WARNING:
The following story is for the entertainment of ADULTS ONLY, and contains descriptions of explicit sex. If you are not an adult, or reading sex stories upset you, or you are offended by subjects of a sexual nature - do not read any further!
This story is for entertainment only. It contains adult oriented material. This is a work of fiction. The acts and characters contained within are figments of my imagination and have no basis in fact. I do not practice, advocate, condone or encourage acts portrayed here. The characters in the story are entirely fictional. You need to believe that all of the characters are over the age of eighteen.
This story may not be reproduced in any form for profit without the written permission of the author. This story may be freely distributed with this notice attached.
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This is the fourth in my "(insert holiday name) Birthday" series. The first three are "Valentine Birthday", "Easter Birthday" and "Double Birthday." Readers have asked me to expand the series. This time, a girl's birthday coincides with our country's birthday celebration. Fireworks aren't the only things that get hot!
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"Daddy, they're doing fireworks at Puddle Park."
The park wasn't really called Puddle Park. That was a nickname. At the bottom of three steep hills, the park filled with water after any rainstorm. The local weather forecaster would report how much rain we got by how much of the swing sets were submerged. High and dry above the depression were parking lots for visiting citizens.
"So, Daddy, will you take us? Pleeeeese?"
"Us" was the shortcut for my daughter and her four closest friends. They went everywhere together. On our first outing, I got to know her friend and our neighbor Bree really well. Too well, in retrospect. I had taken her cherry on her eighteenth birthday. It wasn't my idea, really, although I guess I went along willingly. Then there was Marci, who fucked me like a bunny while I wearing an Easter bunny costume. I hadn't seen the girls as a group since then.
"Okay, I'll drive you all to the park for the fireworks display."
And so I drove our van through the extended neighborhood, gathering the budding young women.
"Hello, Mr. Marcus," Bree greeted me warmly.
"Hi, Bree," I responded, uncomfortable at hiding our intimate liaison.
"Hi, Mr. Marcus," said Marci, grinning broader than necessary.
I promised myself that no repeat episodes like those would occur this night.
My daughter and I were well prepared, but the girls brought extra blankets, snacks and whatever else young girls carry in those oversized shoulder bags they use as purses. Although all of the girls were dressed for the warm weather, Sally was dressed the most provocatively. Her shorts were handmade from regular blue jeans, but cut so high the cheeks of her ass stuck out from the backs and the two front pockets hung down from the extremely brief clipping on the front. Her crop-top was at least one size too small, and there was clear evidence she had left her bra at home. I locked up the van and we paraded down the slope towards the bottom.
"Let's set up next to the sandbox," my daughter demanded.
Once she had something in her head, there was no negotiating. The recent rain had turned the sand into semi-permeable concrete. The ground was damp. Fortunately, we had brought a plastic drop cloth to put down, so as not to ruin the blankets. The ground was not only damp but also cold and it took several layers of blankets to made a warm patch. The girls were playfully roughhousing and Sally got pushed off the blanket onto the cold damp turf.
"Eeeeoooo, I'm soaked," she cried.
When she stood up, I saw that her shorts and exposed buttocks were wet and dirty from the ground.
"I need to go back up to the van and change. Mr. Marcus, could I please have the key?"
"Don't let her go alone, Daddy. We'll be okay here. There are still four of us."
I agreed, following Sally up the steep hill. More than once Sally lost her footing on the damp grass, and I had to grab her to prevent her from tumbling down the embankment, taking me with her. I had several opportunities to touch her body, each time making a frantic grab regardless of where my hand landed. Her safety, not my pleasure, was my concern. By the time we got to the parking lot, I had accidentally groped Sally all over. I was not unaffected by these chance opportunities. I unlocked the van and opened the rear hatch, where the girls had stowed still more backpacks and duffel bags. Sally bent forward, giving me an extended look at her dirty, exposed buttocks. She found her duffel and searched for a change of clothing.
"I was sure I packed a pair of jeans, for when it got colder. I guess I must have left them at home. At least I have a towel."
Sally faced me and rubbed the towel back and forth her backside like a hula dancer. The rest of her body swayed with the movement. I kept reminding myself of the Valentine's Day and Easter incidents and my promise to myself to avoid a repeat.
Sally handed me the towel.
"Did I get all of the wet spots, Mr. Marcus?" Sally asked, spinning around and bending over slightly. By dragging the towel back and forth, Sally had displaced the crotch material of her shorts. Even in the dim parking lot lighting, I could see part of her pussy exposed.
"I think I have a wet spot. Could you get it for me?"
