Jack Grant - Making Daddy

"One o'clock? By the mailboxes. If anyone sees us we can pretend we're driving to the store."

"I'll try."

"Be there!"

She giggled. "You're hurting me."

He hadn't realized that he was gripping her tit, mashing it against her ribs. His need was so strong it blotted out everything else from his mind. He released her and she pulled away. "I'll do my best, honest.

Now I have to go. He'll be out here-"

She pulled away from him and ran back to the road and vanished in the shadows. Stan swore softly under his breath, damning her and her father and himself. Shit, he didn't need her that bad. He could find someone else… sure, that's what he'd do. He'd drive down to the roadhouse a few miles away and pick up one of the local girls who hung out there.

He'd have himself a good piece of ass and forget all about Francie Collins.

He started for the house, then suddenly remembered he had let Kevin take his car. He swore again and leaned against a tree. His guts ached with the need he had built up for the girl. His balls were hard and ready, his cock half-erect and hopeful. Shit! He needed a drink.

He strode quickly to the cabin and went inside. He took the bottle of bourbon from the cupboard and got a glass from the dish drainer. He carried both of them outside and down to the lake. He didn't want to do his drinking where one of his sons or his wife might come in. He had to get calmed down before he could face anyone. Every time he thought of Francie he got madder, and his cock stirred and grew. Little bitch.

He sat on the pontoon boat, behind the striped awning that shielded him from view of the cabin. He poured himself half a tumbler of booze and began to drink.

Robin had watched her father and the girl in the driveway and heard the girl's excuses. She wasn't fucking her father tonight! Francie had to go home, and Daddy didn't like it. Robin knew that he was probably hard for the girl. She grinned in the darkness of her hiding place. If he stayed hard, he might not be able to turn her down this time. She listened to them make the tentative plans to meet the next day. Then Francie was gone, and her father was striding back toward the cabin.

She watched him get the liquor and go down to the boat. Robin hovered in the edge of the shadows and thought about her father. Would the drinks help him or would they help her? She could see him splashing the booze into the glass and downing it quickly. She'd seen him drunk several times-when his parties went on late or if he had business conferences that kept him out until early morning. He was happy when he drank; she could recall times when he grabbed her mother and tried to undress her on the spot. Nina's protests had finally stopped him, but the two had vanished into the bedroom quickly afterwards. That must mean that drinking makes him more sexy, Robin thought.

She sat on a small stool near the end of the dock and waited. The house was quiet; Jodi was asleep, and the others weren't home yet. The lights across the lake shimmered on the water and seemed to emphasize the silence of the night. Her father poured another glass of liquor and set the bottle beside the deck chair. Every once in a while, she could hear him mumble something softly to himself. When he raised the bottle to refill the glass the third time, Robin crept toward the boat. A board creaked when she stepped on the dock, but her father didn't turn around. Robin smiled and moved onto the pontoon boat.

She was beside the chair before he even realized anyone was with him.

He turned his head and peered up at the blurred form.

"Francie?" It was a whispered hope, a slurred plea.

Robin didn't answer. She knelt by the deck chair and put her hand on his thigh. She felt the muscles twitch and she rubbed lightly, inching her way up toward his crotch. Her father put his hand to her head and pulled her close. Quite abruptly, he stopped, suddenly aware that she was not Francie.

"Fran-"

"It's all right, Daddy, it's me." Robin caressed the large mound of his trapped cock under the slacks.

Her father sucked in his breath sharply.

"Robin?" The need was there but the hesitation, too. He moved as though to get up from the chair, but her insistent hand at his genitals made him relax again. It felt so good, so goddamn good.

"I love you, Daddy." Robin squeezed the pulpy mound and felt the first signs of response under her hand. She smiled and laid her head close to her hand at his crotch. She had to have him, had to feel his love in a physical way. She opened her mouth and pressed her lips to his cock, mashing softly through the cloth and letting her hot breath sear at his hidden flesh.

"Robin-" He knew he should move, pull away. His body was coming alive, feeling the hard pressure that had begun to build while he waited for Francie and then was so abruptly denied when Francie ran away from him.

The longing had stayed; the pain had stayed. Now the desperate need was returning. He couldn't slide out from under the child's hand. His mind was blurred from the liquor, his senses sharpened. He felt the pressure of her hand then her lips on his cock and balls, felt the heat of her breathing on him. It flamed his desire, and he felt the answering twitch of his prick. He was getting hard.

"Robin, I-" He couldn't find words to say what he felt. Nor could he move away from her. In his daze, he realized that he wanted her. The tempting touch he'd had of her flesh this morning had left him dazed and shaken. He hadn't been able to rid himself of the lust he felt for her. His mind had denied it but his body held it. Now she was here… and she was making it clear that she wanted him… God! How could he refuse?!

Yet he sat paralyzed by his own conscience. He couldn't take her, not his own child…

Robin's fingers found the metal clasp of the zipper and began to work it down. Stan's breath came faster, searing his lungs and throat. Her hand went into the fly and felt at his shorts for the second opening.

Then she was touching his flesh. The heat of her hand was a fire that ignited him. His cock sprang to life, growing tumid and trying to force its head through the noose of foreskin. Her fingers were tiny and light, yet her grip was coiled steel. She began to move her fist up and down on the solid shaft of sexy flesh. Stan gasped and leaned his head back against the deck chair. My god, he was coming alive at her touch!

His need pounded in his guts and spread like molten lava to his balls.

The pressure swelled and his cock, swollen and hard now, filled her hand. The head popped from the sheath of skin and surged upward. Her smooth young palm found it, and she moved her head closer as though peering at it in the dim light on the boat.

Robin held her breath as she unzipped her father's slacks and wormed her hand into the fly and under his shorts. He was so warm, his flesh seemed to burn against her hand, teasing her fingers and making her quiver inside. Her mouth was very dry, and she kept running her tongue over her lips. Then she was holding it, the glorious hardening column of maleness. She squeezed and began to move her hand up and down on the shaft. It grew harder and fuller with each stroke.

She could smell the heady male aroma of his body and she leaned closer to it. Then her mouth was open and the tip of the swollen cock touched her lips. She shuddered and pressed her face to it, mouth open wide and eager for the first taste of the tempting tool. The sensations that assailed her were overwhelming. The smooth skin of the cockhead brushed her lips like a silken caress. The hot drop of preseminal fluid that had already collected at the slit scalded her tongue. The incredible, warm fullness of the organ filled her mouth as she pressed forward and took it quickly.