It was an exclusive restaurant; snowy white tablecloths, heavy gleaming flatware, sparkling crystal and china, soft lights, quiet jazzy versions of standards played on a grand piano, invisible waiters who silently materialized only when needed, excellent food and drink . . . the kind of place where multi-million dollar deals are concluded over coffee and brandy and where a rich man takes a new mistress to show her who he is.
The only discordant note was the formidable dowager a few yards away occasionally shifting her attention from her young, well-groomed male companion to glare at our table. I could almost hear her thoughts.
That man and . . . girl. They're well-dressed but she looks . . . cheap . . . wearing that short skirt and a blouse so tight her nipples are showing. Isn't she too young to be a call girl? He's not very old, but she called him 'Daddy.' Why does he let his daughter dress like a whore?
If Tracy noticed the old woman's disapproval, she gave no sign. She rarely drank and was a little giggly from the two glasses of wine she'd had with the meal. We finished our simple fruit dessert, declined brandy, and prepared to leave.
Tracy rose to her feet. Although her clothes were very attractive, she wasn't wearing the basic black evening gown, which was nearly de rigueur for a restaurant of this class. Instead, she was mouth-wateringly beautiful in shiny black low-heeled shoes, white nylons, and a soft black suede skirt ending at mid-thigh, a slender white leather belt, and a long-sleeved black raw silk blouse with a plunging neckline, narrow enough to be discreet yet deep enough to make it clear she wasn't wearing a bra.
The black blouse set off her straight shoulder-length blonde hair and pale skin. Her face was striking, rather than conventionally pretty, with square Germanic features and icy blue eyes warmed by her ready smile.
Tiny diamond studs glittered at her earlobes. She was tall, 5' 10", and athletic, with a tiny waist and flat stomach. Her breasts were the size and shape of half-baseballs, with upturned nipples clearly outlined beneath the clinging fabric. A tiny gold star dangled between her breasts on an almost-invisible chain.
"Classical guitar is so strange," Tracy said, continuing our conversation about her college classes. "Dr. Mitchell wants me to improvise, but freaks out if I ever get close to a blues scale. I guess he doesn't think it's really music."
The matre'd opened the door for us. I let her precede me outside. My cock stirred as I watched her muscular buttocks working beneath the tightly-stretched fabric of her skirt. I was so glad I wasn't really her father.
"Have a pleasant evening, Mr. Johnson . . . and Miss Johnson," the matre'd said. The valet already had my sports car outside the entrance and was opening the passenger door for Tracy. I could sense his heat when he discreetly watched Tracy's skirt ride up her delectable thighs as she slid into the seat.
"Daddy, it's such fun going out with you," Tracy gushed, leaning over to kiss my cheek as I climbed into the car. She continued talking about her guitar lessons as we pulled away. "It's so funny not using a pick. Just playing with my fingers almost feels like a piano."
I thought about her long sensitive fingers with their closely-trimmed nails and the things she could do with them.
"I'm getting SO hot," she said.
I looked over at her. Her face was shadowed, but her lithe body was clearly illuminated by the glow from the instruments. Tracy's legs were open and she'd never bothered to tug her skirt down. With restless hands, she was steadily stroking her nylon-clad inner thighs.
"My thong is really wet," she whispered. "Feel it." She caught my hand and guided it into place. I gently stroked her folded flesh through the sopping fabric. She was incredibly hot.
"Look at that road," Tracy said. "Let's turn in."
I reluctantly removed my hand from her body to downshift and applied the brakes. We glided past the elaborate brick and stone entrance with the "Coming Soon!" sign.
The smooth pavement ended abruptly after a quarter mile. We continued down the roughly bulldozed trail and stopped in front of a new house's skeleton. She was on me as soon as I'd killed the engine and switched off the headlights, grabbing my head and kissing me hungrily.
"Play with my snatch," she commanded. "I'm burning up." She unfastened her seat belt and slid her pelvis forward, opening her thighs wider to give me easy access.
I pulled her thong to one side and slid two fingers into her pussy.
"God yes Daddy!" she cried. "Finger fuck me." She unfastened her blouse with fumbling fingers and pulled it open, exposing her beautifully exotic breasts.
Tracy twisted her nipples roughly as I drove my fingers into her vagina, angling them to catch her G-spot, while my thumb stroked her swollen clitoris. She began to scream and thrash almost immediately.
"Cum for me, Baby Doll!" I growled. "Cum for your Daddy!"
Her pussy muscles clamped my thrusting fingers and her back arched. She bucked and moaned for a long time before finally collapsing back onto the seat, gasping for breath.
I jumped out of the driver's seat. Without giving Tracy any time to recover from her orgasm, I pulled her from the passenger seat and pressed her against the side of the car.
As I unzipped my pants, I cried, "You're my hot slut daughter! My cock gave you life. Now it's going to fuck your sweet little cunt!"
"Oh yeah, Daddy! Give it to me! Put it between my pussy lips and drive it . . . OOOHHH!! YEEAAAHH!! . . . So good! . . . All the way up to your balls! . . . Ram my snatch with the cock that fucked me into Mom! Fuck me hard! Shoot your seed in me! Yeah! Yeah! I'm your baby daughter and you're fucking me. OHMYGOD!! You're spraying inside me and I'm cumming . . ."
When our orgasms had run their mutual course, Tracy went limp against the side of the car. Only my hands gripping her waist prevented her from slipping to the ground.
"Oh Bob!" she gasped when she was able to speak again. "That was so good! My pussy sure is smoking tonight!"
"That's my little girl," I purred after kissing her thoroughly. "Now, get in the car. Daddy's got a lot more for you when we get home."
"Oh Goody!!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands in mock little-girl excitement.
We were mostly silent during the drive to my house. Our hands on each other's thighs communicated better than words. I wondered why I found playing "father and daughter" so exciting, but I wasn't going to let that interfere with pleasing Tracy.
Tracy headed for the bathroom as soon as we arrived home. "It's a good thing we didn't get stopped," she commented, examining herself in the mirror. "My hair and lipstick are all messed up and my blouse isn't buttoned right."
Most of her lipstick was on my face. "The next time I fuck you in the middle of a construction site at night, we'll have an inspection before we leave."
Tracy giggled as she wiped the lipstick from our faces with a tissue. Suddenly, she looked puzzled. "Did you hear something?"
"No. What was it?"
She was still for a moment, then answered, "Just my imagination, I guess." She took my hand as she added, "Come on, let's go to bed. I want to be your incredibly naughty little girl tonight."
We stopped at the door between the bathroom and bedroom for a long intense kiss. I slipped my hands down Tracy's back to cup her buttocks and pull our bodies tightly together.
"I'm glad you like my ass so much," she purred when we finally separated. "I love this room," she added, turning around slowly. The main feature was a king-size bed with a low headboard, just enough to hold the pillows in place. A large mirror covered the wall behind the headboard.
I turned on the rope lights surrounding the mirror and switched the overheads off, filling the area around the bed with a warm golden glow and leaving the rest of the room in deep shadow.
I reached for Tracy, but she pushed me away, saying "I want to strip for you."
She stopped with her fingers on the top button of her blouse. "Bob, what does Liz think about me . . . us?"
Liz had been my steady girlfriend for over a year.
"She's not jealous. She likes having other partners, just like I do."
"I know. Does she like girls? I'm not gay, but I do want to try another woman some time."
"You've told me that before. Why don't you ask her? She doesn't bite . . . not in an unpleasant way. Now, weren't you saying something about stripping for your father?"
"Sure . . . Father." Tracy made an impressively erotic production of kicking her shoes off and removing her skirt and blouse.
I pulled her still-moist thong down, leaving her clad only in her white nylons. It only took me seconds to shed my own clothes, then we were rolling together on the bed.
"What's so funny, Daddy?"
"Your stockings. That's what your Mom was wearing the night I impregnated her with you, except hers were black fishnet and she kept her black spike heels on."
"Cool! Was she being your incredibly naughty little girl?"
"No! She was my absolutely filthy big girl. You're too young and innocent to hear about all the nasty things we did that night."
"I guess that explains why I'm such a dirty slut. You really started me off right!"
"You're so sweet and innocent. I'm glad my little girl doesn't have a clue . . . yet."
I was on my back. Tracy was straddling me, rubbing her hot core against my stiff prick. Her swollen clit was pressing against my cock head.
"Come on Daddy," she begged. "Tell me how you knocked Mommy up. Better yet, show me."
"I already told you 'no.' You're just lucky I came in the right hole that night."
