The Lamb and Lion Middle Eastern Restaurant was candle lit at every table. The various patrons' conversations were a dull background buzz. The wait staff uniform was tuxedo without the top coat, giving the venue an upscale atmosphere. The clientele were a mixture of groups: a few couples seated in romantic seclusion and elsewhere parents accompanied by teenaged offspring ostensibly along to get some exposure to dining etiquette and table manners. Apparently, that was a mixed bag of success.
The sandwich board marquis at the entrance had advertised the floor show for the evening, a trio of belly dancers. A quadrant of the dining room center was occupied by a parquet floor and stage lighting. Zack and Carrie were seated on its far side. After their entrees arrived, the lights dimmed and a voice announced the first act. An older woman attired in flowing skirts, jeweled bodice and colorful coin spangled veils gave a good showing, well-practiced in the ancient art form. Her moves were fluid: snake arms, hip pops and figure eights with dramatic belly rolls. Zack respected the traditional performance which avoided the tourist trapping swirled torches and head balanced scimitars. Several of the knowing patrons tipped the dancer with small cash as she swayed beneath the shower of money.
There was an intermission as the waiters refilled glasses and cleared away dishes. The second dancer was younger, more energetic and flexible, her smile playing to the audience. The gentlemen patrons were extra attentive. Pausing mid-dance, she invited the younger clientele to join her on stage. The waiters walked among the tables beseeching the female teenagers to take the stage. Some parents were more outwardly encouraging than others. The belly dancer helped the girls experiment with hip rolls and sliding walks, while snaking their wrists and forearms skyward. It was all fun. Several of the chicly dressed young ladies were striking in their natural nubile beauty.
At the end of the dance, the professional belly dancer distributed business cards to the more eye-catching amateurs before they returned to their tables. Zack asked about the cards and Carrie retrieved one for him. It was a standard publicity advertisement for complementary dance school lessons. On the reverse side was a simply printed telephone number underwritten by the phrase 'Scholarships Available'. Zack recognized the Total Woman Academy's unlisted special number. TWA scouts gave that number to the choicest females they found. The operator vetted the curious callers and routed the prime candidates onward into the system of in-depth interviews, detailed background checks and recommendations for TWA recruitment and enrollment.
Zack scanned the room and saw that the crème de la crème of the daughters in the room were studying the cards. They were well groomed, fashionably dressed, fit and fresh faced. Some parents were dismissive and waved away the cryptic summons. They were unaware that this rare opportunity could transform their daughters' fortunes forever. Others, the more cultured looking parents, well attired and mannered, were solemnly heartening their daughters to pursue the mysterious prospect. Zack thought some of those fathers looked vaguely familiar.
Zack was the TWA Emeritus Coach Tutor and took pride in his unique professional responsibilities. In addition to his exhausting regular school schedule, Zack championed the TWA Free Will Weekends. Invited Guest Coach Tutors shared their time and energies by mentoring the TWA scholars in the finer points of the exceptional TWA poise curriculum. Zack generally didn't retain memories of the Guest Coach Tutors. He was more likely to remember the ardent female pupils into which he drilled a quality sexual education.
Even now, Zack's primary attention was surveying this pool of potential student candidates. Zack visualized future private scenarios where he would personally oversee their comprehensive education. He imagined their fresh faces with sucking cherry red lips wrapped around his erection, their upward peering eyes swooning as their throats gulped down his invaluable teachings.
Here and there, Zack saw a vaguely familiar gent reassuring his teenaged offspring with a handclasp above the linen table cloth. His other hand was concealed beneath the table adjusting his crotch. The Free Will Weekend rosters assigned sequential pair-ups at random. Inevitably, a Guest Coach Tutor father found himself paired with his student daughter. Fickle fate was to be venerated and honored with robust obedience. There were never complaints. Impetuous incest was part of life's variety; a penchant to be cherished when acted upon away from society's moral meddling.
Was this Daddy anticipating sensuous foreplay followed by the transfer of his pearly inheritance from the family jewels into his grown offspring's velvety treasure box? Would the fully-grown cock penetrated hips bouncing hard against his groin be same hips that had bounced hard long ago against his knees while playing horsey? Would her angelic voice be devilishly moaning 'Faster, Daddy... Faster!' as her lips suckled his ear in their conjoined carnal embrace?
