Jean Sifton - The scandalous stewardess

Peter Knight hugged his daughter tightly as he kissed her forehead, her eyes, her cheeks. Nothing in the world could have made him happier at that moment. "Don't worry, darling, I won't. It's all going to work out, Davie. Everything's going to be fine – just fine!"

She drew back from him, a quizzical look on her beautiful face. "That's funny…"

"Funny?" He was puzzled.

"Yeah. Trish said the same thing…"

The day dawned predictably golden on the island of Eleuthera. Lavender fingers of light were reaching up into the sky when Randy Ferris cautiously opened the door of the bungalow he had shared with his sister the night before and made his way to the red MG parked down the road. He had to work today. But he would be back at French Leave tonight… in time to get acquainted with Davie Knight! Then, tomorrow… tomorrow would be the beginning of a glorious weekend and – if Trish knew what she was talking about – a glorious fuck with the delectable virgin schoolgirl! Hell, it just might be the beginning of a ten-day orgy with the kid! Trish's plan was risky – Knight was a tough nut to crack. But if she pulled it off (and if anyone could pull it off, she could) he'd be in cunt heaven in less than thirty-six hours!

His thoughts, and the delicious anticipation of the lay that lay in store for him – oh, please! – gave him a huge erection on the way to the car. Down, boy, he commanded the willful instrument, you'll get your chance to dance… in her pants!

In another part of the compound, Peter Knight awoke at his customary time: 5:30 A.M., sporting a huge erection. He had been dreaming, and his dreams were blurred but erotic. He had slept badly the night before, tortured by the remembrance of what Davie had told him about her mother and the shocking things that went on at school. But the sordid expose had also led his sexual fantasies as he lay awake tossing fitfully, his beleaguered mind giving him repetitive instant replays of the conversation with his darling daughter. In moments of surcease he was badgered with questions, and spent the rest of his insomniacal moments trying to devise a scheme for successfully keeping Davie at his side.

He tried to force the intruding fantasies from his mind, but they persisted maddeningly. His pulse quickened and his breathing became abbreviated. His mouth was dry and the tingling in his loins increased. Goddammit! he swore under his breath, what's the matter with me? I'm a civilized man, not an animal. I can't allow myself to get hot – not now. Not with Davie in the next room!

He looked across the room and beyond, to the enclosed lanai where his daughter lay asleep on the long, broad daybed that also served as a couch. It was customarily adorned with huge, floppy cushions and was a favorite place of his for reading or just having a drink and looking at the beach and sea. Now his lovely daughter adorned it. She had kicked off the light covers and was sprawled on her back, one arm above her head and the opposing knee drawn up to her waist, exposing the crotch of the pale blue nylon pajama panties that she wore under her sleeveless, shortie gown. Even at a distance of fifteen feet, Knight could see a few wisps of delicate dark pubic curls escaping from beneath the elastic band. The saucy mounds of Davie's firm, young breasts were well delineated by the supple fabric, too, and they rose and fell as she breathed rhythmically during her deep and innocent slumber.

He closed his eyes, trying to blink away the forbidden desire that engulfed him. No! I can't think such thoughts! She's a child, an innocent child. She's my daughter, for chrissakes! No!

He threw off the sheet and stumbled across the room, reaching for his shorts as he clumsily made his way to the bathroom. He turned the knob with a sweaty palm and darted in, closing the door softly behind him. He leaned against it, panting now, clutching his underwear in his hand. Sweat dripped from his brow and beaded in the crease at his waistline. He shook his head like a fighter who's been decked, trying to rid himself of his forbidden thoughts. God, he must be sick to think what he thought… his own daughter!

He gave a quiet moan and shakily raised his leg in an attempt to step into his shorts. But he fell against the shower door and had to steady himself. He reached inside and turned on the faucets. Then he tossed his shorts on the floor and got into the shower, his penis larger and harder than before. He had to have release.

Almost mindless with desire, Peter Knight planted his feet wide apart on the cool the of the shower stall floor and let the warm fountain of water cascade over his naked body as he took his granite-like cock in his hand and began to stroke the hot, petal-soft skin lightly. His other hand reached for his pendulous balls and cupped them. His mouth was open and his breathing was coarse and spastic.

Responding to the pleasure sensations that were building in his loins, he increased the tempo of his stroking and tightened his grip on his enormous prick. The head was purple with lust, and the veins bulged on the upthrust underside. Damn! It was a truncheon all right!

His balls grew taut, taking up the slack in his scrotum. His chest heaved as his breathing grew snore labored. He kept increasing the pace of his stroking. Faster and faster, harder and harder. God, it felt good. He was getting closer and closer.

The little devils of desire led lurid and forbidden fantasies to him as rapidly as he stroked his heated cock. They shoveled the fuel for his tortured fire of incestuous lust… faster and faster, harder and harder… until…

His body stiffened and his muscles tensed perceptibly. His bare feet gripped the tile floor as he gasped loudly. "Ahhhhharrrraaaannngghh!" he cried and shoved the back of his free fist into his mouth to muffle the sound that accompanied the release of semen from his balls. "Ooooohhhhh!" he cried again as the fiery load of cum escaped from the mouth of his glans in a creamy eruption of pent-up jism. He thought it would never stop. He threw his head back and swayed like a sapling in a strong wind until his balls gave out the last of their cargo and he was free to take his fist from between his teeth.

He braced himself against the back of the stall then, heaving a heavy sigh and allowing the descending jets of water to wash the last of his foamy cum down the drain. The handsome man was suddenly seized with a feeling of sadness. Sadness, longing, and anxiety. God, this is terrible! I can't allow myself to lose control like this. I can't allow those thoughts to overtake me. That would ruin everything for Davie and me. I've got to keep things under control! I've simply got to!

He grabbed a pair of swim trunks and hastily pulled them on. Then he went out of the bathroom and out of the house, jogging along the beach for over a mile. Afterwards, he plunged into the tepid water and swam far out to sea and back, asking the beneficent Caribbean to cleanse him of his unholy thoughts.

It was 7:40 by the time he got back, and Davie was up and dressed and preparing a simple breakfast of toast and dry cereal. The smell of freshly brewed coffee wafted into his nostril.

"Daddy, you're back!" she cried, running up to him and grabbing him around the neck in an uninhibited hug. She crushed her breasts against his chest and planted harmless kisses on his cheeks – harmless by intent, not by effect. The devils cackled within him, and he pulled away from her so abruptly he noted a momentary look of bewilderment on her fresh face.

"Good morning, sunshine. How did you sleep?" he asked cheerily.

"Super. Better than I can remember since the last time you tucked me in bed when I was a little girl," she beamed. "It's so peaceful here, so quiet and warm. No wonder you love it. So do I. I never want to leave this place, Daddy."