Frank Brown: The Smiths come together!

Left and right, the girls were peeling off their clothes in the dressing room. They displayed pussy-fur of every color, tits of every size, young asses sexy enough to make a man have a heart attack.

How he longed to crawl in there on his hands and knees and sniff those girl-asses, those hot teen pussies! How he longed to lick between those spongy cuntlips, to suck the pussy-honey from those succulent young cunts! How he longed to stick his cock inside those hot little vixens! He wanted to fuck them. He just wanted to fuck them all!

"Christ, look at 'em!" he muttered. "Jesus balls!"

He'd installed the two-way mirrors five years ago, but every time he looked through them at the girls he still got just as excited as he had the first time. Without these secret mirrors and his daily jack-off sessions, sexual frustration would have driven him crazy long ago. Me often wondered what Greta's reaction would be if she ever found out about his secret voyeurism, about how he watched her precious little dancers and lusted after them. She'd probably have him locked up as a pervert – if she didn't kill him first.

A little blonde stepped up to the mirror and gazed into the reflection of her own eyes. It looked as if she were going to kiss her reflection. Morgan could have kissed her through the glass, but he feared she might see him through the mirror if he got too close. He gazed at the pretty little bitch, longing to stick his tongue between her pink wet lips, to pull her voluptuous young body against his own body, to slip his horny, lust-burning cock up her juicy young pussy and fuck the hell out of her.

"Oh, Jesus Christ!" The lust surged through his cock and suddenly he was shooting cum all over.

As the fuck-itch pulsed through his cock and balls, as he humped at his jerking hand, his jizz splatted against the wall.

"I'm shooting off in you, baby," he whispered. "I'm fucking my jizz up your pussy. I'm creaming you, little bitch. Oh, yes I am!"

As his orgasm subsided, Morgan felt guilty and a little foolish, and he started to close the panel door. At the last moment before the door closed, he glimpsed his own daughter Susanne, her tits bouncing as she wiggled out of the shower room. His eyes lingered over her voluptuous curves for a few moments, then he sealed out the sight of her. He tried to push the image of her naked body out of his mind.

I shouldn't think about her like that, he told himself. She's my own daughter, for Christsake!

For years now, he'd been trying to deny his feelings about her. The truth was, he wanted to fuck her just as he wanted to fuck every other girl in the dance school. Maybe he wanted to fuck her even more.

"Don't think about it," he muttered. "Just don't think about it."

He didn't have time to think anymore about it at that moment, because there was a knock on the office door. In a panic, he zipped up, wiped his cum off the wall with his handkerchief, took a deep breath, and opened the door. Greta stepped inside.

"Why are you forever locking this door?" Greta asked in her Swedish accent.

She'd asked him that a thousand times before, and as usual she didn't wait for his answer – as if she really didn't want to know.

"I'm afraid you'll have to drive some of the girl's home, Morgan. The roads are terrible and some of the girls' parents can't get here to pick them up. The phone in the hall has been ringing with frantic calls. I've had to interrupt my teaching to answer them. Why haven't you been taking the calls in here?"

"I've been busy with the books," Morgan said. "You know I can't be interrupted when I do the books or I get lost in the figures completely."

"Well, now you must get on your coat and boots," Greta said. "The girls need rides."

After Morgan had left, Greta sat in his office, waiting for the remaining students to leave so she could lock up the building and drive home in her own car. With the office door open, she could watch the girls leave their dressing room and walk down the hallway to the outside door. Each time the outside door was opened, snow and frigid air blew in from the darkness outside. Greta shivered, dreading the cold drive home.

She swiveled restlessly in Morgan's desk chair, wondering what he did locked in this small, dimly lit office so much of the time. Why did he love this office so much? She got up and closed the office door and locked it, then sat back down, trying to put herself in Morgan's shoes.

She'd been sitting there a few minutes, starting to get claustrophobic, when she noticed that the grooves of the wall paneling in front of Morgan's desk didn't quite line up. On closer inspection, she discovered why. After a little probing with her fingers, she found herself sliding aside a section of paneling and looking through a window into the dance studio. What in God's name was this?

"Anybody here?" Patrick was shouting in the hallway outside. "Mom? Dad? Anybody? Anybody still here?" He rattled the office door, trying the knob.

Before Greta could pull herself together and answer, she saw Patrick through the window. He was still dressed in his dance clothing.

"Aren't we lucky!" Patrick said, looking around the deserted studio. "Looks like everybody else is gone and we're all alone. I'd better lock the front door."

He stepped out of the studio and Greta heard him pad down the hallway and lock the outside door of the dance school. Meanwhile, two girls walked into the studio, giggling as they pulled off their clothes and dropped them on the polished wood floor. Greta knew the girls couldn't see her, knew she was watching them through a two-way mirror, but she moved away from the window as if to hide herself as the girls looked her way.

When she dared look back through the mirror, the two girls were stark naked and rubbing their pussies. They squeezed their legs together and wiggled their sexy young asses. Despite her shock, Greta felt a twinge in her cunt.

I must be seeing things. Greta thought. Or I must have fallen asleep in Morgan's stuffy little office and I'm dreaming all this.

"I'm back, you sluts." Patrick danced back into the studio, performing a few pirouettes and leaps. He stripped don to his tights alone, then danced some more, his bare feet thudding on the hardwood as he performed a few more leaps and showed off for the girls. He came to a standstill next to the girls and put his arms around them and pulled them against him. He kissed them one at a time, shoving his tongue into their mouths.

The girls, a pony-tailed redhead named Wendy, and a pigtailed brunette named Cynthia, were two of the younger girls in the advanced class. Both girls, though slender, had well-developed tits and nicely rounded, tight asses. They quivered in Patrick's muscular arms and looked ready to faint as Patrick licked out their mouths. When he let them go, they both moaned theatrically and collapsed as their legs folded under them.

As they lay before him on the floor, Patrick stroked their nipples and noses and lips with his bare toes. Cynthia started licking his toes, and he squeezed his cock through his tights.

"That turns me on," Patrick said. "Suck on 'em."

Immediately, Wendy started licking the toes of Patrick's other foot, slobbering her warm spit all over them. Patrick shoved his hand down inside his tights and rubbed his cock as the two cooing girls licked and sucked his toes.

Greta's heart slammed in her chest. Her face pulsed with heat and sweat broke out on her skin. The office felt like a sauna. Hardly aware of what she was doing, she began pulling off her clothes. As she watched her son play with the two naked girls, she stripped herself until she was completely nude.

Then she sat in Morgan's chair with her legs spread, clutching and rubbing and finger-fucking her pussy. Her pussy-juices pooled on the chair seat between her legs. The room filled with the smell of her steaming cunt and of her over-heated female body. She wondered if she'd ever been this excited in ha life – if she had, it hadn't been in many, many years.