My daughter Lucy had always been a good student - not an excellent student, but a good one. Usually B's, the occasional A. She graduated from high school with a 3.0. Now she was 19, in her sophomore year of college, and her grades were slipping. Low C's, and even the odd D. Her mother and I had several sit-down talks with her to no avail. We suspect too much partying and not enough studying - she certainly doesn't seem to be home much, and since we lifted her curfew she has been coming home at all hours. We are getting frustrated and angry - we aren't paying out the nose for her to fritter away her education. I want to get to the bottom of this...I may have an opportunity to do a little investigation.
It's Friday night, and predictably Lucy is "meeting a friend at the library to study." At this point I can't believe she expects us to believe this brazen lie. We give her our normal suspicious goodbye, and I tell my wife my plan. "I'm going to follow her to whatever party she is going to, and when I find her I'm going to yank her out of there and give her an ultimatum - she either shapes up or she ships out."
"Brad, do you think that's a good idea?" my wife asks. "Maybe we shouldn't embarrass her in front of her friends..."
"I think she needs a little embarrassment...she's embarrassing herself with her abysmal grades!" My wife shrugs, and I quickly leave the house. I can see Lucy a block or two away, turning right on an intersecting street. We live about a twenty minute walk from the university, and it is Lucy's habit to walk instead of drive. Soon enough we are on fraternity row, and for a second I'm puzzled by the number of giggling students wearing glitter-coated masks until I remember that it's Mardi Gras. In Philadelphia, I muse...Any chance to throw a party.
I see Lucy disappear into one of the many houses blaring music, with the porch crowded with raucous, laughing students clutching the ubiquitous red Solo cups that are the hallmark of keggers everywhere. I suddenly realize that they aren't going to let a 50-year old man walk into this party - I'm sure they will think I'm the police or other type of kill-joy. I do some fast thinking.
"Hey!" I say to a passing boy in a shiny black mask with an exaggerated smile that covers his entire face. "I'll give you twenty dollars for your mask," I offer. The boy laughs at my perceived stupidity and readily makes the transaction. I put it on and realize that I should probably lose my button-down as well. I take it off and toss it over the wrought-iron fence that borders the frat house. The rest of my outfit is acceptable - white undershirt, jeans, and old white sneakers. I'm fortunate enough to have a full head of brown hair which is only slightly receding at the temples, so that is another thing I don't have to worry about.
I walk into the house with no difficulty. In fact, no one seems to notice me. It's strange, being the oldest guy in the house. I feel like a spy, yet I also feel a strange sense of liberation at being undercover. It makes me feel young again and reminds me of parties I attended in my own college days. "Like father, like daughter," I think grimly.
I start going from room to room, looking for Lucy among the crowds. I'm at a disadvantage since everyone is wearing masks, but she's my daughter and I figure that I would recognize her anywhere. She isn't on the ground floor, so I climb the stairs and find her in the first room that I enter. I can tell it's her by her braided auburn hair that falls over one shoulder. She is wearing a flimsy t-shirt that exposes two inches of her belly and a short ruffled skirt. She has on black knee-high panty hose and high heels, which accentuate her legs. She has her mother's legs - long and shapely.
I am scoping out an out-of-the-way place where I can stand unnoticed when I am bumped roughly from behind. A young man pushes past me with many strings of beads hanging from his forearm. "Who wants beads?" he shouts. Some of the girls yell and laugh and clap saying "I do!"
"You know what you have to do!" the boy smiles. Now it's the boys turn to hoot and whistle and egg the girls on. One bold girl steps forward toward the boy with the beads and lifts her shirt and bra up with one motion, baring her large and slightly sagging breasts. As the boys cheer, the girl pulls her shirt down and ducks her head to allow the boy to drape a string of the plastic beads around her neck. Soon there are tits everywhere - young, beautiful tits that haven't seen breast feeding or the pull of gravity. It is hard to keep my attention focused on my daughter until I see with a jolt that she is going to earn herself a string of beads. I can't believe she is doing this - we certainly didn't raise her to act like this. She lifts up her shirt - she isn't even wearing a bra! Her breasts are wonderful - each one looking like slightly more than a handful, and perky to boot. I'm dismayed - my cock is beginning to twitch behind my fly, and I tell myself it's because of all the other breasts I have seen in the last ten minutes, But inside I know that it's the sight of my daughter's naked breasts that has caused this physiological reaction. The sickness and allure of forbidden fruit.
Some of the boys around her have begun to chant "Take it off!" They want her to take her tshirt off and leave it off, I guess. I move closer to her until I am only separated from her by one leering boy. Lucy, grinning from ear to ear, peels her shirt off and tosses it to the ground behind her. Now there are whoops and laughter. I watch as my daughter stands there naked to the waist, laughing shyly, the beads she has earned rolling back and forth over her nipples as she moves.
Just as I am admiring Lucy's lithe shape and flat belly, the boy right next to me reaches over and tweaks one of her nipples lightly, playfully. Lucy giggles and pulls away, ducking slightly and hunching her shoulders which only pushes her tits together and male them look more inviting. Perhaps emboldened by the anonymity of his mask the boy steps behind her and pushes his hands under her arms and cups both breasts. Now Lucy straightens up and sticks her tits out, letting him have free reign as both boys and girls encourage the show with whistles and laughter. Another boy steps up and put a hand on one of Lucy's tits, squeezing it somewhat roughly, possessively. That move brings out a side of me I never knew I had: the desire to be the dominant male, to win the mate - and the mate is my own daughter.
I step forward, facing her directly, and push the boys' hands away. I reach up and my palms cradle the sides of her breasts, pushing them slightly together while I gently rub my thumbs in circles around Lucy's hardening nipples. I duck my head down, push the mask up ever so slightly, and take one of her nipples in my mouth, flicking it with my tongue, bringing it to its firmest state. With this move I seem to have crossed some invisible line - not only with the crowd, who instinctively understand that she is mine now and they are mere spectators, eager for a show. But I am crossing another, much more forbidden line: sexual conduct with my daughter. And I like it. My cock is throbbing now, but I ignore its urgency for the time being. I quickly pull the mask back down and stand back up.
Lucy reaches down and grips my crotch with a firm hand that squeezes what it can through my jeans and begins to rub rhythmically. It has been forever since I felt this kind of overpowering desire. I remove my hands from Lucy's tits and put them on her shoulders, gently pressing down on them. The small crowd around us begins to chant "Do it! Do it!" again. Tossing her braid back behind her back, Lucy gets down on her knees in front of me. I can't get my cock out fast enough. Here I stand, my cock hard and pointing right at Lucy's face.
