Rewarding Dad

For one, I was exposed and became enthralled with sex. Aside from my physical allure, curiosity, and interest in sex, I browsed quite often most of the porn sites in the guise of research projects. My malicious giggle while browsing betrayed me more than my actions that sometimes, I couldn't help but share with my father what I found.

"Dad, it says here size matters. They say it's more pleasurable—"

"Size need not concern you yet, baby," he said then, calm and feigning indifference. Yet his eyes stole glances at my sleeveless tee and tight shorts, seated and relaxed on the floor with my laptop in front of his worktable, comfortable of not wearing any undies at all. My cleavage exposed and well emphasized by the swells of my firm protruding breasts, my long legs bent on its knees open and spread apart—the skin so smooth that a fly would skid on it.

Jeez, how many times did I notice him lapping with his eyes the lips of my pussy bulging with its soft, luscious cheeks, all wet and succulent? "When it happens, Tia—you'll understand why," I heard my father continued, assuming a semblance of disinterest, but only for a moment. The bulge of his hardening cock pushed against his work shorts, his eyes darting fast to check the door of his studio, hoping it was locked. I stood up and walked to him, my smile suggestive and impish, jiggling my breasts.

"Understand what, Daddy?" I whispered close to his ears, my breasts brushing soft against his arm. Already consumed of my selfish arousals—my nipples stood erect, the areolas puffy, tickled against my tees—a warm wetness spreading luxurious against the thin cloth of my shorts. On fire and confident of what I wanted, I opened slow my seductive game, exposing myself in small salacious portions for the appreciation of my dad, trapping him inside my irresistible sexuality—just like other men, for life.

It was something I indulged before, unknown to my father and Rona, as I worked in a strip club far from school and home. I'd come home late armed with excuses, and because they knew I was a sultry attractive teen, both assumed it was a boyfriend. Until I rented a condo unit, but told them I was in a school boarding house.

Still, I later confessed. I did everything at the time only to support the demands of my luxurious lifestyle—keeping up with my rich and gregarious classmates.

"All of it was peer pressure, Dad...My eagerness to please them, to be with them—to be their equal," I said then, admitting my little adventure after he asked me where in hell I learned to dance so daring and tempting it never ceased to give him a hard-on. "I was hoping my friends were honest, sincere with their affection, their attention...But they gave me false friendships, instead," I continued, and calmed his concerns with a mushy, slow hand-job.

We were sitting on the couch in the living room that afternoon after school, his pants opened as I inspected and measured the rigidity and length of his cock. He was enjoying it, more so when my lips and tongue took over—sucking and licking all around the thumping pipe of his cock—when he remembered to ask suddenly where I learned these pleasurable indulgences.

Thus, without hesitation, I told him how it happened, and showed him too, what I learned. Not as a bonus, though, but to indulge in our arousals heating us up, his jealous concerns betrayed in his eyes.

"I needed fun money," I began between gasps. His long enormous cock all the way inside my mouth, ripping and jolting my flesh with thrills and pleasures I always imagined yet remained new and surprising to me—a discovery titillating my throat each time. He was giving me a face-fuck.

At the time, I said, continuing my story, I swallowed everything whole with embarrassment—plunging into the lewdness required of strip acts in the clubs—closing my eyes, humiliated at the perversity of the performances required. I was still new in school and new at the game, yet I needed to prove myself to everybody. The experience introduced me without hesitation to the wanton joys of depraved exhibitionism, which I found suited me, filling my senses with unexpected joys all alluring and flattering, scattering away any standards I had for decency.

I was a tall, slender teenager with the desirable body of a voluptuous woman-child—more than mouth-watering to satisfy every lonely man's sexual dreams. My face can turn the glances of motorists in the highways, more so, with a smile. My steady struts can provoke wolf-whistles from the crowd, whether from admiring educated men or naughty truck drivers did not bother me a bit.

Of course, my sexy, uninhibited pride of my beautiful body, my breasts, butt, and pussy magnified by the clothes I wore left no doubt to anyone what I wanted. I was an innocent, desirable hot angel dropped from hell, overflowing with unspoken cravings and wanton desires only a teen can imagine. And every man was invited to take part in it—but only in their wet dreams. For what I am, and all that I am, was reserved only for my loving father.

Yes, I got paid a lot with tips and fat commissions—more than snack money that allowed rent in a condo unit—for the club was always full. The sly owner unmasked early the truth of my con—that I was younger than I claimed to be—capitalizing on it, seizing the unexpected opportunity of a decent college student dancing in his den.

True, I was hesitant and anxious at first. Yet my carnal appetite and eagerness to learn and wallow in the secrets of seductions lured me. Who wouldn't, when every performance was a proud testimony of my enticing, delectable beauty? And with Dad on my mind in each mischievous, sexy performance, I was doing my best always.

The rowdy customers included college boys and I was afraid at first the school would know. And my parents would find out, also. Yet, after all my guilty examinations of intentions, my initial shedding of inhibitions and moralistic values, I felt delighted to try.

"I was so excited to do it, Dad...Aroused, in fact," I said, already naked lying on my back on the couch, my father's mouth busy sucking the jiggling globes of my plump tits. "I-I got nervous during the interview—oohmm, oohmm!" I screamed, electrified by the thrill shooting down to my belly, wriggling and curling inside my pussy as I pressed, rubbed my warm wet body closer and tighter against him.

"I-I came early one afternoon to apply...," I continued, already perspiring and nearing my explosive itch, "I saw the cheap WANT AD." It was a flyer tucked in the bulletin board along the corridor near the ladies' room, the usual school prank, as several of my classmates giggled and kidded themselves around, reading the ad.

The club was looking for '...pretty young thing, with good and sociable personality...eloquent, eager to prove herself a winner, to be trained by professionals. Interests must include dancing, singing, or anything related to entertainment; good salary with commissions...' etc., etc.

The owner was looking for dancers, period. And I was not stupid not to know. It was a strip club called Golden Horn, with sauna, massage parlour, and billiards downstairs; the private stage shows, the dance hall, and the expensive bar were upstairs.

But what attracted me to the ad was the location. It was a 20-minute commute from school, and the place was not a hangout choice for my rich college pals. The club was quite isolated, and together with some pool halls, game rooms, one Chinese restaurant, an old movie house showing adult films, a beer joint, and a mini mart with dirty comics in bookshelves at the back, it completed the menagerie of entertainment in the area for the local folks.

There were several houses and business offices within the vicinity, and perhaps, some rich kids, too, but that was all and nothing less. A perfect place for me to earn a little cash without anyone knowing it, while I get sexually educated, simultaneously.

It doesn't mean I was still a virgin then.

I really didn't care—nor did I ask my father if he did—when or to whom I lost my virginity. But something tells me, his artist's dirty mind would bet I lost it by myself—ha-ha!—and not to any dude or lover in school.

Yes, I masturbated, what with Rona cautioning me against the dirt and evil of using sex tools when I reached the surging heat of my youth. I guessed I got carried away—enjoyed and indulged in the desires and vivid pleasures whenever I fucked myself. The mother-daughter consultations did happen though, as I did with my dad. Except the questions between me and Dad were different, as it became more actions than queries, physical and salacious, lascivious and wild.

So that in my youth, I displayed candid wantonness already skirting along the insatiable itch of a nympho to that of a rutting bitch...And rather than see any shit fuck me at will, my father obliged my tease, showing his love and care for me than anyone else. I think and honestly feel he was only doing a loving father's concern in our forbidden relationship, instead of corrupting me, his only child, whom he loves very much.

Thus, I came confident and prepared to apply for the job. I've been enjoying my sex life with Dad—and with no boyfriend at the moment or steady, yet with lots of dates lasting only after my target of a dozen orgasms per guy were achieved, no matter how short, long, or serious the relationship, I was having fun. A healthy sex life was my priority, not promiscuous but safe...Still is, up to now.

I wore my wide, dark sunglasses then, careful not to bump into someone I knew, and proceeded straight up to the third floor, to the office of the manager, or perhaps, the owner of the club. There were no other applicants, and I was relieved to know I had been a little early.

"Early bird swallows the Horn, Dad—ha-ha!" I said, stroking his cock, my lips still wet with cum, preparing him for another round. "I was eager, Dad—and this is how it happened, believe me," I said, continuing my tale...

"Hey, sweetie pie—you're just in time!" the man greeted me, after I knocked and pushed open the door where the loud MANAGER plastic sign was attached, together with the want ad stuck on it—'Hey! Hey! Want to play?'—it says, with a photo of a cavorting stripteaser beckoning a finger to her pussy.

"Like this, Dad," I said, palming my pussy in a suggestive way to make the photo come alive in his eyes, my breasts bouncing as my body undulated with each self-pleasuring stroke, delighted to see my father's cock hardened again, elongating and sturdy as a pole once more...

"I was about to put a 'Don't Disturb' sign and make calls—but what the heck!" the man said behind the wide glass-top table, smirking at me. "You're here and you look cute—so, come in, come in! Don't be shy!' he continued, and waved his hand at me as if swatting a fly.

"You cannot be in this business if you're shy, sweetie pie," the manager said, the foul smell of fruity alcohol, floral air freshener, and cheap cologne tumbled and reeked inside the room. The air conditioner barely hummed a cold sigh.

Though spacious, the room was littered with an assortment of male and female adult magazines, boxes of beer cans, discarded ladies' dresses, various underwear, sexual paraphernalia—the kind seen on X-rated movies—fancy jewelleries, toys, give-aways, and lots of assorted whatever.

A mismatched sofa leaned sadly near the table; one perched on the opposite side, perhaps for visitors. A red-brown carpet with an embroidered Golden Horn logo—a white, funny-looking goat against a black circle for background encircled by the club's name in gold fancy letters—graced the floor. The faded carpet looked like thick, braided woollen fibres ready to unravel any minute out of the curl.

It seemed there was no one to clean up the place.

The manager ambled in front of his table and sat on the edge, pushing a bit of the confusion with his butt. "Closed the door, please...," he motioned, waving a vigorous hand at me. "Let's see what you got."

I entered and shut the door. I was not born during the Holy War not to know what the man wanted. Yet, I bided for time.

"How much?" I said, and took off my sunglasses.

My school pals say I'm pretty, while the boys angling for a date think I'm sexy. I really think I'm beautiful, and Mom felt I would be a Miss Universe contender someday. My confidence at the moment was above my head, as I heaved a deliberate, seductive sigh—bobbing my breasts out to great advantage. I wasn't wearing any undies, as I chose to do in school, already away from home.

"Hey—heeey! I don't pay what I don't see, sweetie pie," the man said, folding his hairy arms on his chest, eyeing me with a sticky leering stare. "Tell you what...Give me a hard-on, okay?—and the job is yours," he said, and hiked up his pants in front to emphasize the bulge of his cock. It looked large, but for his age, I doubted for once if I can do it.

The manager or owner was about sixty five or seventy; a burly, squat man with a shock of curly white hair and a large head too big for his height. If this was his business, if this was how he earned a living, he knew what he was talking about, I supposed.

"Go on...Do what you do in your bedroom," he added, indifferent, yet his eyes gauged my willingness to undress, measuring the appeal and tease of my nakedness to arouse him. But if his business was to mingle with nude, attractive women everyday, how will he react to my body? How will I looked different from the rest?

"It crossed my mind, Dad...I'm game, but also weighed my options," I said, inserting his cock inside my pussy once more, riding it slow and easy, feeling the rising tremor in his body despite the earlier blowjob and fuck.

I knew it would be difficult to bargain for a price if he doesn't have an idea of what I have to offer. Any lecher and shrewd businessman knew this—it was still business, after all, and I was only a merchandise. "I felt conscious, nervous—what if he rejected me, Dad?" I continued, changing position as he mounted me and began a rhythmic, delicious pounding of my pussy. I must admit my story added obscene fuel to our stolen smouldering fuck inside the house, with me excited to tell him the result of my job application, and my father anxious to know how I got it, what I did to earn it.

"Okay...," I told the man, "But no touch," and kicked off my stiletto shoes one at a time. I considered everything fast, and decided not to strip since he was used to the act. My only advantage was my youth, lying to him already about my real age. But since I noticed he knew I lied, rightly assuming I was still in school, I must act as he and other dirty, horny men expect a teen to behave: quickly aroused, bursting in tempting, unrestrained sexuality.

I was a precious find for the man, drifting to this small club instead of the popular, better joints in the city. But without music to accompany me if I dance, I felt at a disadvantage. The manager wanted me to give him an erection, but I cannot just strip and do a dance number, knowing he's used to the act.

Still, I was confident, assured, and ignored the challenge: Didn't my father ogled, drooled, and leered at me even in my casual clothes? Didn't his erection bulged in his shorts whenever I made a quiet parade—cat-walking in slow mischievous struts in front of him—while he's deep in concentration with his art? Didn't we fuck after each and every game I played, arousing him?

I was wearing a short, one-piece deep green dress with spaghetti straps, with tiny floral patterns scattered at the hem, a foot above my knees. The low neckline allowed only a peek at my cleavage—no buttons in front or back, no zippers—and with no bra or panty at all, the delicate dress languorously hugged my curves. The cloth was light and airy, but not enough to be translucent, and I felt comfortable and sexy in it.

"May I?" I said, and gestured to sit on the sofa beside the table. But quickly pulled it instead on its coaster wheels and dragged it in front of the man, even before he can nod or say yes. I positioned the chair about two meters from the table facing him and sat down.

The man eyed me with a curious grin, sensing my hesitations, enjoying my unease and inexperience—my youth and unfamiliarity with the vacant job, exposed—which I wanted him to believe as I decided on my act. It was not common with dancers applying in a strip club to dawdle or give a second thought in taking their clothes off, even in the presence of many men. And here I was, only with the manager, yet I had to pull a chair—biding my time, thinking of options...Or so he thought.

"You've done this before, sweetie pie?" he said, widening his grin, confident of his assumptions, aware of a growing nervous quiver in my flesh. He smiled to himself, already certain I was a good investment—with little practice and exposure, I can gain confidence and learn to dance and be a star in his club.

He did not suspect it was my mounting anticipation—an eagerness to display my allure, to show my captivating charm—yet bluffing the truth of my sexual experiences while admitting my real young age: A fresh, new pussy shuddering at the thought of disrobing, dancing in front of leering men and women, overwhelmed with embarrassment, yet the hesitations doused with extreme need for cash.

Thus, the manager felt he found a jackpot.

The sofa was a narrow, low bucket type with worn black leather cushion. It swished air as I sank with my full weight on it, and dropped my butt lower—more than a foot from my knees, hiking up my dress, exposing my thighs. I sat unmoving at first, half-slouched, yet allowed my legs locked at the knees to slowly move apart.

As the man stared and waited, I leaned out and arched my body upwards, my head touching the backrest. At once, the bobbing globes of my naked breasts popped halfway out of the neckline of my dress—luscious in its yielding softness, silken and aroused—its provocative mounds tempting, aching to be squeezed, sucked, and mashed, the nipples bulbous against the cloth.

With my body bent in an outward horizontal arc on the sofa, and both arms stretched on the armrest for support, I parted my legs wider in front of the man, slow and deliberate. Then, lifting both feet on tiptoe, allowed the hem of my dress to slide down my thighs some more, exposing the sinful wetness of my pussy's lips—the slippery gloss of the hole gaped open within.

"Wow!" the man whispered and fidgeted, as if his wife was there to see him—eyes wide, rolling all over my body. He wiggled back and forth on his heels, agitated in an unabashed attempt to see more under the rising skirt, my legs spreading loose and apart all the more.

"How much?" I said, and opened my legs wider still. I can feel my pussy burning, the hole soppy and hot, tickled by the man's nervous reactions—swallowing hard and licking his lips—eager to see more.

"Uurhmm...Uh, can we deal?" the man said, the bulge of his erection already obvious, hardening and elongating, a massive rod pointing at me, pushing against the front of his pants.

"How much do I get?" I said again, and lifted my legs slow this time from the floor, bended high on the knees. I placed my feet apart on the edge of the sofa, while my hands cupped and mashed my tits lightly in a circular tease, exposing its succulence. My body curved upwards in a languid, gentle swirl—rotating, pumping, fucking air—my luscious pussy smacked in the man's gawking face.

"Ahh, l-let me think," the man said, coming closer. He saw what every hot-blooded male wanted to see: The inner lips of my young, pinkish pussy already moist with arousals from behind the subtle wisps of pubic hair, my hole delicately opened, oozing with the heat of wetness I can feel rolling, dripping down between the cheeks of my butt.

The man felt the wonderful rush of erection in his extending cock, uncontrolled. His tongue licked his lips with indecent delight, eyes bulging in horny anticipation of a free fuck...Excited to come across an adolescent in bad need of cash.