Nan Bangcroft - Putting Out For Pop

"Oh! Daddy! Hi!”

"Hi, yourself," he said. Joan left the office, then picked up her extension and, disregarding his furious gesturing, listened in. "I'm uncomfortable calling myself that over the phone.”

"Well," Micaela observed in a steamy voice, "I can think of a couple of other ways you might refer to yourself, Stud.”

Mike felt his face turn bright-red. Joan's eyes lit up with surprise. "That's enough of that. What if your sisters heard you?”

"They're not here right now," Micaela said softly. "Why don't you hurry home?”

Mike wanted to crawl into a hole. Joan grinned wickedly at him. "If this phone is tapped, you'll get me arrested, dammit," he groaned. "Cool it, okay?”

"Oh-kay," Micaela sighed. "Hey, what did you do to Patty anyway? She's been an angel.”

"Let's just say that I opened some new lines of communication, via the palm of my hand," Mike answered. "Listen, the reason I called is that I won't be home for dinner tonight.”

"Working late?”

"No. Joan invited me to have supper with her and her husband," he said bluntly, hoping to defuse some of his daughter's ardor.

"Oh.”

"I may be kind of late. Please make sure the young ‘uns get to bed at a decent hour. And tell Patty to wash behind her ears-tell her I said so.”

"Okay, Daddy," Micaela sighed.

Mike saw Joan go off the line to answer another call and sighed with relief. "Look, Honey, I know we had one great time. But we have got to cool it, even over the phone,” he warned softly. "Incest is illegal in this state, and every other one that I can think of. If your sisters got wind of it, they might raise a real stink.”

"Yes, Daddy," Micaela assented, subdued. "You do love me, don't you, Daddy?”

Mike felt his guts twist. "More than I can ever tell you.”

"I love you, too, Daddy," she whispered. "And-and even if it was the only time for us, I'll remember it for as long as I live." She hung up softly. He sat there holding the sweaty receiver. He thought of never having her again, and his crotch knotted with pain. He hung up and dug determinedly into the work on his desk. To his immense relief, Joan left him in solitude the rest of the afternoon.

"Ready to go, Boss?" Joan asked, tying her scarf.

Mike raised his head. He felt a bit dizzy from concentrating so hard. "Oh, is it that late?”

"Later," she answered. "Care to drive me home?”

For a fleeting instant, he debated welching out on the date. "Love to," he answered, shoving his chair back and getting his jacket.

He didn't see how Joan could not have understood exactly what was going on between him and Micaela, but to his relief, didn't say a word about it on the drive. She kept the conversation on the current office projects and problems and acted as if she hadn't heard a thing on the extension.

"Hi, Honey," she greeted the man in the apartment Their hug and kiss made Mike blush and look away. He felt like a traitor, since he had so recently plowed the same furrow in the office. Joan kept saying she had an open marriage, and that her husband knew about what went on at the office. All the same, Mike kept seeing himself as correspondent in a divorce suit.

"John, darling, this is my boss, Mike Kelly. Mike, this is my husband, John Peterson.”

John's smile was open and friendly, his handshake firm and dry and confident "Howdy, Joan's told me a lot about you.”

Mike wondered why Joan was unfaithful to her husband. Peterson was satanically handsome, but not in an unpleasant way. His black curly hair was modishly long. He was tall, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. Mike suspected Peterson had spared him on the handshake.

"I'll get supper started," Joan said. "You two sit down and make yourselves comfortable.”

"You been treating my woman right?" John asked as Mike sat down on the sofa. Mike's heart skipped a beat.

"Uh, yeah. At least I think so," he answered.

"Hey, how about a drink? I don't know where my manners are," John apologized. "Scotch okay?”

"On the rocks with a little water or soda would be fine," Mike answered, surveying the modern living room. It was generally neat, but there was a clutter of books and magazines that he found intriguing. Something was missing, and it took him a while to figure out what it was.

"You don't have a television set," he blurted out.

Joan, who had joined them after getting dinner started, laughed. "We have more interesting things to do in the evening than watch the boob tube.”

"Wish I could get rid of mine, but the girls wouldn't stand for it," Mike said.

"You're heading in the right direction," Joan purred.

"Oops, supper's ready.”

Mike felt a wave of relief-John had been about to ask Joan what she meant. Dinner provided a welcome respite from the talk.

"Dig out the good brandy, will you Honey?" Joan asked her husband when dinner was over. "I'll straighten up in here and be with you as soon as I slip into something more comfortable.”

Feeling pleasantly relaxed from the meal, and wondering just what could be more comfortable than a blouse and skirt with nothing underneath, Mike followed his host into the living room.

"Brandy?" John asked, handing Mike a mammoth snifter with a pool of cognac in the bottom.

"Thanks." Mike savored the bouquet, and then rolled a sip around on his tongue. He was at one end of the couch. John folded himself down on the other end and scratched one huge arm lazily.

Mike was feeling warm and mellow from the two Scotches and the brandy. But when Joan came back into the room all the blood in his body began to stampede wildly in all directions.

"I don't know how you can stand all those clothes," Joan announced, stretching luxuriously. She had certainly changed to something more comfortable-she was nude.

Mike gulped the remainder of his brandy, and promptly choked.

"I'll get you some more," Joan said calmly, taking the snifter from his numb, shaking hand. "More, John?”

"In a minute. I think you've got the right idea," John answered. "Come on, Mike, get out of that stuff. You will sooner or later, you know.”

When Mike began stammering and stuttering, Joan cut in. "Mike, didn't you believe me when I told you John knows what you and I have done?”

Mike tried not to look at Joan, and found himself staring at John instead. Peterson’s muscular body was tanned a rich mahogany except for a miniscule bathing suit stripe. His cock was stiffening slowly. He tossed his clothes casually in a corner.

"Everything," Joan said, holding out Mike's fresh drink. "Come on, get up.”

Mike surged to his feet. He was acutely conscious of the monster knot in his pants and the turmoil in his guts. He had an urge to sprint for the door, but didn't.

While he stood there, Joan swiftly and efficiently stripped him.

"Now come on, you two, we're wasting time," Joan announced after giving Mike's cock a fond tickle. She sat on the couch, and motioned to Mike to sit next to her. John took a seat on her other side. She held Mike's cock in one hand while she sipped brandy from the glass she held in the other. "Makes me wish I had three hands," she noted.

John put his fingers on her chin and turned her head and kissed her. Mike felt her fingers tighten on his cock as the kiss went on and on. John slid a hand over and cupped one of his wife's lush breasts. His calloused thumb stroked her brown nipple, made the rubbery bud swell and harden. Mike wondered what the hell the etiquette was in a situation like this. He was naked and aroused. His own pride, and the grip she had on his cock, kept him from fleeing screaming into the night. The sight of John fondling one of her heavy breasts was making Mike's gut seethe with lust. He was itching to join the fun.

Hesitantly, his hand palsied with nerves and horniness, he reached for her other breast. She purred deep in her throat when he brushed her nipple. Then he clutched her heavy jug, and her thumb combed across the head of his cock, smearing his goo over his meat. His belly was ablaze with lust.