Serendipity 27: Family Vacation Pt. 01

Where is my daughter getting all this -- this shit?

And then I had another thought: do you think tonight -- or tomorrow morning − it'll be her who's coming home with cum running down her leg?

She took another pull on her beer. "I didn't tell you this, 'cause we just met ..."

(And now we're old friends...?")

"... but my dad started raping me when my titties started to develop. Well, they ain't so much even now, but then they were just starting, and I guess he wasn't getting much from Mom, and seeing my tits I guess reminded him that there was another pussy around the house. He was rough, too, almost like he hated me, like it was my fault for making him rape me. Anyhow, he stopped doing it after Mom almost caught us once when we thought she wasn't home, and I think he was afraid I was going to tell someone, so one day he just said we weren't going to do it anymore.

She stopped and took another pull on the beer bottle.

"But you know what? I woulda let him keep fucking me, except for he was such a prick about it. But I kinda got used to getting my puss stretched, and having a guy's hands and mouth on my tits, so most of my dates usually get lucky."

Where is my daughter getting all this?? Is Shana actually telling me that she's had fantasies of me "raping" her? And that led me to thinking, what would it have been like, to be having sex with her all that time?

I had to remember about tonight. Sure, she's someone's daughter, someone's baby girl. But tonight she's just some teenage barroom slut that came to my motel room 20 minutes after meeting me, maybe because "I reminded her of her dad."

I was sitting up on the bed, leaning back against the headboard, listening to "barroom Shane" spin this yarn that was her back-story for being in the Pine Tree Inn -- and now, in my room -- tonight. I was having a trouble focusing. At the same time that I was getting lost in her fairytale about how her "dad" had been having sex with her -- "raping her," as she described it -- I was also getting seriously distracted by what was on abundant display through the leg of her cutoffs. She noticed this, too, because she shifted her position a little, raising her leg a little farther up the chair arm -- and giving me an even better view of her. I could now confirm that, as I'd suspected, there was no underwear beneath those obscenely tight cutoffs.

Looking at her bottle to see how much was left, she took a final slug of beer and put the bottle on the floor next to the chair. She stood up, and without missing a beat, unsnapped the top button of her cutoffs and unzipped the zipper half-way.

She took the three steps over to the bed, kneeled, and crawled over 'til she was straddling me. She took the beer from my hand and set it on the bed stand, and without any preliminaries started unbuttoning my shirt, button by button, 'til she reached where my shirt was tucked into my jeans. She could have taken it slowly, tugging my shirt up out of my jeans to finish unbuttoning it. Instead, she took the more direct route and unbuckled my belt. Then, in a move that completely surprised me, she continued pulling my belt 'til it was completely out of my pants.

"This might come in handy later."

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