My Father's Second Wife

This story follows immediately after the events in My Father's Second Wife, Ch 03. If you haven't read the previous chapters, I would strongly encourage you to begin there. This is not a short read; those seeking instant gratification might be better served elsewhere.

Special thanks go to kjplotts for her invaluable editing contributions.

Enjoy.

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The rest of the morning was pretty uneventful. I spent a lot of it trying not to flash everyone in the office. As much as I loved this dress, it had a distinct tendency to ride up when I walked, or bent over, or leaned back, or sat down, or stood up. I swear it was trying creep up just standing and talking to Tina. It was a great dress for a party, but as office attire it was exhausting.

They brought lunch in, and everyone worked through the afternoon. I didn't see Diane again. Mid-afternoon, everyone gathered in the common area. Dad and Margo appeared. Dad acknowledged people for jobs well done, projects finished, and so on, most of which I had no idea what they were talking about.

The Margo then made the big announcement. The company was having a party to close the deal with the Kyrgyzstan group. It would be held on a yacht and all senior staff members were invited, but it wasn't mandatory.

"Please dress for the beach," Margo explained. "Swimwear and flip-flops are encouraged. This should be a really fun evening, and there's going to be some special entertainment. You all have Charlotte to thank for this; it was kind of her idea."

I was stunned as a soft round of applause filled the office. Dozens of eyes suddenly turned my way. Most were thankful and appreciative. A few were clearly trying to figure out which one was "Charlotte." Some were wondering what the fuck I was doing wearing a cocktail dress to the office. I smiled, blushed, and tugged on the hem.

I was thankful when the attention turned back to Margo. She continued, "There will be a launch at pier 17 ferrying people to the yacht starting around 6:30, the fun will start around 8:00. Don't be too late."

Margo gestured that the announcements were over and everyone should back to work. Almost in unison, everyone turned and began filing out, chattering about the party and speculating what the "special entertainment" was. People I've never met started grilling me on the details. I had to tell them I didn't know that details, which got a few looks of disbelief.

When I got back to my cubical, there was message from Margo.

To: C. Grant.

From: M. Milholland

Charlotte,

Your father and I will be busy with details of the "Russian" contract all

evening. You can take you father's car home; he'll make other arrangements.

I've made an appointment for you in the executive spa tomorrow at 11:00.

See you then,

Margo

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I eased dad's Mercedes into the garage. As I got out of the car, I could see my dress had ridden up again on the drive home. "This dress is possessed!" I yelled to no one there.

I peeled off the dress and threw it on the ground. "You and I are done!" I told it, and stomped it with my shoe so it knew I meant business.

I walked into the house in just my heels. Kwan was in the kitchen, preparing something for dinner. Kwan, naturally, said nothing about my lack of clothing. I opened the refrigerator, bent over and got a Coke, making a great display of my ass. "Fuck it," I thought to myself.

I've spent the whole day trying to keep a half-inch of fabric over my privates. Tonight I'm not going to cover anything.

I spent the rest of the afternoon and evening naked. I had dinner—some kind of spicy tomato sauce with poached eggs and Feta cheese that Kwan whipped up. I watched some TV. I lounged a little by the pool. I even video chatted with Kate, my roomy from college.

"Your ta-tas are out!" Kate squealed with excitement.

"I'm all out today!" I said, emphasis on the "all." I lifted the tablet and panned the camera down my body, showing that I wasn't just topless, but bottomless and everything in betweenless too.

Kate gave me a wolf whistle. "When did you go all nudist, and why didn't you invite me?" she scolded. "You know, my nips like to get out too!" Kate started to unzip the charcoal grey sweatshirt she was wearing.

"Kate, I know. I've seen you're tits lots of time. I've probably seen your tits more than I've seen my own," I said. This did not stop Kate from unzipping her sweatshirt and throwing it open. Of course, Kate wore nothing underneath. Her dark, creamy, A-cup breasts clung firmly to her slender frame, topped with two disproportionately long nipples, even darker than her chocolate skin.

"Kate!" I yelled into the tablet, "You're in the library!" I reminded her, since she'd clearly forgotten.

"But they're so happy to see you," Kate pleaded as she shook her boobs at me. Kate didn't have enough boobs to shake, but she did manage to get them to quiver a bit.

And with that, Kate ignored my protest and started asking questions about my life, what was I doing, what parties had I gone to, had I been traveling, and when was I coming back to college? I evaded most of her questions, which was easy because Kate barely gave me a chance to answer one before jumping to the next. I hinted that I had a job. I left out the parts about me having sex with my dad and women. Although, in retrospect, I think that would have shut her up for a few seconds.

Kate glanced over her shoulder; she and I both spotted the pair of unhappy librarians advancing her way.

With a conspiratorial grin, she said, "They're either going to kick me out or invite me to a threesome! Either way, gotta go!"

I blurted out, "You have to come visit," without even thinking.

Kate's switched to an open-mouth expression of astonishment and said, "No, duh!" She crooked her little finger and held it up to the computer's web cam. "Pinky swear!" she said.

I did the same and promised, "Pinky swear."

The irate librarians had arrived. They were disconnecting the topless girl on the computer and trying to cover up the topless girl sitting in front of it. Ignoring them, Kate yelled, "Kisses!" and blew me a kiss.

Her image winked out.

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I was awake. My alarm hadn't gone off, yet I was already awake. That was my first surprise of the day.

After visiting the toilet and brushing my hair, I addressed the choice of today's outfit. From the outfits Margo had delivered, I picked the forest-green skater dress.

A skater dress is a tightly-fitted top with a high-waist and a circle skirt, typically knee to mid-thigh in length. You know, the kind of dress a skater wears.

When I was a little girl, I had a "twirl test." If the dress didn't twirl, I wouldn't wear it. A skater dress is engineered to twirl. If dress twirling were an Olympic sport, the skater dress would be the one to beat. Wait, ice skating is an Olympic sport. I digress.

As expected, Margo had picked out a very special cut and worked her "magic" on it. The skirt was clearly above mid-thigh, but not baby-doll short. There was at least four inches of fabric below my tender bits, and that's four more inches than I had yesterday.

What really made this dress stand out was that the sides were open to the waist. So instead of a fitted top, it was more of a tunic with a full skirt. If I wanted to show some epic side-boob, this was the dress to make it happen.

Margo said she really liked my breasts when we went shopping, but I was just now realizing how serious she was. While I tended to go for high hemlines that emphasize my legs and ass—and occasionally what's between my legs—every one of Margo's dress choices showcased my bust, either with extra cleavage, shear fabric, dramatic décolletage, or in this case, open sides.

I twirled around in front of the mirror. It was a damn cute dress—and sexy, in an innocent sort of way. A skater would be wearing this with spankies and tights. "Along with my panties, those days are gone," I sighed to myself. But unless I did a fast pirouette, it was hard to get the skirt to lift higher than my bare butt, and thanks to my extra-perky rack, the top remained reasonably modest. At least, as long as I didn't bend over too much...

This put me in a good mood. I needed an easy day, without the complications of another wardrobe malfunction.

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I was now relishing my role as mole, spy, secret agent, or whatever the hell I was. People were treating me just like any other intern, asking me to get the copy machine fixed or download the quarterly results for some company. Most had no idea I was the direct descendent of the man they all revered and aspired to.

Most importantly, I was getting plugged into the office gossip vine. That, I decided, might be truly valuable to my dad.

"Covert operative?" I asked myself. No, that wasn't right either. "Undercover?" I mused. Yes, that was accurate, and I enjoyed the double entendre.

Margo wasn't anywhere to be found this morning, so I just picked up where I left off yesterday, keeping my eye on the time so I didn't miss my 11:00 appointment.

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I was standing in front of the executive spa entrance waiting for the time on my phone to change from 10:59 to 11:00. I waved my phone next to the door, paused for the familiar green light, and went inside.

The sole occupants were Margo and girl in a black beautician's smock with white piping. Margo was reclining on one of the many wooden lounge chairs that circle the room. She wore only a white silk robe. The robe was closed just enough at the top to hide her nipples, the rest flung wide to reveal everything else.

The girl had jet black hair. That's about all I couldn't tell, as she was on her knees with her face buried between Margo's legs, obviously doing what girls do to other girl's pussies in these situations.

I walked around the wooden deck to where Margo was lying. She had her eyes closed and was clearly enjoying the affections of the black-haired girl.

"I'm here, as ordered," I offered cheerily.

Margo kept her eyes shut, but held up the palm of her hand in a gesture that clearly said, "Stop talking. Stop talking now."

I stood in silence as the faceless girl continued to ply Margo with her tongue. I was beginning to wonder how long I was expected to stand here. Finally, Margo's breathing becoming more ragged. Soon her hips were tensing and she was gripping the sides of the lounge. In another minute it was all over.

Margo inhaled deeply, slowly exhaled, and opened her eyes.

"Thank you, Yin Li," Margo said to the girl. I now recognized her as the girl we met the other day.

Yin Li turned to me and said, "Good morning, Miss Charlotte." I wanted to say, "Hey, you've got a little girl cum on your chin there," but I resisted.

Yin Li then stood up, bowed deeply to Margo, made a slight bow to me, and then retreated to wipe her face with a towel.

Margo had closed her eyes again—but not her legs.

"So why are we here?" I asked, not that I hadn't jumped at the chance to visit the executive spa again.

"I'm here to get some overdue grooming," she said, comically pointed a finger towards her crotch to indicate what needed grooming.

"I really wanted to get a full massage, because I desperately needed to relax. But I just don't have the time today, so I had Yin Li attend to that too," she said, alluding to the lip service Yin Li just performed.

"Not that Yin Li's skills are any way second best," Margo said loudly, to make sure Yin Li heard. Yin Li smiled, bowed again, and returned to her work.

"I brought you here for much the same," Margo continued. Finally, she'd managed to get around the topic I cared about—me.

I hadn't even noticed Yin Li sneak up behind me. Without warning, she unzipped my dress. Small hands slipped it off my shoulders, and before I could say "naked as a Jay bird," I was just that. Yin Li squatted on the floor behind me, waiting for me to step out of the dress, which I did. She placed it deftly on a wooden cart and produced a silk robe just like Margo's, efficiently slipping my arms into it and pulling it over my shoulders.

I turned around to see that Yin Li had prepared the lounge chair next to Margo's with folded up spa towels, positioned for me to sit on. I dropped into the chair, and before I was even settled, Yin Li has relieved me of my shoes, which joined the dress.

I was now reclining, much like Margo, wearing nothing but the robe. "Wearing" was an exaggeration. The robe was wide open and wasn't even covering my nipples. The only thing the robe was really covering were my arms and the lounge.

Yin Li had turned her attention to her beauty supplies.

Speaking to Margo I asked, hesitantly, "Is she going to, you know, do the same thing to me?"

"Is she going to give you the best waxing your hoo-ha has ever had?" Margo said, rather pointedly and a little louder than necessary.

I nodded my head.

"Yes, she will," Margo answered herself. "Is she going dine at your Y afterwards?" Margo asked, arching an eyebrow as if I should know the answer.

My eyebrows knitted in anticipation.

"No, she won't," Margo said assuredly. "Unless, of course, you ask her nicely. It's quite the treat."

A look of bliss enveloped Margo's face, as if the mention of Yin Li's talents had reminded her of what she was doing only five minutes ago. Meanwhile, Yin Li was positioning a neatly-folded towel vertically over my pussy, making me vaguely look like a sumo wrestler.

"Today you have a different kind of treat," Margo proclaimed. "After your waxing, I booked you a full massage."

A massage sounded heavenly. That I was getting one in this secret cove of earthly pleasures was decadent. But a massage, in the middle of a workday while the rest of the company tolled over spreadsheets and meeting agendas, was downright sinful.

Yin Li stationed herself on a low stool next to my lounge chair. She removed the towel, pressed my legs apart until I was lewdly spread, and started spraying me with something from a mister and then covered that with some kind of white power. After removing all of that, she produced a wooden stick and began smearing a strip of thick wax down my imaginary panty line—because all of my panties were imaginary these days. The wax was honey-colored and smelled of flowers.

I left Yin Li to her work and spoke to Margo, saying, "About this party tonight."

Margo cut me off with her hand. "No spoilers," she warned.

Margo rose from her chair. "You need to arrive about eight and dress to impress the Russians. You should know them well enough by now to know what that means," she said, with a nod of her head that said I should know what she means. I wasn't sure I did.

Margo shrugged off the decorative robe and stepped into an off-white tulip skirt. She then pulled on a burgundy blazer, flipped out her hair, and stepped into a pair of black pumps. This was all she was wearing today.

Yin Li was gingerly prodding the wax to check its consistency.

"I'd love to stay, but there's still so much to do before tonight," Margo sighed. "The damned Russians still haven't signed. We'd planned to have everything finalized before the party," she finished with a great sigh of exasperation.

That was the moment that Yin Li pressed a strip of paper over the wax and ripped it from my tender lions. I braced myself to let loose the kind of scream you hear in slasher flick—but it didn't happen. I've had my legs and armpits waxed many times, and I know how much it hurts. And I've been told by girls who get their V waxed, that this hurts even more. But this didn't. It stung, for sure, but then it was just sort of tingly, hot and cool at the same time.

I looked down to see that the moment she ripped off the wax, Yin Li had pressed a cool towel with some sort of gel over my abused skin.

"That didn't hurt much," I observed, somewhat incredulous. That made Yin Li smile.

"That's the Yin Li magic," Margo offered. "Herb or gels or something. Don't know, don't care, I just know it works."

As Yin Li began painting the next strip, Margo headed for the door.

"See you tonight, pussy cat," she said as she opened the door to leave. She paused and added, "Remember, you're getting the full massage," stressing the word "full."

She was gone before I could ask what that meant.

Yin Li was not a talker. The only sounds left were the babble of the fake brook and the occasional "rip, slap" of Yin Li's magic wax technique. I took a cue from Margo, closed my eyes, and just laid there.

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Yin Li had finished and was packing up. She'd waxed my tummy, the inside of my thighs, my pussy lips, and the crack of my ass.

I looked down at her work. My pussy lips, and the skin all around it, was puffy and a little irritated, but not terribly.

And it was magnificently smooth—pre-pubescent smooth. No, not even that did it justice. This was baby-ass smooth. I reached my hand between my legs and let my fingers dance over the curves. "I'm so pretty," I squealed to myself.

I was so lost in self-admiration that I almost didn't notice the approaching couple. A girl and boy, about the same age as Yin Li, were walking towards me from the opposite side of the circle.

I can only describe them as "perfect." Both were blond, and I mean really blonde, the kind of blond you see in Scandinavia. His hair was in a kind of loose mop, hers pulled back in a single, thick, braid.

Their bodies were magnificent. Every inch was toned and defined. You could see each muscle group—but not in the grossly exaggerated bodybuilder way. They were merely in peak physical condition.

In the movies, there's always that evil group of Nazis that have created the perfect Aryan humans through unspeakable experiments and genetics. These two could have played that part—the Adam and Eve of the new master race.

I could easily tell this because of their outfits. They both wore white deck shoes. He wore a short, tight fitting, pair of tennis shorts, she a matching white pleated tennis skirt the exact same length. That was all. He was shirtless, she was topless. This was fine by me. It would have been a criminal offense to cover up his muscular shoulders, gorgeous pecks, and washboard abs, or hide her majestic white breasts, sinewy calves, and washboard abs. God, that girl had abs.

They walked up and stood to either side of the lounge chair. The girl leaned forward, calling even more attention to her breasts, and asked, "Are you ready for your massage?"

I almost neglected to answer, being temporarily preoccupied trying to estimate the size of the boy's cock from the bulge in his tight shorts. Enquiring minds need to know these things. "More than adequate" was my professional conclusion.

I managed to answer, "Yes!"

The boy then asked, "And you wanted the full massage?" His baritone voice was velvet on my ears.

"Full me up," I replied confidently, although I had no idea what the "full" massage was. It didn't matter. If this boy was going to give it to me, I wanted it.

They each offered me a hand, which I took. They pulled me up from the lounge chair and gestured me towards the therapy rooms in the back. I gestured for them to lead the way, and followed a few paces behind.

They were completely unselfconscious. For my part, I tried to close the robe, only to find there was no belt or ties. I wondered why I was even trying, and let it billow behind me. For all practical purposes, I was completely naked; I was the one who should be self-conscious.

The girl's breasts and skirt bounced softly as she walked. The boy's mop of hair flopped lazily to one side and then the other. But there was nothing else on either of them that didn't move with purpose. I idly wondered what kind of children they'd produce. I wondered if they were brother and sister. I wondered if they were twins. I wondered if they had sex. Don't judge me, you were thinking it too.