Jewel Breckenridge - Daddy_s little girls

Everything was visible to Ellen's father from the window; he saw the tiny pink bud of her clitoris twitch and throb with obscene yearning during the instant Mark had broken contact with her wet cuntal mound in order to shift position and he saw her, when Mark had regained contact, lift one leg invitingly high into the air to admit his hand as she began to purse her lips and blow her steaming hot breath onto the end of the quivering fleshy rod. She blew and blew as the slender boyish cock stretched hotly for the ceiling. Then she opened her lips and closed her mouth suddenly over the smooth bulbous head of the lust-knotted cock. Roger could see her soft moist lips pucker as she sucked, and then loosen as her tongue swirled hungrily around the thick desire-inflated tip as though she were licking a lollipop. Mark's young hairless loins thrust involuntarily upward to hasten the process and soon Ellen had the entire length of the excited adolescent's penis enveloped tightly in the warm wet cavern of her mouth.

The pink inner flesh of her lips was being pulled out and stretched, as it clung to the flesh of Mark's driving cock while his daughter sucked hungrily, fully caught up in the lewd task with all of her teenage concentration. Her round girlish breasts jerked and danced obscenely from the effort and her naked young body began to glisten from the tiny droplets of perspiration forming over the skin. Mark shoved his loins up hard against her face in a quest for a final end to the delicious torture.

Suddenly Ellen began to rotate her pelvis wildly, to skewer her boy friend's middle finger deeper and deeper up into her tight innocent vagina, until she raised her buttocks entirely off the pile of boards, grinding the firm half-moons wildly as she gyrated with still more abandon, emitting a low groan from deep in her throat that was nearly choked to silence by Mark's penis thrusting into her mouth. She suddenly froze her buttocks in the air for one perfectly motionless instant, and then collapsed, quivering spasmodically, back onto the woodpile, where her legs flailed softly into the air for a moment and then fell exhausted, limp as butter.

Understanding, her youthful partner removed his wetly glistening finger from her shuddering vagina, and Ellen's violated pussy ecstatically gushed its milk-white secretion mixed with tiny telltale streaks of blood. The girl had her first orgasm, or her first orgasm she had not given herself, and its lust-inciting effect was only to increase the maddening tempo of her sucking on her boy friend's still inflated penis to the point that the wetly driving instrument seemed to ram cruelly all the way down to her tonsils. The ramming increased to a staccato fever-pitch as she hungrily licked and sucked in earnest, until suddenly the rock-hard member began to jerk involuntarily in her surprised mouth.

She had done it!

Mark's exploding penis spurted out its fresh young cum and Ellen looked astonished, frozen in her position, the boy's cock still sunk in her ovalled mouth even as his thick white semen began to pour wildly from the corners of her overflowing lips. She had not expected this – she didn't know how a male had his climax and her eyes had almost a look of terror. Suddenly she began to choke and force her head loose, helplessly spitting out the hot sperm, gagging, spitting out more, as Mark put an arm reassuringly around her and disengaged his inflating cock from her cum-filled mouth.

Ellen sat upright now, still spitting, her legs still unthinkingly spread apart on the woodpile with the large wet stains and streaks of blood soaking into the wood beneath her buttocks. It had been a session of many innovations and discoveries for the teenage girl, and the last one – the sea of hot swirling liquid in her mouth – had caught her totally by surprise.

Roger understood his daughter's suffering and wanted to rush in, calm her as Mark was doing, but that was impossible now. At this late moment he could not reveal his lewd role in this affair – participating in it, in the effect of not breaking it up at the beginning, and then by watching it, and finally by enjoying it. Enjoying his own pretty daughter being ravished, although it was only by a young boy's finger. Christ, what had he sunk to? He had forgotten in the interim that Ellen was his daughter and only now did the thought rush back to him with its full impact and make his skin crawl. He had watched his young tender daughter being debauched by – or more accurately, debauching – a gangly and rather repelling adolescent. And in a garage, no less! In broad daylight! The whole thing was just too fantastic!

The couple inside began to stir; Ellen was wiping her face with a hanky before she retrieved her clothing and began to dress. Outside, her father started to look hungrily again at her body as she moved about bending to pick up her clothes, but suddenly he checked himself. He had to go before they came out of the garage and discovered him, and he began to move fast, stopping only at the noise of the hedge scraping against the garage wall in his wake as he passed. He bent and switched to tiny steps until he emerged directly into the driveway and, for want of a gesture he glanced business-like at his watch. He allowed his eyes to quickly scan the street as he walked on, and was relieved to find the street was empty, and no one had seen him. That, at least, had been spared him.

What was he doing on the street? Oh yes, the grocery store – and for that he was walking in the wrong direction. He did an about-face and, just as he was ready to pass the Green house again, saw Mark and Ellen parting with a light kiss on the porch steps. Mark Green went inside and Ellen bounded in her father's direction.

"Hi, Roger," she said to him in passing, tossing her long blonde hair.

Roger watched her running ahead of him down the sidewalk until she disappeared around a hedge at the next corner. He crowed… she had never called him that before.

The remainder of spring trickled away entirely and now a summer sun burned over head. The gulls soared above the gray beach, shrieked to one another, and then dipped and swooped one by one to land on a large rock some distance out into the Atlantic as Roger Johnston lay idly watching. He was stretched out on a pop-patterned beach blanket his daughters had given him on his forty-first birthday. There were other blankets and other people on the beach, all in a cluster near Roger, but beyond this small collection the beach was deserted; for the people were his family – and the beach was his private property.

The beach was important to all the Johnstons because in the summer and sometimes in the late spring and also in the first few months of fall, he and his family made use of the beach – together or singly – every possible moment. While the Cape was swarming with tourists at the public beaches, and while most of the middle-class natives went to restricted beaches owned by – and thus crowded with – people from the local communities, Roger and his family had the luxury of their own beach.

It was not large since all Cape Cod beaches, as Roger well knew from his business, could scarcely be any higher priced than they were now, even if they had been plated with gold; and Roger was not a millionaire. Yet he had picked up this beach, which was at the end of the peninsula and separated from the nearby community beaches by two natural cliffs and a string of private piers. From his beach there were no other bathers, and scarcely any boats, to be seen. And as an additional indulgence he had built their private shelter high up onto the rise of one of the cliffs, where it sat, three-walled, the open side facing his stretch of water, like a makeshift castle or monument. It was a bit out of the way for them to traipse up there to change, but they did it, for the cliff was too spectacular not to be used in some way.