Carl Tatem: Daughter_s little friend

"No, Vicki," Sandy said, pleased at the way she'd been greeted. Of course she'd never been here… but it was a nice greeting nevertheless.

"Well, you'll just have to come more often," Vicki said lightly, and then she waved in the direction from which she'd come. "Joe's waiting on the sun-deck. He's been swimming." As the three of them went around the side to the porch, Vicki asked: "You want to go swimming, Sandy?"

"I didn't bring a suit, I'm afraid."

"Well, Joe didn't either, but one of my dad's fitted him." She laughed, and added, "Dad's a lot thinner and shorter, so it didn't fit too well, but enough to cover the important parts, at least!"

The path ended in a long, narrow grotto, floored with more of the lush greenery, and fronting the small quarry and waterfall and the tiled swimming pool. Beneath three tall eucalyptus trees were several brightly colored lounge chairs and chaise lounges, and in one of the chairs, his feet on a white metal table, was Joe Arrow.

Sandy had never met Arrow before, since he was a friend of Tommy's, and similarly out of school by a few years. His brown hair was thick and shaggy, and at the moment still damp from his swimming, and as he stood up to greet them, his eyes seemed to bore into her with an odd maliciousness which made her tingle reflexively. It was almost as if he was mentally stripping her hot pants off of her, leaving her naked and defenseless! And Lord! Vicki hadn't been joking about the swimming trunks, either! They were elastic, a yellow-green, which looked as if they'd been painted around his bronzed, hard-muscled thighs. They were lower than where she wore her bikini bottoms, and the hard, bas-relief outline of his limply curled penis strained at the stretched, thin material, threatening to tear it in half. Why, it shows everything he has! Sandy thought prudishly.

Vicki went over to Joe, and he placed his arm around her waist, his fingers splaying familiarly on the satiny surface of her flesh that was exposed between her skirt and bolero top. "Joe, this is Sandy Murphy," Vicki introduced, moving her body closer to his, rubbing herself against him like a seductively purring cat.

"Well, well, you're the Sandy Tom's been bragging about." His cool gray eyes appraised her in an almost predatory way, and Sandy saw that his gaze seemed almost to caress her jutting breasts.

"Can I pick them, buddy, or can I pick them?" Tommy said, sitting down with a swagger.

"You can certainly pick them, Tom!" Joe agreed ardently.

"Let's get the show on the road," Vicki interjected. "Look, you get the pitcher you left in the cabana, Joe, and I'll bring out the lunch." She turned to Tom and Sandy. "I don't know about you two, but I'm hungry!"

"You're always hungry, pussy-cat," Joe said, and walked away.

"I'm starving," Sandy agreed. "I didn't have any breakfast."

"This should make up for it," Vicki said. "You wait right here."

Soon platters of hot, spicy chicken appeared, along with a tartly dressed salad and a salty bread which Sandy couldn't identify. Along with the food was a rum cocktail, and it was only after a little hesitation that Sandy slaked her thirst with the cooling drink.

The young girl didn't care for the taste of alcohol, but the cocktail mix successfully masked it from her, and before she knew it, she was on a second large tumbler-full of the purplish drink. She drank it down promptly, as if it was grape-aide and not a potent liquor, only to find that Joe was again topping her glass, winking at her as he poured. The rum began to take its toll, and she started to experience a general physical relaxing of her body, the tension of the morning evaporating from her flesh. Some of her mental reservations slowly disappeared as well, and surprisingly, by the end of the meal she was finding that she was in rapport with the three others as if she'd been friends with them a long time. She giggled, looking at Tommy now and then, and seeing that his handsome face was slightly flushed, and he was grinning crookedly. She realized that he, too, was beginning to feel the effects of the rum, but she didn't care… she didn't care at all. She was thoroughly enjoying herself now, and felt giddy and lightheaded, almost carefree. She was glad that she'd come. Joe wasn't half as bad as she'd first thought, and Vicki was very nice, very sweet and kind.

Joe went into the house to mix a fresh batch of cocktails, and when he came back, he again favored the young teenager with a profligate smile, his eyes once more traveling the width and breadth of her creamy, firm body. "Yeah, buddy," he said to Tommy, "she's really something!"

Sandy blushed under his frank examination. "T-Thank you," she said in a faltering tone, lowering her eyes.

"That calls for a drink," Tommy said, and took the pitcher to pour the four glasses full again. "Everything calls for a drink!"

"Damned right it does," Vicki agreed. "Drink up, everybody. There's plenty more where these came from." She laughed heartily, never telling the innocent little virgin bitch across from her that she was laughing at her. The lunch was not because she liked to cook; it was because she'd been briefed about the plan to seduce Sandy Murphy, and knew that the salty, spicy foods would cause more drinking. And leave it to an inexperienced girl to guzzle the rum like it was soda pop! It was a kick, being in on the seduction of this naive young girl, and the thought of all the things Tom was going to do to her with his cock made the smooth fleshy walls of her own cunt tingle and secrete slightly, wetting her panties as it trickled slowly down from her vaginal lips. And Christ… then there was Richard Hink downstairs, hiding in the closet with his Polaroid camera! Jesus, this should be one damned wild afternoon! And the young wanton laughed loudly again…

Tom wiped a hand across his perspiring forehead. "Whew," he said. "Is it getting hotter, or is it just me?"

Joe grinned. "A little of both, I think. Why don't we go inside now, and I'll show the movie I got from Copenhagen last week?"

"Good thinking," Vicki said. "Later we can sit out here when it cools down a bit. I've got Dad's movie machine and screen all set up in the basement, and we'll be plenty comfortable down there."

Sandy was thoroughly enjoying herself, and no longer had any fear of seeing the stag film. She had been beginning to wonder when they were going to see this hot movie she'd been warned about, and had to admit to herself as she rose and walked with Tom inside the house that now she was actually anticipating it.

The four of them went down a broad flight of stairs to a lavishly decorated playroom, done in red velvet and knotty pine paneling, with a luxurious deep-pile carpet on the floor. Joe, who was carrying the pitcher of rum punch and Vicki were both barefoot; Tom and Sandy kicked off their shoes and sat down on one of the long low couches that were on either side of the 8mm motion picture projector, and which faced a large, square silver screen.

She had to crawl over the seat to Tom, the couch being so wide, and when they were leaning back against the deep soft back cushion, just her feet were hanging over the edge. She had difficulty adjusting herself without spilling her drink, but Tom took it from her hand and she settled back comfortably against him. He handed her the drink again, and curled his arm around her, pulling her tightly against him.

"More like a bed, isn't it?" he laughed softly.

"Yes," she said, shivering expectantly. "Now what?"

"Well, we sit here and sort of work up to it." And as if in further answer, Joe was crawling across the couch to them, the pitcher in his hands. "Here, a little more. To toast the hope I got my money's worth in the film!"

"I… I think I've had enough," Sandy said. "I don't want to get sick."