiful and young…” he replied, licking his lips and tossing the cigarette out of the window.

“And it was a generalization? Or an observation?” she was witty, and it made her mature, which caught her up with the rest of her body.

“It was an observation. You’re a lovely girl…” he replied, and only glanced at her. She bit her bottom lip and smiled. Then she released her seat belt, leaned up, and pulled her tank-top over her head. He swerved the wheel nervously, and looked over at her plump little tits, hanging in red-silk cups. The tips of her blonde hair hung around her chest and shoulder blades.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he almost yelled at her and she giggled.

“Come on, Mr. Devure. I’m not being shy…” her voice was taunting and sexy. He tried not to look, but failed frequently. And she loved it when he did. “And you shouldn’t be either...”

“Its not about me being shy, Lexia. Now put your shirt on..." he was nervous at her almost-naked body, and she laughed at him in defiance.

“Geez, Ian! Loosen up a little! Its just you and me!” she laughed again, raised her ass up from the seat, and unbuttoned her pants. He saw and glimpse of red panties that matched the bra, before he reached over and pushed her hands away.

“No! Hey!” he swerved the craft again, and another person honked at him. When he released her hands to grab the wheel again, she slid the frayed waistband of the jeans under her ass, exposing her panties. She held them where they were, and made her eyebrows dance with anticipation.

“Wooo-hoooo, baby!” she yelled, and wiggled her hips excitedly. He was glancing over more often now, and she pulled the jeans down around her ankles. She put her seatbelt back on and put her left hand on his shoulders and his chest. He took a deep breath, and looked over at her.

“Stop it…” he was trying hard to be a strong man. He had never been a good man, but he felt like this was as good of a place as any, to draw a line.

She pouted her lips playfully, and slid her hand down his stomach, on a course for his pants.

He slammed on the brakes and pulled off of the road. They were in a residential area, with a fair distance between each house. Her eyes were large and he pushed her hands off of him.

“Listen, Lexia. Don’t take this wrong, but…I can’t do this. I’m old enough to be your father.”

“Actually, you’re off by about four years…” she replied.

“Assume I had you young.” he replied, and she giggled. “We can’t do this! You are a very beautiful girl…and I should say woman…but I have to refuse this! And please don’t uh…let it…ah…be of any regard as to how you view yourself.” he was extremely nervous, and fighting his urges.

“Mr. Devure, please. Its no big deal. I think you’re very sexy…and I’m young…and so easily-taken advantage of…” she moaned the last words, and leaned towards him slowly. He looked down at her breasts, and almost grabbed one, but clinched his hand into a fist instead.

“And that’s why we can’t do it…” he replied, and leaned against the door. She rolled her eyes, and laughed conclusively.

“Well…we don’t have to have sex then. We can just…mess around, you know?” she was so fucking eager that it made him hurt. And she had her hand on his chest again, rubbing it softly. Her nipples were making protrusions through her bra, and the fat of her breasts was swelling proudly. He actually felt sweat on his forehead, and found himself breathing heavily.

“Damnit, Lexia…I’m taking you home now…” he replied, and promptly pulled back onto the road.

“Awww…” she was being sexy, but annoying.

“Don’t patronize me…” he hissed, and she giggled again. This time, he hadn’t removed her hands from his chest. She leaned over the console between them, and her right hand rubbed the crotch of his pants. There was an erection rubbing against her palm, and she noticed that it felt thick.

“Ohhhh God, Ian…” she moaned, and continued to fondle him. He raised a proud eyebrow and took another breath, trying to maintain normal speed on the road.

“Don’t, please…” he was mumbling now, and he had completely given-in. She stretched her neck out and kissed his neck softly, as she took her time, palming his erection through his pants.

“I want to play with it, Mr. Devure…” she whispered, and reached for his belt. With one hand, she unfastened the belt, unbuttoned his pants, and unzipped them. She saw white boxer shorts beneath his slacks, and thought that they looked good on him. What was better, was what lay beneath the cotton undies. He gripped the steering-wheel tightly, and groaned loudly when she wrapped her hand around his cock, and pulled it free of his pants. It stood up tall and proud in his lap, and her hands went back down to retrieve his balls. She pulled his scrotum out, and it hung neatly beneath his shaft. Her hands were soft and smooth, as she took a good grip of his staff, and began to slide the skin up and down.

His penis certainly met her expectations. It was tall and fat, at least eight inches. By far, the biggest that she had ever seen. And she hadn’t seen many at all, to be exact. Now she stroked him gently, kissing his neck, and she felt warmth spreading between her legs. Her breasts felt swollen and tight, and she could feel her nipples stretching to their limits.

“See, Mr. Devure? There’s no harm in a little playfulness…” she whispered between kisses, and his face was red now, and he was breathing hard. He didn’t reply.

“Why aren’t you talking, baby?” she asked, and she was picking up her own breathing now, as her hand picked up a faster pace.

“I wish you wouldn’t do this…” he groaned, still death-gripping the wheel.

“You’re lying, Mr. Devure. Look at your fat cock…its standing up for me…and my wet little panties…” she was taunting him, and he wished that he could just orgasm right then, and get it over with.

She stopped kissing him, sat back into her seat, switching to her left hand, but never missing a beat on his cock. Her forearms were starting to burn a little from the exertion. He looked over curiously, as she was reaching across from her seat to beat him off. And sure as shit, she was touching herself. Her fingers were sliding down the front of her panties, and he could see them wiggling beneath the crotch of her red panties. Her legs opened, and her ass slid forward in the seat, and she watched his cock with lust in her eyes.

Then she put on a hell of a show, and he couldn’t help but wonder how she learned it. She propped one foot on the dash, giving just enough liberty to see her pussy. Just enough of it anyway. Then with one hand on his cock, and the other buried knuckle-deep in her snapper, she began doing both simultaneously. She would stroke his cock down, and at the same time, slide three fingers into her pussy. Stroke her hand slowly up his penis, and at the same time pull her fingers out of her box. And she was acting like it was his cock. She moaned incessantly, and bucked her hips upward with each thrust of her fingers. He began trying to watch the road, and her display at the same time. She put this show on for a long while, and would speed up the pace occasionally, jabbing at her own pussy, bucking her hips wildly, and screaming at the top of her lungs. It created a wonderful illusion of actual intercourse, and he wished that he had taken her up on the actual offer. Regardless though, he felt a surge rushing to the tip of his penis, and he jerked violently, as a spurt of semen literally exploded into the air, and landed on the steering wheel. She moaned with satisfaction, and slowed down the pace, as she pumped out the rest of his semen, one slow, tight stroke at a time.

His face was flushed, and he was breathing heavier than ever. She tickled her pussy for a little longer, with a face that looked as if she had been fucked. She moaned and whimpered wearily, before she pulled her fingers out, straightened the crotch of her panties, and looked at the slime on her fingers. He saw it as well, and didn’t know what to say. She grinned coyly again, reached over, and wiped her juices on his slowly-deflating cock.

“Next time…maybe I won’t have to use my fingers to get it on there…” she whispered, and reached down to pull her pants up.

He groaned deeply, and with one hand, stuffed his penis back into his pants. It was sticky and slimy, and tip of it was burningly-sensitive. He looked over to watch her slide her pants on, and then the shirt, and she smiled at his observation.

The craft turned onto her street, and within a quarter of a mile, stopped in front of her house. She was fully clothed now, and was pulling her knapsack from the back seat.

“Well…” he said quietly, and very awkwardly.

“Mr. Devure, really. Don’t act so weird…” she smiled and chuckled, and opened the door to get out.

“Okay. Well…uh…thank you. It was pretty good…” he grinned and nodded his head.

“Pretty?” she asked, shockingly.

“Yeah. You need a little work…but you’re on th’ right course.” he replied, and she raised her eyebrow at him.

“Fuck you, Mr. Devure. Are you in the office everday around five?” she asked and he immediately grew uneasy.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! I can’t have that. Not in the office!” he replied and she laughed victoriously.

“Yeah, we’ll see…” she was getting out now, and he leaned over to yell.

“No, Lexia! Don’t come by my office!”

“Bye, Mr. Devure. Oh! I almost forgot…” she ran around the front of his car, and he watched her breasts as they bounced with each step. He rolled down his window, so that she could lean in and give him a friendly kiss on the lips.

“Thanks for the ride…” she replied. He looked at her house nervously.

“Look…this is exactly why I didn’t want to do that. Your mother can not know about any of this!”

“Yeah, no shit, Ian. Don’t worry. I get my craft back from the garage on Tuesday. I’ll stop by…” she replied and immediately trotted towards her house.

He was nervously yelling after her.

“Not the office, damnit!” he realized that she couldn’t hear him, and most certainly would be stopping by the office. Gayla, his jealous secretary would see her, and quite possibly, it would get around to Mrs. Grant. And what if the girl went psycho? Young dames were bad about blackmailing over-eager, over-aged pricks. She wasn’t outside of the law, but her mother would most certainly have his ass. So he figured, anyway. And just to think, he had thought about banging her mother the first time she stepped into his office. He never thought that she had a daughter that rivaled her in beauty and finesse.

And still there was Gayla, on top of the angry mother. She was jealous and prying, and would have no doubts as to why young Lexia Grant was visiting him privately. He would have to send her to lunch or something.

"No, damnit! You’re not going to touch her!"

Why did she have to play like that? All of the young ones did it. He hated his hormones, and even more, the lack of control over them.