Doing the Doctor's Daughter

This continues the introduction of Cindy in GINNY TURNS PRO, Ch. 3. Just click on my name and go to the link to read that one. Many thanks for your votes and feedback. We welcome them.

I’m proud of myself. I turned down a generous offer of sex from a beautiful young woman – girl, really – which could easily have upset my conventional, yet entertaining, life. I didn’t refuse her because of a noble principle. I’m not sure what that might be anymore. Instead, I rejected her out of fear of being caught fucking her either by my family, friends or business acquaintances.

Such a conflict is not new to me. My current marriage is stable, largely because of lessons learned from many infidelities during previous marriages. My wife, Lee, close to my own age of 50, is happily involved with her family, having a married daughter and son Mike, soon to be wedded. My business is successful and allows me access to a rich tapestry of activities, not the least important of which is enjoying the company of women. I’ve elsewhere described myself as a “pussy junkie,” though the current vernacular might be “horn dog.” Regardless, my habit of being unfaithful has become so regular that it seems only when I break it – by declining a woman’s carnal request – does it result in a quandary that is taxing if not insoluble.

Though pleased with my decision to turn down the enticing and vivacious Cindy, an 18-year-old ice skating student of my prospective daughter-in-law Ginny, I fear that in doing so I may have created a greater problem than I’d anticipated. Because Ginny and I are ourselves in the midst of a blistering, two-month-long affair, recently complicated by including her married ice skater friend, Carol, I wonder if I might find a more graceful resolution to the situation by informing all three women that I’ve decided to cease all extramarital activities.

That

might prove the end of the whole, ridiculous soap opera.

But it wouldn’t be very exciting. Nor would it do justice to the stunningly exquisite Cindy, whose young life already has been molded by the exigencies of raging hormones, wealthy, spoiling parents, and the bitter perils facing an intelligent though naïve, barely-legal beauty in a show business environment peopled by the conniving and rapacious.

Last Sunday Cindy propositioned me in my offices after I concluded an afternoon-long sexual debauch with Ginny and Carol, both principal organizers of an ice show under my direction that starred the 18-year-old. Now Cindy is prepared to audition with professional ice companies. I’d gotten to know the girl from a distance due to her father’s involvement as lead financial backer of the show and, unbeknownst to Ginny and Carol, she’d engineered a meeting with me after my two paramours had left my photo studio. Visibly hurt when I refused her advances, she said she’d contact me about a “thank you” party soon to be thrown by her doctor father.

So, I wasn’t surprised when late in the day on Thursday Cindy called the office. “Jay? Daddy asked me to call and see if you could come to the house for cocktails tonight,” she said in her high, sing-song voice.

“Uhh, I guess I can make it, Cindy,” I said. My wife, Lee, has sorority meetings on Thursday nights, so I was free. “Are Ginny and Carol coming?” I questioned, implicitly making their presence a condition of my attendance.

“Mm-hmm, on their way,” she said, quickly. “It’s real windy out here, so we probably can’t swim.”

“That’s okay,” I snickered. “I’d be uneasy with all you gorgeous babes in swim suits, anyway,” I confessed, glad that the blustery, late October weather might force everyone to remain discreetly clothed.

I left the office early to make the 25 mile trip, and had some minor difficulty driving into the hot winds that in autumn blow into California from the eastern deserts. An annual fire hazard, in southern California they’re called “Santa Anas,” and in the north, “Diablo winds,” or the more benign “offshore flow.” Whatever. For a couple of weeks they cause police departments to have fits, and jail cells to swell, as they make people crazier even than during full moon cycles.

I arrived at Cindy’s parents’ house and it was blowing hard. It was dusk, and I dodged a couple of fallen tree branches as I made my way to the front door. Carol’s car was nowhere to be seen, I observed, casually. Three rings of the doorbell brought no one. Walking around to the side of the house, I heard music coming from the pool area, barely audible over the howling wind. I yelled for Cindy a couple of times, went back to the front door, and rang the bell again. A light came on in the foyer and the door opened to reveal Cindy, her chest rising and falling from running.

“Sorry! I was in the pool and heard ya’ call me! Did ya’ wait long?” she asked. She wore a white, floor-length terrycloth robe and her black, Dutch-boy haircut and pert, foxy face were dripping with water. The belted robe accentuated her exaggeratedly curvy figure.

“Nope,” I said, stepping inside as the wind-driven door slammed behind me. “Everybody in back?” I asked, as she turned and skipped toward the rear of the house and the pool deck.

I caught up with her at the dimly-lit bar just inside the french doors leading to the deck. She turned quickly and gasped excitedly, “Before ya’ say anything…I lied.” Smiling guiltily, she admitted, “Mom and Daddy are still at the lake…an’ you’re the only one I called.”

“Damn it, Cindy! I told you we couldn’t do this!” I blurted to her. “Lying to me only makes it worse!”

“Oh, Jay, I’m sorry! But, how can I…how can I…talk to you if you always push me away?” she whined, stepping toward me. I exhaled disgustedly, shaking my head, and turned away. Then she bribed me by asking, “Want a drink?”

“Yeah, okay, scotch…over ice,” I said, exasperated but thirsty.

“Single malt okay?” she asked, emptying what was left from a bottle into a large tumbler.

“Thanks,” I mumbled, wanting to say I didn’t drink single malt with ice. She passed the glass to me, caressing my hand as she did so.

“Come relax. Please!” Cindy said, as she glided over to a couch, pointing for me to sit as she plopped onto a nearby ottoman. Her long, white robe parted in front to reveal her muscular skater’s legs from toe to high on the thigh. My groin pulsed as her knees glistened.

“First, about last Sunday,” she chirped, “Sorry I was so pushy. But I’d wanted ta’ talk to you when we were rehearsing the show and didn’t have a chance. Like I said, I know about you and Ginny and, while I was waiting outside for her to leave with Carol, I met your neighbor and we talked for the longest time,” she confessed, looking at me for a reaction.

The room was silent except for the howling winds outside. I looked at her, clinking the ice as I sipped, and asked, quietly, “Which neighbor?”

“You know, the pretty, dark lady…Erica…the doctor,” she said, trying innocently to hide some secret in the deep blue eyes that glinted from behind long, black lashes.

I took a long gulp from my glass, listening to the wind, and thought, Christ! Erica! That manipulative wench! What plot have you two dreamed up? “What’d you guys talk about?” I asked, probingly.

“Well,” Cindy purred, pursing her round, red mouth, “She said you were real popular in the neighborhood and that you’d…ya’ know…been together.” She said this softly, groping for a delicate way to put it, as she placed both hands in her lap and leaned forward with embarrassed emphasis.

“And I’ll bet you two just happened to be outside when we were ‘wrapping up the afternoon,’” I accused, euphemistically referring to Sunday’s wild threesome and wanting to expose Cindy’s duplicity.

“Well…yeah, we started to knock but it sounded like you were…ya’ know…busy, so we just went back to my car and talked,” she continued, fingering her black bangs, which by now had dried. “An’ later we went to her place for a cup of tea.”

“Mm-hmm,” I acknowledged, draining my glass and feeling more relaxed.

“Want another?” Cindy asked.

“You finished the bottle,” I said, wanting to retain all my sober faculties for this situation.

“C’mon, Jay. Daddy buys it by the case,” she giggled. “He, uhh…drinks a lot.”

My mind reeled at the ramifications of that statement, but I just filed it away. “Okay, Cindy, you’ve got your audience. Tell me more!” I said, as she got up to open another bottle and refresh my drink. The sash untied and her robe opened as she rose. Her succulent, young body flashed at me as she passed, and my breath caught as her breasts and loins showed only the briefest, black bikini. Outside, the winds grew in intensity and the dim light over the bar flickered from some brief power interruption.

“Well, like I said, I’ve got lotsa’ friends, but they’re all so young,” she said, repeating herself from the previous Sunday. She passed me the double scotch over the back of the couch and came around to stand in front of me as she retied her robe. She then sat next to me, slowly sitting on one underlying leg, which reopened her robe to reveal her front to her vulva, covered only by the thin, black triangle of her bikini bottom. Her probing look silently questioned the effects the calculated move had on me. “The guys I know are all so silly and selfish. They just don’t know how to treat me. An’ I know you do. I mean, everybody says…”. Then, catching herself, she tried another tack: “An’ I’ve always liked older men! Ya’ know…Daddy’s friends…”. Deciding against continuing in that vein, she snorted, breezily, “It’s not like I’m a virgin or anything!” trying as a teenager does to emulate her version of a worldly woman.

Unimpressed, I challenged in a monotone, “How old are you, Cindy? You say you’re 18. Prove it to me!” Though weakening, I found it impossible that this beauty could in any way need an old man’s sexual favors except, perhaps, to win a bet.

She sighed, then left the room for a moment, returning with her purse. I’d gotten up to look at the pool and wind-swept trees through the french doors, desperately needing some air to relieve my simmering hostility and the pervasive sexual tension. Showing me her driver’s license, I saw that she was, indeed, of legal age. “Where are your birth control pills?” I demanded, assuming – though ambivalently – that she had them.

Reaching into her purse, she produced the plastic container, which I studied closely. “Been on ‘em since I was 16!” she bragged, flashing a proud smile.

“And Ginny? What about Ginny?” I asked, probing for a guilty reaction. “She’s worked with you for years, prepping you to be a pro, and now you want to nail her…her lover…behind her back!”

“Ginny’s my coach, Jay, and I

love

her!” Cindy gushed. “But I’m gonna be gone a whole year, I hope! Soon as I get with an ice company! I just can’t see myself going on tour when I’m so…so…”. Her voice trailed off, wheedling to nothing as she sought the right word.

“Sexually inexperienced?” I blurted out, relieved to pierce her mendacious veil. I hesitated to state that a one-year tour would provide her with ample opportunities to gain a world of practice.

“Umm, yeah…I guess,” she said, uncertainly, curling one hand toward me and moving her hips in that slow, self-conscious, equatorial circle that she’d done a few days earlier when attempting her seduction of me.

Jeezus! I thought. Another horny female who wants to

borrow

me! “I need some air, Cindy,” I mumbled, opening the french door onto the deck and stepping outside. I walked to a large picnic table and placed my half-full glass on it, shrugging out of my jacket to let the wind cool me off. I love the hot wind, I thought to myself. So pure, so cleansing, so…arousing!

Cindy slipped to my side, took my arm and, looking at the pool, pressed to close the sale. “Ginny doesn’t have ta’ know, Jay. Nor does Carol.” She turned to look in my eyes, “C’mon, I know you’re doing her too! Besides, Ginny’s getting married! I’ll be gone a year and then I’m off to college. You’ll probably never see me again after a coupla’ weeks!” she rationalized, speaking above the gusting wind.

I looked down at her innocent-looking, beguiling face, and decided not to tell her of Ginny’s plans involving me, especially after her marriage. The wind blew through my hair, and Cindy reached up to tenderly move a lock off my forehead. “I just wanta’…,” she said, with pleading blue eyes.

I’d like to say that the wind made me crazy. Not true. It only momentarily intensified my month-long sexual hunger for this kid. Yeah, she was a kid. But, as I pulled her to me, reaching inside her robe to pull it off her shoulders and let it fall to the table top, I knew that once again I was about to receive a wanton, woman-creature’s sublime gifts. The wind only made it a bit more romantic; no, wilder, more savage. Though Cindy wanted “help,” as she put it, I sensed that she also wanted a memorable tryst, and I was now prepared to provide her with a singular experience.

It was hot for nighttime, maybe 80°, and we were both perspiring a bit. I placed my hands on her neck, causing her to whimper, and moved them lower to her strong shoulders. Her body was a study in firmness. Her color was of fine alabaster, occasionally showing a bright vein or artery pumped full of her hot, youthful blood. She closed her eyes and sighed as my hands moved down her upper arms, and her 36C-cup breasts beckoned to me as I stroked inside her arms and down her torso to her impossibly small, 22” waist. She gasped as my fingers moved to her hard tummy, bisected by the subtle, vertical, muscular crease I’d detected weeks before while she was in her skating costume. The sudden flare of her hard hips filled my palms before my hands moved behind her to caress her lavish behind, squeezing its expanse with my fingers to judge its resilience. She moaned above the wind as I retraced my fingers’ paths and moved upward to her sublime breasts, heaving now with deep breaths.

I swiftly unfastened her top, and Cindy’s tits sprang forth with glorious abandon, topped with bright pink nipples and small, slightly darker aureoles. I leaned down to kiss her, breathing my scotch-soaked breath into her as she groaned deeply in her throat and threw both arms around my neck. Cupping her tits and softly rubbing her nipples, I licked my way down to her cleavage and detected a hint of chlorine from her earlier swim. Licking around and under each breast, I looked up to see her watching me with studied fascination until she closed her eyes and groaned again while I sucked with increasing pressure on one nipple, then the other. She began to tremble slightly and gasped, “Jay…my legs…my knees…ooh, I’m so…weak,” then she stiffened as I slipped her bikini thong off to drop to the deck.

Cindy blushed as I brushed the thin, vertical, patch of her otherwise shaved pubic area. Perfect for a skater, I thought, remembering her daring splits during her ice skating routine. Then I embraced her fully, drawing her up on tiptoe and crushing her body to me in a powerful embrace as I assaulted her mouth once again with my tongue. My clothed, erect cock pressed into her belly and, quickly, my hand slid to her labia, which were slick with her collected, teenage juices. She relaxed completely and let me hold her up as I groped every part of her. Then she began hunching her vulva against my hand, accompanied by rapid little gasps. We clinched together, mouths fused and tongues plunging, and she opened her legs more, all the while grinding her mound against my fingers, now probing her vaginal folds. The wind blew a horrendous series of gusts and scattered elm leaves around us as I held her aloft…and she arched her back with her first orgasm. She emitted three high squeaks through clenched teeth as she peaked, gripping me hard by the shoulders and closing her eyes. Just a warm-up, I thought, as she thrust her pelvis a few more times, groaning gratefully.

I spread Cindy’s robe open fully on the table and pushed her back to lay down, her ass even with the table edge. Leaning over her and standing between her legs, she once again accepted my deep kisses as I proceeded to cover her upper body with my mouth and tongue. After spending many seconds sucking at her mouth, neck and tits, I licked downward toward her vulva and then laved wetly the shaven creases on either side of her vagina, at which she moaned loudly, “UuUNNH,” and lifted her legs so her calves were under my armpits. “God! I’m so hot for you, Jay!” she gasped. “Oooh, I need to touch you!”

I dropped my pants and boxers and my erection sprang forth proudly, its crown pulsing in the dim light. Cindy cooed a childlike sigh and raised up to grip my shaft in both hands, moving them from pelvis to glans with soft, loving strokes. “Oooh, you’re so big!” she said in wonderment, as a single drop of liquid oozed from the end to coat her thumb.

“Just enough for you, little girl,” I groaned above the wind. “Now…let me taste you.” She reluctantly disengaged her hold on me, leaving my dick to flop in the turbulent air.

Her pussy was a model of perfection. As close to virginal as I’d seen, I imagined. No surplus creases, no discolored labia to indicate even moderate usage. It was just a plump, succulent, slit between two pink – almost red – fleshy halves that nearly cried out for attention. And attention I gave it. Her clitoris emerged proudly from under its hood, pumped full of fresh blood, and I flicked it with my tongue, causing her to fling her hips up at me and utter a soft cry. I then moved my extended tongue downward to suck away the accumulated juices and reveled in her sweet taste as she moaned my name: “Ooh, Jay…ooh, Jay…ooh, it’s…yes!” she exclaimed, as once again the dim interior lights flickered from the storm.

There was just enough light on the covered deck to see Cindy’s phenomenal body, aided by the harvest moon. On her back, her breasts poked at the dusky sky, with near-red nipples hardened into plump, corky nubs. Her abdominal muscles strained to push her drooling cunt to my mouth as I sucked down her pungent, teenage fluids. Her hard, fleshy thighs repeatedly clamped against my ears as she felt the joyous throes of a mounting orgasm. The cords in her calves flexed as her toes pointed behind my head, then flexed again as she drew them back toward her breasts, trying to suck my lashing tongue into her voracious center. I grabbed her exquisite ankles in both hands, pushing them further upward so the plane of her crotch was entirely open to my demanding mouth. Her high whimpers and gasps became peeps and squeaks as I lashed her clit and alternately sucked her dripping inner labia past my lips to lightly nibble them with my teeth. As I grasped her nipples to twist and turn them, she exploded into a raging climax at the same moment that a blast of wind tore two fronds from a 20-foot palm tree and cast them into the pool. The noise was horrific, and surprise momentarily diverted my attention from her thrashing and yelping throes. “My God…my Godd…my Goddd,” she groaned, quivering and arching her body upward as she descended from her peak.

As she relaxed, I placed Cindy’s legs in the crooks of my arms and regarded her beauty. Weeks before I’d thought of her as a Winona Ryder lookalike. But, on conscious reflection, I remembered a porn star from the 70s who could’ve been her predated double. Desiree Costeau, I believe was her name. At 5’6”, with a 36-Cx22x36 physique, this girl was definitely a physical twin, given the characteristic roundness of all her parts. Tits, ass, thighs, calves, eyes, mouth, cheeks, her ski-jump nose, even her small, fox-like chin, were all delightfully round…yet the flesh was firm. There seemed to be no fat anywhere on her. As I gazed down at her flowery pussy, now open with engorged inner lips protruding, even it was especially plump looking. This was an alpha woman. And I wanted her. My month-long lusting for the vixen was about to end. And her lascivious, childlike curiosity was soon to be satisfied as my psyche screamed for that first touch of my cock to her sweet, teenage cunt.