All Characters In This Story Are 18+ Years Old.
*****
When the dog days officially began in Denver, Megan Taylor was in the doldrums, if not actually depressed. The summer was slipping away. Her best friend, Nel Martin, was moving to a great new house across town. Megan was still working, with her brother, Wally, in the family pizza parlor. What was worse, ever since Nel's Uncle Claude had shown Megan the difference between fucking a real man and screwing around with boys, she had been regrettably celibate, not counting masturbation. Her plans to seduce her dad had, so far, gone nowhere, while Claude was lavishing all his attention on Nel and her mom.
Megan could understand this, since, after all, they were pregnant with his babies. But, knowing, and keeping, the secret only made her jealous and glum. "Pinky Swear!" She still could hear Nel making her promise. "Dammit!" She thought, again, as she lay on a long lawn chair, soaking up the Colorado sun's rays in the Taylor house's fenced backyard. "I'm going to be 20 years old in a couple of months... Why can't I have a baby, too?"
Megan stopped taking her birth control pills the next day following the glorious fuck-filled overnight in Manitou Springs with Claude and Nel. She monitored her cycle, took her temperature, counted days on the calendar and had everything going as it should be, except for the cock part. She frowned, squinting through her Ray-Bans at the bright warm sky, and remembered seeing the bold exclamation mark on her bedroom calendar for today, August 1, 2006. As yet, the symbol she had selected to signify her optimal ovulation dates, served only as a mocking reminder of her failure. "Might as well go into a fucking nunnery!" She nattered angrily to herself. "Oh sure, Travis and Trevor Perkins are always hitting on me, but, how stupid would THAT be to let them dip their wicks and make a baby?"
"Ugh!" Megan snorted derisively and rolled over on the chair, reversing herself. Flattening the chaise, she lay prone, with her butt between the plastic covered aluminum tube arms, her legs and chest on the webbing and her feet and arms draped over the frame ends. She drug her fingers through the short grass, imagining she was teasing Uncle Claude's steel-wool pubes.
Just then a shadow crossed Megan's face as a cloud blocked the sun. She raised her torso, pushing her left hand onto the lawn, and tipped her sunglasses down on her nose with her right hand. Looking over the rims, she said, "Oh! Hi, Dad!" She smiled, raising her eyes, from his knees to his waist, as he stood in front of her. Megan tilted her head and laughed a light laugh as she finally focused on her father's face. "I thought you were a cloud!"
John Taylor stared down at nearly all of his buxom daughter's revealed features. Her voluptuous pose, and her minimal bikini, made his throat dry and his dick jump. He swallowed hard and coughed. "No cloud," he rasped, hoping God would not strike him down for his lustful thoughts. "Just your old dad... wondering if you were, uh... thirsty for iced tea."
While John spoke, a rivulet of perspiration tracked down Megan's spine from her shoulder blades to her bra strap. It tickled as it trickled. She bowed her back, thrusting her 38DD tits out, threatening the security in their neon lime, deeply scalloped, bikini bra's cups. Reaching back awkwardly, with her right arm, she could not quite wipe the maddening streak. Her stretched right boob stressed her Lycra spandex suit. Her nipple stiffened, poking itself, and the surrounding beige halo, past the inside seam into daylight.
John involuntarily groaned. Megan seemed not to notice. "Dad, my back is getting sweaty and it itches." She said, with no hint of a hidden agenda. "Could you grab that towel and dry it please?" She twisted around and dropped back to onto the chair, concealing her chest, much to her father's relief.
"Uhmm," John hesitated, licking his lips and pushing his growing cock into a more comfortable spot, behind his double-knit golf pants and boxer shorts. Unfortunately, touching himself only made his prick thicker. He looked furtively at Megan. Her chin was pillowed on her crossed arms and her eyes appeared to be closed behind her sunglasses. He stabbed his right hand under his waistbands and pulled his turgid penis upright, against his abdomen. "OK, Petunia," he agreed, moving to her left side. He picked up the towel and gingerly daubed at the sparkling beads, now pooled, just above the hooks of her bra strap. He saw more perspiration had popped and collected in the hollow of Megan's lower back, just above her rising green bottom.
"DA-ad!" Megan complained, "Rub me down harder, I'm wet!" She shook her shoulders and ass as she spoke. "You're tickling me worse than the sweat, for goodness sakes!"
John felt torturously trapped. Last fall, when he accidentally found Megan's birth control pills, his concept of her was radically transformed. Until that moment, he had been blithely unconscious that his little girl, his 'Petunia,' had become a woman and was sexually aware, if not active. He had tried fighting the tide. He had yelled, cajoled, threatened, forbidden, all to no avail. He was certain, in his mind, she was no longer a virgin, although, in his heart, she always was his innocent. Lately, Megan had openly teased, tempted and aroused him by her dress, her walk and her mannerisms. The past couple of months had been hell for him, as he struggled with his inner devil. "Forgive my sinful thoughts!" He prayed. "Give me strength to resist my carnal desire!" John knelt in the grass beside his daughter. With a determined look and a set mouth, he swabbed her back, assiduously avoiding her bikini's edges.
"Hhhnnnnn," Megan purred, "Yeahhh, that's better Dad!" She wriggled beneath the terrycloth beneath his strong hand. "My legs itch, too... it's like there's ants or... something... on the backs and insides of my thighs." She widened her knees' spread on the poly webbing. "Dry my down there, too... Please?" Her inflected beg made John's nuts ache. He pushed the towel over Megan's rump, onto her hams, and used both hands on both her legs at the same time, shoving down to behind her knees. His thumbs drug along the inside, while his curled fingers slid on the outside, of her toned muscles. "Nnnaahh," Megan moaned, "Ohhhh, Daddy... that's perfect... Hhhnnnnn." She felt her cunny tingle and knew the new wetness there was not sweat. Grinning, she raised up and said, neutrally, "I'm starting to feel... hot. Did you say there was iced tea?" She asked with interest.
John pulled the towel from the teenager's legs, unintentionally touching their junction with his left thumbnail. Megan's bottom contracted and the green spandex rippled on her concave cheeks. "Yes," he replied, huskily. The single word caught in his throat like a fishbone. "Uhh, uhhp in the house." He finished with a struggle. John stood, turning his back to hide the shameful growth between his legs. "I'll go and pour you a glass." He walked, uncomfortably, as quickly as he was able, to the patio slider to the kitchen.
Megan sat up, then stood and turned. Watching her dad hustle up to the house, she determined she needed to be more aggressive and less ambiguous. "What can it hurt?" she asked herself. "Certainly playing it cozy hasn't gotten me anything!" She pushed her exposed right boob back into its pocket and juggled the jug to assure its security. Her inner tigress chuffed as she marched across the lawn, stalking her prey.
