A Week of June: Fridaybycolumfa©
I awoke Friday morning to a pervasive sense of well-being I had not enjoyed for many days. I luxuriated in bed, stretching. The morning sun cast a window-shaped slash of warmth across the sheets. For the first time since Monday, cool air swirled through the room, a breeze of refreshing air powered by the brand-new air conditioner installed in my living room yesterday afternoon while June and I had been out.
In addition, my sleep had been thankfully free of the disturbing dreams of the previous nights. No images born of guilt, frustration, shame at my actions, or lack of action. Rather, I had slept deeply, thoroughly, dredging every last bit of rest from the hours granted to me.
I turned over, and there was June, lying next to me, still lost in her own sleep. In repose, her perfect face regained the innocence that had been untimely ripped from her by her mother. A lock of blonde hair lay across her cheek, and I gently tucked it behind her ear. The sheet, silkily molded to her curves, hid the objects of my lust and revealed only my daughter. I felt such tenderness towards her, and finally, a newly awakened responsibility to redirect her towards normalcy.
The night before, she had not pushed any advantage she might have gained from our adventures in the Village. No doubt compounded by any discomfort she had from the tattoo, she had seemed reticent with me for perhaps the first time in the whole week. I myself was too tired from our exploits to wonder whether her attitude was a new ploy in her ongoing battle to win me over to her view of our future together. We undressed and collapsed into bed together, and I spooned her, manfully ignoring the rounded contours of her ass against my groin, until we both lost consciousness.
Coffee called me, and I answered, gently disengaging myself from the sheets so as not to disturb June or my newly rediscovered image of her as a child. I padded round the kitchen, preparing breakfast; coffee, bagels, cream cheese, lox. A classic New York City morning repast. A few minutes later, June appeared in the bedroom door, her eyes still dreamy with sleep, her hair mussed becomingly around her face. She had on an old sweatshirt of mine, which reached down to mid-thigh on her.
"Mmmm..." she replied as she made a beeline for the coffeepot. She poured herself a mug, and walked with it to the couch. She sat down on it, curling her legs up under her like a kitten, and focused her attention on the steaming cup. I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude. This morning had a feeling of domesticity that bordered on normal. I felt no urge to ravish her, no compulsion to indulge my lust. Instead, a joy unknown to me in so long began to rekindle itself within my heart.
"June, honey, I need to work today. Those pictures need to be finished and sent out to Flirty Girl."
June suppressed a giggle.
"What a name. Where do they come up with these things?"
"Considering the clothing they're selling, it seems only appropriate," I replied, assuming an air of mock sternness.
"Well, you better work fast, 'cause I've got plans for us this afternoon," she said, winking at me.
"Good God," I groaned, "don't you ever rest?"
"Not when I've got so much on the line."
"How are you feeling, by the way?" I asked, trying to change the subject. "I mean, down there."
"Really great, surprisingly! The stuff she sold me to speed up the healing process must be some kind of wonder drug. Look!"
And she lifted up the sweatshirt. Her sex was coyly hidden between her thighs, but the junction of her legs framed her lower belly and the work of art Joy had inscribed into my daughter's skin. There was no sign of scab or wound, and the red and black stood out brilliantly against her golden tan. The lines were etched with incomparable care, the peony alive with health. I gasped.
"I thought it was supposed to take several weeks to heal," I murmured.
"I know! Now my style won't be cramped at all. Thank goodness!" And she bounded off the bed and skipped into the bedroom. I sighed. No relief in sight.
The morning passed in the blink of an eye. The pictures I had taken of June were some of the finest I had ever undertaken. The light, the shadows, the stark lines of the rooftop contrasted with the gentle curves of June's outrageously sexy body. She was sex embodied, the avatar of lust, desire personified as an 18-year girl. I carefully selected shots that emphasized this aspect of my daughter, without revealing anything that would be considered inappropriate for a swimsuit catalog. I put the contact sheets and the finished pictures in a large padded envelope, and came out into the bright daylight of my apartment.
June was nowhere to be found. I thought I had heard her step out of the apartment at some point in the morning. I quickly typed up a cover letter on my PC and printed it out. I sealed and addressed the envelope and went out to mail it.
When I got home, there was a message on the answering machine. It was June, telling me to meet her downtown, in the offices of Kramer & Finzi. What the hell? I thought. What's this about? The express took me downtown quickly, and I found the building that was the home for the law firm of Kramer & Finzi. The elevator took me up to the forty-sixth floor, and I came out into a large waiting room, decorated in the standard style for such places. Behind a large desk, an attractive but very professional woman was answering the phone. I stood, waiting, until she finished. She flashed me a bright smile.
"How can I help you?"
"Um, Hi. I'm Ray Carlson. My daughter, June, asked me to meet her here."
"Of course. Please go on in. Take your first right, and go to the office at the end of the hall. Ms. Carlson is waiting for you in Ms. Martinez' office."
My curiosity was definitely piqued. I found my way to the office in question, and knocked on the door.
"Come in," said a female voice from within. I opened the door, and walked into a sunny office with large windows. Behind the desk sat a stunning young woman, who arose as I entered. She was dressed in a very professional and highly tailored pants-suit in navy blue. The jacket had one button, at around the navel, and she wore a sheer blouse underneath, through which I could make out the shadows of her modest cleavage. Her navy skirt, likewise superficially professional, was cut a shade higher than one would expect, coming about one-third of the way down her thighs. She smoothed it down, as she stood, and I noted that there was a slit on the side that showed an additional five inches of skin.
And that skin! The deep olive color of it, that rich deep tan that I associate with the best oil. I looked up at her face. Her hair, deep brown, straight, was gathered behind her head in a simple ponytail. Her pretty eyes, the white of them startling against the hue of her skin, flashed greenly at me.
"Mr. Carlson, I presume. Thank you for coming here so quickly. Your daughter will be joining us in a moment. Please, sit down." She indicated one of the chairs facing the desk. I sat down, sinking into the deep upholstery. She came around the desk, and perched on the edge of it, facing me. The action caused her skirt to rise up on her legs a little. I tried not to stare at her legs, at how the skirt, stressed by her position, was now only covering a few inches of her thighs.
"Ms. Martinez? Can you explain to me why I'm here?"
"Don't worry, Mr. Carlson. It will all become clear before too long," she said with a smile. She picked up a folder of papers, and began to page through them. With her attention occupied, I glanced down at her legs again. Now the material of her skirt was stretched tight across her slender thighs, and the slit on the side had somehow managed to shift towards the front. Pulled tight, the material gaped across the top of her leg, and I realized that the top corner of the slit was right at her panty line. The lacy cotton that peeked from the gap caused my throat to go dry.
"Would you care for some water?"
Her sudden question snapped my eyes back to her face. She seemed unconcerned, perhaps unaware of what I had been looking at.
"Um, yeah, sure."
She stood up, the skirt still rucked up around her waist.
"Oops! I tell you, these modern suits are very inconvenient," she exclaimed, appearing to notice her exposure. She tugged on the sides of the skirt to bring it back down to a more decent level. Then she walked over to a side table, where a pitcher of water and some glasses stood. She poured me a glass, bending over from the hips. She must not have pulled the skirt all the way down, because the motion of bending forward caused the skirt to rise up, and I got another flash of lacy panties. I was starting to experience discomfort of my own, sitting in the deep armchair, with an incipient erection.
She turned, the skirt once only an inch or so below her crotch, and brought me the glass. She bent forward, once again, to hand me the glass. Now her jacket fell slightly away from her chest, and I saw the outline of her right breast through the sheer blouse. It was only a quick glimpse, but enough to tell that the minx was braless, and that her nipple was hard and pushing against her blouse. Damned if she wasn't turned on also! What was going on here?
She sat back down again on the edge of the desk, the skirt dangerously flirting with exposing the crotch of her underwear. The telephone rang, and she leaned back over the desk to pick it up. Now I could see her panties well and truly. She held the awkward position as she carried on a brief conversation with the person on the other end of the line. Her stance meant that I could examine her body without fear of being caught.
The panties were french cut, I could see. The bottom half of her ass cheeks, happily freed from cover, were lovingly encased in the lacy nothing. She shifted her legs, now slightly parting them. The gusset of the panties was now in view, with several soft brown hairs escaping from around the sides. The gentle swell of her mound pushed out the material, with a subtle cleft just discernible running down the middle.
Suddenly, she said goodbye, and swung around to face me once more. Unfortunately, the button of her jacket got caught on the desk organizer and popped off.
"Shit! My jacket's ruined!" She yelled, hopping off of the desk, and holding the sides of the jacket apart to examine the damage done. Her sheer blouse, now fully exposed, did nothing to conceal her breasts. Like twin headlights, her nipples shone out at me, dark brown on the chocolate aureolas. Her breasts were small but perfectly rounded, not a hint of asymmetry or sag to their contour. To add to her predicament, her skirt was still up around her waist, her panties all that remained to disguise her nakedness.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Carlson, I'm so embarrassed. Would you mind if I took this jacket off?"
I barely suppressed my astonishment, but nodded to her to go ahead. She removed the offending garment, then appeared to notice what she was wearing underneath.
"Oh, Good God. This really isn't my day. I didn't even remember I was wearing this blouse. Now you can see all of my titties. Will you promise not to look?"
This escapade had my daughter's name all over it, but then where was she, anyway? In any case, the game was too much fun to bring to a halt now. I had to see how far this crazy brunette would take it.
"Of course, Ms. Martinez. I'm a gentleman. I can understand a lady's dilemma, and I promise not to take advantage of it."
She seemed satisfied with my pronouncement, and then noticed that her skirt was once again up around her waist.
"My goodness, what you must think of me. I'm really not trying to flaunt myself at you, but this skirt has always been a problem for me." She tugged at the sides, struggling to pull it back down over her hips. The movement made her breasts sway enticingly. All at once, we heard a definite tearing noise. She stopped moving at once, and a becoming flush rose over her cheeks.
"Oh, dear. Now I've done it." And she straightened up, holding her skirt in her hands. It had ripped right along the seam, and was now useless as a garment. She stood before me, in high heels, panties, and a see-through blouse. The situation was surreal.
"Mr. Carlson, how can you ever forgive me? Really, I'm very professional usually. I can't imagine how I've managed to get myself into this bind. I do hope your daughter will be here soon, so we can conduct our business, and I can go find something more appropriate to wear."
"It's quite allright, Ms. Martinez. I'm sure this happens to people all the time. We'll just make the best of a difficult situation, all right?"
She nodded shyly, still blushing furiously.
"Ok then. I'll just do some work that I have to get to while we're waiting."
She picked up a large pile of papers and moved to a filing cabinet against the wall. She opened a middle drawer and started to file the papers, bending over from the waist to do so. Her panties pulled against her ass, the bottom part starting to slip between the cheeks. From where I was sitting, she made a delicious picture, her long legs together, the slight gap at the top framing her panty-clad pussy, her ass cheeks bisected by the back of her underwear. She reached behind her and inserted a finger into the side of the panties and pulled them out of the crack, momentarily showing me the shadow of the cleft underneath. It was a heartbreakingly endearing motion.
She finished her job, and turned to go back to her desk, but somehow, the panties got snagged on the file cabinet drawer, and as it closed, it ripped them right off of her body. A little shriek emanated from this remarkable woman.
"Oh, no! Whatever am I going to do now?" She vainly pulled at the shredded underwear, making no effort to cover her bush, a luxuriant brown growth that topped her sex.
"Ms. Martinez, please, calm down. Let me see what I can do," I said, standing up and coming over to where she stood. I took the fragments of lace from her unresisting hands, and we stood next to each other, looking at the useless thing. The fact of this half-nude beauty next to me in the deep interior of a respectable law-firm was as exciting to me as anything I had ever done in the past.
"I'm afraid there's nothing to be done," she said, her head hung low. I put my finger under her chin and lifted it up to look at me.
"Nonsense. You've shown remarkable grace under fire. A series of unfortunate mishaps could reduce the most powerful CEO to a snivelling wreck, but you've maintained your composure, despite everything."
"Thank you, Mr. Carlson, that means so much to me. But I can't meet with you and your daughter showing my pussy out in the open like this."
"June is a very understanding girl, and I'm sure she won't be upset by this turn of events. But if it would make you more comfortable, I could give you company. Perhaps you wouldn't feel so out of place with another person partly naked."
"Oh, Mr. Carlson! Would you? I can't tell you how grateful I would be."
"Anything to make a lady feel better," I said, unzipping my pants, and dropping them to the floor. My erection stood out at full mast, the eye weeping slightly from the exhilarating turn of events. I leaned back against the desk, making no effort to hide my massive organ. Ms. Martinez smiled at me.
"Yes, that's much better, thank you." She started to step back to her side of the desk, but managed to get her heel caught on the edge of the rug. She fell towards me, and I reflexively caught her under the arms. Her face came to a rest right against my rigid dick.
"Oh, my goodness, how clumsy of me," she exclaimed, pulling her face away from my cock. A string of pre-cum stretched from her cheek to the end of my rod.
"Please," I said, helping her to stand up, one hand on her hip, the other on her back, "it's nothing. But you've got a little something wet on your cheek." I held her close with my hand on the small of her back, feeling the outsweep of her ass under my fingertips. The other hand gently stroked her waist, feeling the warm smooth skin under her blouse.
"I do?" She reached up with a finger, her back arched slightly away from me, her hips still in close. The tip of my dick made contact with her flat belly, rubbing so gently across the brown skin. She wiped some of the pre-cum onto her finger, and looked at it curiously.
"Hmmm..." She brought the moisture to her deep red lips and gently sucked the fluid off her fingertip. My dick throbbed against her at the sight of the lewd gesture.
"Ooh! It's tasty. I wonder where it came from. Is there any more on my face?"
"Yes! Come to the mirror and I'll show you," I replied. She led the way over to the mirror over the table where the pitcher of water was. I stood behind her, one hand casually resting on her hip. I pushed forward against her, my cock making thrilling contact with the cleft between her ass cheeks.
"See?" I pointed over her shoulder at the mirror. She leaned forward.
"Oh! You're right." She leaned towards the mirror, pushing her ass out against me, my cock now enveloped by her glorious ass. She stood up on tiptoes, as if to get a closer look, and the bulbous head of my cock slipped between her legs, gliding along the wet lips of her pussy. She wiped the remaining pre-cum from her cheek and once again savored the flavor. I now held her hips with both hands, and she settled back on my cock. With a sweet glide, I felt myself enter her canal.
"I just need to... oh! To straighten up here, Mr., uh, oh! Mr. Carlson," she gasped, aimlessly moving objects around on the table.
"Of course, Ms. Martinez." I started plowing her pussy, back and forth, the astonishing heat and lubrication creating a delightful haven for my organ. My hands went up her torso to cup her tits through the blouse.
"Just - Oh! Just need - Ooh! To straighten - Ahhhh!!" The sexy moans emanating from her brought me closer and closer to my climax. I snaked one hand down and started to rub her clit.
"Oh!! God!! Yes, yes, YES!!!"
With a shattering scream, she came, exploding, her walls spasmodically gripping and releasing my cock. In its turn, it released its sweet load deep into her velvety tunnel.
"I'm not sure who was helping who 'straighten up'," came a sardonic response from behind us. I pulled away from my seductress, my steaming cock still dripping from our combined love juices. June was standing there, a playful smile on her face.
"You dirty old man, you." Then, without warning, both she and Ms. Martinez burst out laughing, wildly.
"Thank you, Mr. Carlson," gasped Ms. Martinez, "That was truly lovely."
I looked wildly from one girl to the other.
"Would one of you mind explaining what's going on here?"
June managed to get her giggling under control.
"Esme here really wanted to try a new idea. Plus, she's been hot for you ever since she saw your picture in my locker at high school."
"Please, don't be mad, Mr. Carlson. I'm not a lawyer, I'm an executive assistant to Ms. Finzi. There's no business here other than the one we just transacted."
I fixed June with a stern eye, while I went over to retrieve my pants.
"You're going to get yourself in trouble one of these days. Of course," I admitted, "I don't think I had much of a chance against young Ms. Martinez here. Still, you have to take some pity on an old man. I don't know how much of this I can take."
"That's the point, Dad. When you finally admit that you need me as much as I know you do, we can take a break. Until then, you've got to live up to your promise."
"Does Ms. Martinez ('Esme, please,' she murmured) - OK, Esme, does she know about us?"
"Of course she does, silly," snorted June. "If I can't talk about you with my best high school friend, who can I talk about you with?"