Ping

"Dad, we've got to talk," my lovely adopted daughter Ping said, as she shuffled through the scrawled sheets of paper left behind by my just-departed wife.

"Well, that ended a deteriorating marriage," I thought. I'm Sam Collingswood, age 41. Tall, averagely muscular, and self-employed. Susan, my wife of 16 years—bottle blonde, white, and chubby—was just 38 years old, but, over the last several years, had been acting like a 50-year-old hyper-conservative, man-hating, feminist witch-bitch.

Nothing men did—particularly me—was good or right enough.

Ping, in case you haven't figured it out yet, was our—well, as of now, just my—adopted daughter. Of Chinese-American parentage, Connie and I had adopted her formally. As of today, she was just 3 days past her 18th birthday and had just graduated from high school. Ping had grown into about 4' 10" and about 90 lbs. of mixed-race (mostly Asian) wonderment, earning a straight-A average in Pre-STEM classes, particularly math and science.

She had the usual glossy black hair, worn in a sensible, easy-to-care-for straight banged bob. She was, as was the norm for mixed-race Asian women, about a B-cup, with slender, narrow hips and thin but muscular legs. Her American heritage had blessed her with a golden-brown skin, which tanned easily.

Ping's attitude toward affection, trust, clothing, food, boys/men and lust was, compared to Susan's, about like night was to day. Ping even told her adopted mother about giving blow-jobs, loosing her cherry to a boy in school and buying a roll of condoms. Susan 'took to her bed,' screaming that 'she'd brought shame upon the family,' especially as the topics of sex and dress involved a male.

They fought about how Ping dressed and spoke. It was argument hell near continuously, with me in the middle, trying—usually failing—to make peace, so there was a lot of ice-cold silences at home. This always resulted in a Susan acting out the 'frigid wife' role, for my failure to take her side of any argument. Sigh!

Both my wife and I had attended her high school graduation ceremony. In fact, it appeared that my now-absent wife had left the graduation ceremonies early, before the ceremony started, supposedly to use the restrooms, but hadn't returned as I sat there in the bleachers, waiting for the ceremony to begin.

The ceremony, complete with Pomp-And-Circumstance music from the school's band (awful) had been on Friday afternoon, in June of 2007. After the ceremony, diploma in hand, Ping and I had waited around until we were the last to leave the area, with no wife to be found.

No car of ours was to be found, either, so we had to call a cab to get a ride home. When we got there, all we found was her cleaned-out closet and chest-of-drawers, several pages of scrawled handwriting, and an opened family home safe, cleaned out of all emergency monies.

Ping volunteered to 'translate' the pages into a readable summary, so I let her, while I went out to my garage-workshop to bang on the concrete floor with a sledge hammer. After an hour or so, Ping called out to me and I returned to the kitchen table, sweating but with a smile on my face.

"Ping," I said, "what did you figure out from those papers, 'cause I couldn't make sense out of them, beyond the fact that Connie had suddenly gone, to 'find herself'."

She said, "OK, Dad, here goes. The 1st pages was where she said that she realized she was a lesbian. She called you lots of filthy names, like 'male-chauvinist pig' and 'dirty fucking rapist'. She wrote that you were always 'man-spreading' around her. Your proper place was kneeling on the floor, worshiping and supporting her as a goddess, with one of her stiletto-heeled pumps on your neck. Lots of justifications and excuses for her nasty words, blah, blah, blah."

"Then Mom wrote that I was a 'hopeless breeder' and probably a 'slut-whore' for nasty-raping men, including you. She wrote lots of rationalizations, justifications and excuses for treating us like shit over the last several years, especially in bed with you, but that you deserved it, because you were part of the 'patriarchy' that was holding womyn down, yada, yada, yada"

"The 2nd set of pages were an explanation of what she did to you, in loving detail. She took all the money out of the checking and savings account, and used the overdraft protections to the maximum. She transferred all her debt to your credit card, then borrowed against all the other credit cards, maxing them out. You know she took all our emergency money from the safe. Lots more rationalizations, justifications and excuses, with more blah, blah, blah.

"For the rest of the pages, she went on to say she took the car, and lit out for somewhere near Espanola in New Mexico, at a Woman's Colony. She added lots more rationalizations, justifications, and excuses, pretty much lying about the lies she lied about, yada, yada, yada."

"Finally, she defended her actions by saying that everything was rationalized, excused and justified because of 8,000 years of male patriarchy, and all that money was hers now, as a token pre-payment to so-superior womyn-hood, with all the rest of the justifications, rationalizations, excuses and anything else she could think of to blame others—especially you and me—instead of herself. Final set of self-serving blah, blah, blah."

Ping ended her translation of her Mom's handwriting, stating, "It looks like Mom's gone for good. Bye, baby!"

"But," Ping commented, "unless you've got some other money stashed away, right now, we're flat broke, except for what's in my purse or in your wallet, plus being deep in debt."

Grinning broadly and saying nothing, I just showed her the two old, battered 50-caliber ammunition boxes that had come out of the concrete floor of our garage. I opened one and let Ping see the stacks of $50's and $100's, plus the several rolls of Canadian Maple Leaf gold coins, currently worth about $2,000 each. I also let my daughter see the 8 platinum no-limit credit/debit cards in my name, as well.

Ping, to her credit, didn't collapse, or even scream. Instead, she just let me see a big, 100-watt smile. She jumped up on me, slender legs around my hips and gave me a big, body-squeezing hug.

"So, Dad," she said, giggling, "it looks like Mom's gone 'to find herself,' while being a radical-feminist lesbian, leaving the two of us to be a family. She's not coming back. Thanks to your hidden box, we've got enough money to pay off all the debt and keep us going for a long time."

"So, Daddy, I'm gonna take Mom's place for you, only do I'm gonna do it a lot better and sexier. We're both gonna have lots of good times over the next years. Yeah, and that means you having sex with me. Lots of slippery, gooey, pounding, screaming, squirting, naked sex. It's gonna happen, 'cause I'm gonna do it! You don't get a vote. End of discussion!"

Then she ran for her room, tossing a comment over her skinny shoulder, saying, "OK, Daddy, I'm gonna go swim. There's a 'new sheriff' in town—that's you—so I get to wear my new bikini, the one you and Mom didn't know about. You get to look at me wearing it, in about half an hour, and you'd better look real hard, 'cause I'm gonna like showing off ... and so will you, after I take it off and start sex with you."

Looking, I saw her old, one-piece, full cover-up suit in the trash.

About 3 minutes later, I heard a splash. The specified half-hour later, I ambled over toward the pool. Ping was using the diving board. My lovely daughter was alternative jumping off the diving board and swimming laps.

She was so beautiful ... and so young. I sighed, being an older middle-aged man. Wearing a set of boxer-type swim shorts, I settled down on one of the loungers and just watched the show.

Which show took quite a while, as my 18-year-old Ping deliberately posed for me, on the diving board ... while pulling herself up the pool's ladder ... at the side of the pool ... right in front of my lounger, too.

OK, now, there are bikini swimsuits, but then, there are skimpier outfits. Finally, at least here in the States, there are the Wicked Weasel suits, which are very skimpy. But finally, there are the Imports from Brazil, which translate into the term 'dental floss'.

Ping wore a black swimsuit that was somewhere between the Weasel and the Floss. Her figure and boobs were distinctly Asian, which included slim hips, a flat belly, slender, muscular legs and small B-cup boobs.

Nevertheless, her black swimsuit barely covered her womanly slitted opening in front and was a bare thread in back. Her boobs were still about two-thirds exposed, on top, sides, bottom and inside, and what was (barely) enclosed was covered with black mesh. There was a simple clasp in front for her top and two similar clasps on either side of her micro-triangle of mesh in front.

She looked like a white-man's 'yellow-fever' wet-dream. Particularly so, since I could see her completely-erected nipples. OK, the water was cool and the water evaporated from her skin when she emerged from the pool. Or, it might have been all-out lust. I didn't care, because—being male—I was looking and trying hard not to drool.

Ping looked at me, giggled, flipped her nipples through the mesh materials and said, "Go ahead, Daddy, drool. I like it. Do you wanna see my nips bare?"

Dumb question. Dry mouthed, I nodded.

My Ping laughed out loud and flipped open the clip at the front of her top, the material, under tension, flipped open. Unasked, she reached down and flipped loose the 2 clasps that held her suit's bottom closed. It sprang open and it slithered over her hips and down her legs, to puddle at her feet.

I saw only golden-light-brown skin, with a bare-bald pussy and small-but-erected nipples, plus a 100-watt grin on her pretty face. I gasped, uselessly, and said, "You shaved!"

Still giggling, Ping said, "Well, sure, Daddy, my pussy's bare. But I don't shave, any more. I took my birthday money a year ago and had a laser treatment, at the same time I got my implant, when I went off to Canada, that summer, with the 'student group'. I'll never grow a single hair down there again."

"I know you like it, I can see that," she added, looking down.

Oh, God, I was naked and I had a big boner. When had I ...?

"Daddy," Ping said, looking right into my eyes, "let's start, right now. No slow build-up. I said, right when I translated Mom's scrawling good-bye papers, that I was gonna take her place in your life, including sex. Now I have your, right where I want you, on your back, with your big, hard, erect cock pointed right up at me. Mom didn't do much sexing with you, but I'm gonna do a lot."

"Remember what I said," she added. "I'm adopted, so I'm not blood-kin. I'm just over 18, so I'm a consenting adult. I'm not virgin, either. I'm smart and practical, too. We don't have to get you or me a job right now. I've got an implant, so I can't get pregnant. I made all the guys at school wear rubbers, so I've got no diseases. My pussy's drooling wet and my nips are so hard they ache. I can barely think, I'm so hot for you."

"But I do know exactly what I want, which is YOU!"

"So shut the hell up and lie there with your big cock pointed up, while I jam my hot, bare cunt down over it. This is the first time, Daddy. No foreplay, no kissing, nothing but hot, Chinese adopted-daughter flesh around your huge sex member. We'll get around to all the other good stuff, later, but right now, you sex me right now, hard and deep!"

Suiting actions to her suddenly super-gross words, Ping lowered her lovely womanly pussy onto, over and around aching-hard cock and lowered herself in a series of inching in, then out and back in, deeper each time, until she hit bottom, her pubic bone crushing mine. Her eyes went wide, as she and I thrust once, twice, thrice and then four. He slender thighs start to shake and her head and neck arced back, with her voice moaning and keening.

My lover-daughter Ping had her first big orgasm, within 20 seconds of her pussy's entry around my cock.

I waited out the gasping cries and the whining and the squeals, as she enjoyed herself. I was being fucked by my Asian slut-lover, knowing that this was just the first of many pleasurings I'd enjoy until I allowed myself to cum inside her, bareback.

The jerking and squeezing gradually eased, and I looked up at my cum-slut lover, who said, "You didn't fight me at all, Daddy!"

"Why should I fight you, Ping? You said so, yourself, you are a consenting adult and you want me inside you, as a lover and as a man. You like to tease me. You like me to see you nude or to watch you strip yourself naked. You want to have my cock inside your body, and I like to do it to you, as often as I can get my old dick up."

Ping and I had started the age-old slow thrusting in and out, which, we both knew, would soon lead to all-out hard, fast banging, leading to my orgasm and summing into her. There was only time for one comment from my hot slut lover, as she gasped, "Daddy! I'm gonna call you Daddy whenever I want sex, so only the two of us know what's going on."

"It'll be just Dad all the other times, but now, Daddy, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me hard, deep. I want it, I need it. Daddy, this is just the first time. We'll have lot of other times to get you to feel me out, kiss me, lick me, tease me, to tie me up and fuck me in all my holes, but this first time, Daddy, you fuck me hard, fast and then you cum inside me, too, soon as you can."

"Oh, please, please call me your slut. I wanna be a slut only for you. Call me a slut when I call you my Daddy. Fuck me, fuck your little slut Ping. Fuck me, Daddy-y-y-y-y ..."

My body took me by surprise, hearing this admission of lust from Ping, as I orgasmed strongly and shot my long-suppressed semen deeply into the cock-plunging recesses of my slut Ping's body. She screamed, shook and keened into the air, beside the pool behind our house.

We probably alerted the whole neighborhood.

Afterwards, panting, Ping said, "That was awesome. Daddy, you were huge inside me. Mom was a fool, giving up that pounding monster for another pussy. You're gonna take me, over and over again, as soon as you get your strength back, and I'm gonna love it."

After we rested, and my inexhaustible daughter swam and sunned some more, sans swimsuit, we dressed and went out for simple dinner, then returned home, to talk and cuddle, after listening to some music.

Calling me her Daddy, Ping slowly stripped to the skin, for our enjoyment. She loved to dance. I called her my slut, added nympho, then played with her sensitive boobs and nipples, until she orgasmed and then collapsed against me.

The topic of her Mom—my ex-wife—came up in a little while.

Speaking seriously, Ping said, "Dad, we may have some trouble coming. Mom knows where we live, right down to the street address and phone number. All she has to do is call any number of places and we'd be in big trouble, especially as you're having incest/taboo sex with your adopted daughter. It'd be just like her, as a man-hating feminist lesbian, to do a lot of nasty things, over the phone or on the Internet."

I chuckled, saying, "I'm way ahead of you, little one. How about we sell this place, then buy an RV motorhome and just be nomads around North America for a few years? If we bought it new, from an out-of-town dealer, we could be gone in a few days, with the house sold by a relator, working online. We'd have to give up the pool but we'd have access to other pools or natural water sources away from here."

"Dad, I know you," Ping replied, grinning, "You've been thinking and planning about this for months, haven't you?"

"Yep!" I answered, "long-term planning my specialty, except where my daughter Ping is concerned. Your lust for me took me completely by surprise. Not that I mind, ya know."

"OK, let's git outta town. All my high school friends are scattered for the summer and after graduation. Mom drove away all my friends who came to visit. You don't have any friends here, either, because of Mom's screaming rants. I don't have much to pack. We gotta cut way back on the kitchen stuff. Mom's stuff that she didn't take, goes in the re-cycle bins. Do we have a buyer for the furnished house?"

Ping nattered on and on, as she lay there, very nude, sheltered in my arms.

Given the pace that my former wife usually drove, which was snail-like, I figured we'd have about two weeks until she got to her destination in North-Central New Mexico, where she might very well start trouble for Ping and me, just for the pleasure and sheer hell of it.

I had a nomad's general-purpose address for letters and packages plus official communications, like taxes. The rest of what we needed, I bought, usually new; you can do that with an unlimited Platinum Debit/Credit card. I hired a team/crew of rapid move-out folks, while we moved into a residence inn, and they worked 24/7 for us. We took our passports and ID records.

We bought a diesel-powered dual-wheel truck, to pull a 5th-wheel trailer home, complete with spare generator, HVAC unit, solar-cells on top, plus tankage for water and waste. There was space for one larger queen bed, a settee, small galley, a bigger-than-usual 'head' (bathroom), computer access via wireless dish and enough storage for our severely down-sized stuff.

Ping packed and re-packed her girl-clothes, but swore to me that her traveling outfit would always be short-shorts or a mini-skirt and a bare-midriff crop top plus sandals. "Bare underneath, for easy cock access to your slut," she said.

She made sure I knew the by insisting that I did 'access' her, at least once a day, while she squirmed, sighed and screamed, as I thrust inside her. It was our delight that we both watched her wetted pussy give up its cream-pie of excess semen, right after I pulled out from under her miniskirt.

Somehow, without knowing it, I'd raised a little nympho slut—whom I still loved with all my heart and soul—who delighted in taking sex from me, often.

Ping said she really hated panties and bras, and only packed two really-skimpy sets. She did include a front-zip, fully-lined 'little black dress'.

For myself, I had one suit, a couple of casual outfits and jeans plus sandals/shoes, hats, sunglasses and other etc. (guys can travel real light).

Our house emptied quickly, as I sold off the furniture and we both did a major discard of suddenly unneeded items, included the stuff my feminist-lesbian-to-be wife didn't take in the car, when she left. I knew the house would likely sell rapidly, as it was in an up-scale neighborhood and it was priced lower-than-usual to move fast.

Within 2 week's time, with a trusted realtor handling the pending sale of the house we'd shared with my now-lesbian, man-hating, feminist wife, we were rolling, out of Columbus, Ohio and into the roads of the USA.

- - - - - - -

There are far too many web-sites on the Internet which describe how a couple of people down-size from a house and a settled life to an RV-based life, on the road. No need to review these here. Ping and I actually settled into a much smaller space fairly easily.

Not perfectly, of course. We had our disagreements and a very few fights ... but the make-up sexing was superb, too.

Ping was not the usual, self-absorbed teen that is usually pictured in current American life. She was too smart, too practical for one thing. For another, she relished the open spaces, sans the nosy, snoopy neighbors we didn't have, when we stopped, away from RV parks. Long walks, almost daily runs and climbs made up a lot of her outdoor adventures. When we had access to swimming-base stops, she took full advantage.

As for me, well, think of a large, loaded-down barge, being circled by a full-powered personal watercraft at full throttle, which will give you an idea as to how we swam.