Out the Window Ch. 04byMister_Shy©
Dale stared at the envelope on his desk. It was a big one; a big yellow manila envelope without a return address but he knew well enough where it came from. He lifted his face out of his hands and sighed. From his office window he could see the city, the hazy mid-morning of a cold Chicago day. He pulled his arm back in a slow, wide arc and tried to stretch it as best he could.
His body was still sore. After he'd tumbled out that window he'd had to tear off and around his own house, pull on the ratty robe that was stuffed in the hamper on top of the washer in the garage and tell his wife, who had stumbled out of bed thinking she'd heard strange sounds from Katie's room. He allayed her suspicions and told her he'd been chasing some big animal that had been snooping around their yard—and he might have hurt himself doing it. That last part wasn't a lie.
Only once his wife had groggily tromped back upstairs did the pain kick in and Dale realized he'd fractured his ankle. He found out later at the hospital that he'd also cracked two ribs, fucked up a rotator cuff and sprained his elbow and seriously bruised his hip, possibly to the bone. His saving graces were in the pile of garbage he'd been meaning to carry out to the curb (for the last week) and the extreme spontaneity of his defenestration. Had he time to think about what he was doing, Dale likely would have seized up and snapped himself in half. Instead he was just coming off the best orgasm he'd received in ten years and flying wasn't too far from his general mindset.
Of course, that orgasm had come at the cost of finding out what the inside of his daughter felt like.
Dale shuddered again and glared at the manila envelope.
He was in the hospital getting the cast on when Katie's mother dropped her at the airport. He'd ignored her phone calls. He'd had the cast on for weeks and it had been months since he'd seen his daughter. Of course she called her mother with updates on her courses and the great time she was having at Purdue. But Dale found more excuses to stay and work overtime and miss those infrequent but inevitable calls. He missed talking to his daughter. But then again, he was bewildered by what they had done—or he had done; he wasn't quite sure who to blame yet. Obviously the blame was his own. He was the girl's father—he was Katie's father—and in a moment of improper naughtiness he had let her go too far.
It was a moment of improper naughtiness because Katie had been modeled after her father from the start and her flights of impish fancy had always taken her right to the brink of her father's patience before he finally pulled her back—testing barriers, always sneaking out or running red lights or stealing his drinks...right up until the moment he took her aside and told her what was what. Then there was no more sneaking out, or traffic tickets or stealing his booze. She always pushed that leeway until she could make him put her in her place. Maybe she did it for the attention, maybe she did it for fun. Dale realized it had always been like that. Why was this time any different?
Because she struck him where he was weakest. Even now he felt it. It was a blank fog that shrouded his brain, that made it nigh impossible to concentrate on the report that was due in two hours, on the grocery list he'd promised Mary he'd take care of. That fog was created by the evaporating mist around the naked body of whatever his cock was craving in the endless midnights he lay awake beside a wife who rarely fucked him and who he'd lost almost any urge to fuck. The body obviously belonged to Katie now. She'd set his internal infidel to a constant state of waking and now not even sleep was safe from the memory of Katie's eyes as she stared up at him while she sucked the cum out of his cock.
Why did she do it? That was what drove him insane. No, scratch that completely. What drove him insane was how badly he wanted her again. What drove him insane was how fit she was, how carefully and wonderfully she had trained her body, how blessedly she had grown, and how skillfully she knew how to blow him, fuck him, let him...
Dale growled and smacked the envelope off his desk. Standing up, he stared down at his pants. There was his hard on bulging against his fly like it had something to say to him. Why was he made this way? he raged at himself. Why couldn't he have been a normal man with normal problems, like... He faltered. Like what? What did normal men his age worry about? Their daughters, of course, but not in that way. He sank back into his chair, defeated, and wretched.
And, damn it, horny.
Margaret knocked at his door quickly and let herself inside. She was twenty-two now, he thought, and she'd finally figured out what her bra size was (to his dismay but ultimate relief). She came forward with a sheaf of documents from upstairs and laid them on his desk with a smile. But her expression softened and fell when she saw the look on his face.
"What's wrong?" she said.
Quickly, Dale composed himself and sat up. "Nothing." He tried to laugh. It sounded bad. "I'm sorry, Marge, it's nothing."
Margaret gave him a kind look and glanced at the manila envelope on the floor. "What happened here?" she asked as she stepped to the middle of the room and bent, carefully at the knees (the slip at the back of her skirt afforded him a brief glimpse of skin). She picked up the envelope and slid it back onto his desk.
He gave her a look that said it wasn't the time to ask.
In response, Margaret reached behind her head and checked to make sure her hair was in order, then she straightened her blouse. Dale always meant to smile more at Margaret. She was a cute kid and he thought she genuinely cared about him not making an ass of himself at the office.
"How's the ankle?" she asked, beginning to organize the layers of documents.
"Not bad," he said. "It's my shoulder that's been bugging me, really."
"Let me see."
Before he had a chance to wave her away she'd come around his chair and laid into him. He yelped in what he hoped was a brusque, manly way.
"You big baby," she teased him. Guess not.
Margaret worked her little fingers into the flesh between his shoulder and neck and he had to admit she had the talent. Of course, so did his devious member and he pulled forward out of her grasp before either of his heads got any ideas. "Thanks," he said, again more strained than he meant.
"The meeting with Ryan is at one and your tickets are in that docket at the bottom of the pile. Do you need a cab to the airport?" Margaret turned in the doorway with her hand on the knob.
"No," Dale replied. He signed one of the documents absently and pulled the other papers up so that he could see the ticket. "Ryan and I are taking the shuttle over. We, uh—" He looked up. Margaret was waiting calmly in the doorway. He sighed. "Thanks."
"It's fine," she said with a diplomatic smile.
"I mean it," he said. "I'm not—it's not a good day for me."
"Seems like it hasn't been a good month for you."
He almost laughed. When she first started as his secretary she hardly spoke a word that wasn't a direct response to something he'd say. In the two years she'd worked for him the formalities had gradually stripped until she told him directly what was what and what came next on the agenda.
"Yeah," he said, nodding.
"Who's the envelope from, by the way?" She raised her eyebrows in the direction of the package.
She smirked at him. "Liar."
She closed the door lightly and he remained frozen until he heard her typing outside again. It was fair for her to say that. This was the third envelope in as many months. The first came to the office directly. The second was sent to his house but he didn't dare open it there. This one was sent to the office again.
He knew exactly what he'd find inside. He'd tried all morning to ignore it. He realized now that ignoring it was impossible and the sooner he did what he had to do the sooner he could clear the fog from his brain and get back to work.
It was a short business trip, no more than three days, and he wasn't going far, just to Bloomington. He had his bag packed and ready to go on the chair opposite his desk and he'd already sent the itinerary to his family via email and the numbers they could contact him at as well as the hotel where he was staying. The report that was due in less than two hours was the last real bit of business before he and Ryan were to take off—the meeting was just a brief brainstorming session.
But none of this really mattered as much as the envelope.
His fingers fell upon the yellow envelope and he tore it open. He ripped it lengthwise and out dropped a single, sheer pair of panties. They were almost transparent, like a lace made from blue gossamer. He did know a little something about women's panties and these were...they weren't necessarily expensive but they were...suggestive.
He reached out, tentatively, and picked them up off his desk. Like the others they were unwashed with a dark, ripe spot spoiling the fine fabric of the crotch. Unlike the others there was a yellow postit sitting in the cradle of lace. It said "Enjoy me". And Katie'd signed her name.
As if he wouldn't know. As if before he even put them to his face, before he'd even seen her adult body, he wouldn't know that smell. He knew how the girl smelled. Still. He pressed the panties to his nostrils.
He absorbed a dozen noxious things about his daughter. His pants suddenly felt far too tight and he wished there was a way to get from here to anywhere else. He glanced out of the high rise window and sighed.
He had to take care of this.
Dale stuffed the panties into his pocket and got up. Stuffing his hands into his pockets and casually pressing the front of his pants as far as they would go, he strode across his office and opened the door. He didn't make eye contact with anybody, just made a beeline for the bathroom.
Just gotta jerk off, he told himself. Just gonna jerk off, no big deal, not gonna think about how fucked up I am or that my daughter might be as depraved as me (she's sending you her panties, you asshole!); not gonna think about that either.
Dale banged open the restroom door and went as far down the long corridor of stalls as he could. He'd always enjoyed how large and clean the restroom in his office building was and he doubly enjoyed it now. He locked the stall behind him, left his shame hanging with his tie on the coat hook (past experience had taught him that swinging it over the shoulder was never a safe option), dropped his pants facing the toilet and pulled Katie's panties out of his pocket. His dick hardly needed the encouragement.
He inhaled the twisted scent of his daughter's collected juices, the blotted musk she'd left on these sensual panties. With his right hand he grasped himself and tried to jerk it as quietly as possible. As far as he knew there wasn't anyone else in here with him and if he could just—
He thought of Katie squirming on her bed and telling him to fuck her little pussy harder; his dick thickened under his fingers and he ran his fist up and down his shaft; he thought of Margaret's breasts and the way the back of her legs looked when she bent down for the envelope; Katie, Katie's elastic ass cheeks dripping wet from her sweat and the sticky resin of her refreshing insides; he felt the back of his knees give way and he dropped her panties from his face and wrapped them around his dick. He let go with his right hand and pressed it against the stall door and held his breath. How loud was that sticky, slippery sound?
The restroom door banged open and Ryan's loud voice rang over the tiles: "Dale, you in there?! I'm looking all over the office for you!"
Dale heaved a tremendous sigh and felt all of the cum punch up against the base of his dick. It crashed there like a ten car pileup and gripped his balls with a black malice. In a minute or two it was going to really hurt but he couldn't do a damn thing about it. As quietly as he could he swiveled in place and sat his ass down on the toilet seat. He chucked the panties into the toilet bowl below him and watched them float idly in the water while his red dick stuck straight up like it was flipping off the ceiling.
"Yeah, Ryan, takin' a shit, what the hell you want me for?"
Ryan laughed his loud, idiotic laugh and tromped into the restroom. He heard him take the stall next to his and sit down. "Dropping the kids off at the pool, eh? Think I'll join you, old man."
Yep, that's the kind of guy Ryan was. He was five years younger than Dale, in his mid- to late-thirties and was maybe married, Dale honestly couldn't remember even after years of working with him. Ryan had definitely been married at some point, but whether or not he was still married to the same girl or a new girl Dale really didn't know. He was a fun guy to drink with, especially for a coworker, but that was about the best you could say about Ryan.
"So I'm looking over these Chinaski reports, right?" Ryan let a big fart rip from behind the stall. Dale sighed and flushed his toilet, watching his daughter's panties swirl and swirl away from him, down the drain.
"Uh huh," he answered back.
"And I'm realizing, where the Hell do they get off trading..." The rest of it was swallowed by a thick wad of time that slogged wetly between Dale's ears and somehow mustered him to finish his report by one, say two mildly engaging things in the meeting, and gather up his luggage, send a final word to his son, daughter, and wife via email, and crawl into the company shuttle with Ryan beside him. It did occur to him, somewhere between taking his shoes off at security and stuffing his carry-on into the luggage compartment that Ryan was still relating the same story he had started on the toilet. And he wondered briefly what color Margaret's panties were. Then he reasoned that there was a good chance Margaret didn't wear panties. He could never remember seeing panty lines. He questioned himself concerning this rude turn of thoughts but then realized he was checking the panty lines of nearly every woman, flight attendant and bus driver that crossed his path between Bloomington and the Chicago restroom.
You know, he thought, if I hadn't both cheated on my wife and committed incest a few months ago, this would be a fairly normal, fairly boring life.
But then he looked at the groggy, vacant people stuffed into the plane around him. No, he realized, it's still about the same.
They landed in Bloomington without incident and took the company cab to the hotel. That night, Dale laid out his suit and papers, turned on the television and let it play while he tried to drift to sleep. The stiffness of his erection kept him from rolling over but it wasn't worth it to do anything about it. It would just be back later.
* * *
In the morning, Ryan and he made a stirring case for their firm that all but sealed the deal for the buyers' representatives. It wasn't a yes, they told them, but they'd cancelled their competitors' meeting. Dale, at last feeling the relief that comes from the gap between two initiatives, finally relaxed in the cab back.
It was around 9 PM when they entered the hotel bar. It was a small, well kept place with too many TVs around but a nice modern retro mahogany and glass thing going on and they took a booth near the back, across from the bar.
"Hot damn!" Ryan crowed, knocking back a Scotch and soda, "that wasn't so tough."
Dale smiled as the waitress cracked a beer and left him with the mug.
"Y'know, old man, I think this is the start of something good. Now that we've got the Bloomington group, we should think about expansion—"
Dale listened to Ryan with vague interest, assenting or disagreeing but without much to say. He wasn't totally here or anywhere at the moment, just having a drink in the hotel bar, relieved business was doing well, attuned to nothing but the surrounding hum and the clink and the shuffling of glasses and bar stools. Outside the massive windows of the hotel Dale could see folks strutting down the main street, bright umbrellas in hand. Had it started raining already?
"You know what I mean, old man?"
Dale snapped back. He had switched to gin and tonics and Ryan was staring at him expectantly, a little red from the alcohol.
"Huh?" said Dale.
Ryan slapped the table and let loose a snort-filled laughter.
"Where's your head at, Dale?" Ryan asked when he'd wiped his eyes, still grinning.
"Dunno," Dale said noncommittally, which wasn't a lie.
"Well I got something to focus your senses." Ryan leaned in conspiratorially. "Check out the blonde number at the bar. Don't look yet, though." Ryan not-so-surreptitiously pointed with his thumb over his shoulder. Like an idiot, Dale turned his head.
She looked so good it hurt.
Her long, bright legs were smooth and crossed on the bar stool, her little toes enclosed in silver pumps. His eyes wandered up to drink in the rest of her. She was young, but the black, shimmering dress she wore was classy (and not a little bit slinky). It skillfully clung to her hips and curved up to the substantial swell of her playful breasts. The dress was doing its best not to let too much of them escape but they were like ripe peaches inviting a clever picker's hand. She had a graceful neck and skin that glowed against the hanging glasses behind the bar. The sharp golden curls on her head fell down her shoulders and back like a tangled mane. Her lips were full and probably bright pink, but right now they were painted a sweet crimson red. Her small nose curved up slightly. But it was her eyes that arrested him. She had eyes that could peel a cock like a fat fruit.
It was Katie.
"Oh fuck," said Dale.
Ryan grinned devilishly across the table. "I know, right? I think she's looking over here."
Dale swallowed hard. He'd told his family exactly where he was going to be. How far of a drive was Lafayette to Bloomington? Was she here with somebody else? He snuck a quick glance at her again (she was watching) and quickly snuffed the notion.
"She's totally looking over here," Ryan murmured. He turned back to Dale. "Let's go."
"Don't be a pussy. Come on." Ryan reached across the table and yanked at Dale's shoulder.
"No," said Dale.
"Oh, what, cause you're married?" As if he'd reminded himself, Ryan quickly twisted at his finger and stuffed his hand into his pocket. "Fine, be my wing man on this."
"What?" Dale said again.
"Don't do this to me, Dale—we had a killer win today. Why not enjoy it?" He grabbed up his drink and stood. "Come on. Seize the day and whatnot."
This would be interesting. Dale picked up his drink and stood. He strode across the bar with Ryan, feeling more like he was being led by a one-eyed puppy. And then they were standing in front of her and Dale was staring at the glittering fabric that flowed and folded over Katie's curves. "Evening, Miss," Ryan said with his best imitation of sophistication. "Mind if we join you?"
Katie glanced at the two of them like they were her latest serving of bad eggs. But then she smiled. "It's a free country," she said, bobbing her silver pumps.
Ryan took the stool next to her and Dale took the one on her right. His shoulder muscles seized up.
The two men faced the bar while Katie remained facing out, her elbows on the counter. A tall martini glass stood untouched at her slender wrist.
"What's your story?" Ryan began.
"Just a sexy bitch," Katie teased. "Don't you think so?"
Ryan shut his eyes and crowed to the ceiling. "Oh my God!" Giggling, he glanced over at Dale.
Katie followed the look and turned her sharp smile on to him. "Don't you think so?" she said.
Ryan reached over and slapped Dale's shoulder. "Answer the nice girl, old man!" Dale couldn't help noticing that in reaching, Ryan let his wrist bump against Katie's chest, as if it were an accident. Katie just shrugged his arm away.