The Sins of the Fathers Ch. 03

***** Writer's Note: This is my first attempt at writing here. This is the third in 30 Chapters of this story. Enjoy!

THE NEW CLIENT'S VIDEO

The box containing the tape had no label. A note on a small scrap of paper inside the tape-box simply read "Under the Mistletoe!".

The image on the screen jumped, jerked, and wobbled briefly. Jack watched as whoever was shooting the tape adjusted and focused the video camera. The room appeared to be either a den or study because there was a desk with a computer and a pricey top-of-the-line office chair. Jack looked at the details of the room.

Well, maybe not a den. What then?

Overall, room's construction looked a little like a basement work area. There was some kind of hideaway bed, which looked like it also served as a couch when folded up. It was in its bed-mode; unmade, the sheets had clearly been used and were wrinkled. Along the wall, off to the side of the computer, hung a coat rack with what looked like some girls' clothes; next to it stood a bench, laden with what appeared to Jack to be computer games.

Sitting next to the monitor, he saw the TQS flight controllers. Joystick, throttle, and probably a set of pedals under the desk. Jack couldn't help himself. He turned his head sideways to read the titles on the outside of the stacked boxes. Jack recognized almost all of them.

Jane's F-18, Falcon 4.0, Jane's AH-64 Longbow, Mig Alley. Well what'd ya know? 'Bad dad' is a flight simmer.

Not sure what--if anything--to do with that tidbit of info, Jack just filed it away in his brain.

A nondescript looking middle-aged male stepped from around the camera, walked over to the chair and sat down. Dressed as if he'd just come home from work, he was still in a pair of business slacks and a white dress-shirt with a tie. In a gesture as old as ties, with a relaxed sigh of satisfaction, he unbuttoned his collar and took off the colorful piece of cloth from around his neck, folding it neatly to lay it beside the computer next to a pet leash. He surveyed the room, then pushed the computer's POWER button and the hard drive spooled up. He typed a few characters, minimal key strokes (probably a password) and he was online. Apparently checking emails, messages, then what?

Jack Grant looked at his watch, impatient. This is mind-numbingly boring shit!

Big yawn! Okay, this is all the 'who-really-gives-a-shit' stuff. Gimme a break; the guy's not on trial for being a poor director.

Just as Jack reached over to push the FAST-FORWARD, a young woman entered.

No! Correct that! A very young looking girl entered the picture.

Jack's finger hesitated mid-air over the button. Now that is one cute little girl. Shit!

"Cute" was a word that fit her every bit as saucily as the small tee she was wearing. She had great breasts for however-old-the-fuck she was. His focus locked on the pert pair of nipples showing through the tight tank-top. God Almighty! Those babies are definitely more than a handful and she doesn't look like she has even reached puberty, yet. What did Spencer say, 'she is 18'.

She was wearing a tartan skirt. He never registered the fact that it was just like the uniform skirt from Nikki's school. The girl had on white socks and white sneakers. She had a pert little button nose, a few freckles; and her hair was pulled up in two long ponytails, making her look even younger. If that was possible. Okay. School girl fantasy, check. White socks and sneakers. Check. Ponytails. Check. And very young looking. Yeah, check to that too.

"Hi, Chelsea," Jack heard the man say.

"Hi, Daddy," was her reply.

"You want to play on the computer, baby?" He patted his knee. She's small enough to sit in his knee, still. Nice!

She nodded yes, settling between his legs on his lap. "Is it the same daddy we were playing with last night?"

"Uh-huh, baby. It's the same guy. The naughty one."

"He just asked me if I'm alone." She giggled. And typed a short response.

"What did you tell him?"

"I said 'No, my dad is here too'," Chelsea responded. "Now, he's asking what I'm wearing. Should I make up something sexy?"

Her dad whispered loud enough for the camera mike, "No. I bet he'll like just what you have on."

"What did you type, baby?" he asked for the camera.

"I told him I'm wearing a tube-top, tartan school skirt, white socks and white tennis shoes. Oh yeah, and that my hair was up in ponytails."

"What did he type back?"

"He wants to know if I forgot to tell him what color panties and bra I had on, Daddy." She looked back over her shoulder at the man, as if waiting for instructions.

Her dad leaned forward, "Well, what color are they, baby?"

She whispered something in her dad's ear and he reacted. More giggles as she typed on the keyboard. Then she whispered to him again.

The dad's lips framed a single question. "None?"

She nodded her head and the ponytails swayed cutely. "And, he wants to know what you're wearing, Dad. What do I tell him?"

Another whisper back to her. She turned to the keyboard. "Okay, Daddy, I told him." Then, pursing her lips into a cute babyish pout, she scolded playfully, "But, you told me never ever to lie, even online."

"So I did, didn't I, baby?" he asked, chuckling.

"Yes you did, Daddy," she agreed, beaming as if she'd scored points in a game. Triumphantly she hopped off his lap, turning to face him. sternly setting her small hands on her hips. Evidently, a sure sign of her childlike displeasure that he'd made her tell an untruth. Jack had to smile as he noticed her foot was tapping impatiently as if waiting.

Just as obviously, the man seemed pleased with her half-pint defiance. "Well, I wouldn't want to teach you it was okay to lie. That wouldn't be good parenting would it, Precious?"

He stood up in front of her and undid the buckle, dropping his trousers. He stepped out of them.

Jack pressed the PAUSE button to consider this latest development. The lawyer in Jack asserted itself.

So, Daddy isn't wearing underwear. Good parenting? Okay, he's a bit unconventional; but, even if he was at work, going commando isn't a crime. Driving around in your car commando isn't a crime. Taking your pants off, knowing you are commando, in front of your teenage daughter. Hmmm. That would take a bit of explaining. But, in and of itself, still not a crime. 'Indecent exposure' inside a family is a stretch.

He pushed RESUME.

"Baby, did you really tell him you didn't have any panties on?" the dad asked.

She grinned coyly, nodding.

"Well then, we should do the right thing, and make it just like you said." Kneeling down, he reached up under the short little skirt with his hands to cup her ass through the white cotton panties as he slid them to the floor. He left them around one ankle.

When he sat back down into the desk chair, Chelsea climbed back onto his lap just like before.

Hmmm...maybe not exactly like before. Her panties were now around an ankle. That was hard to forget. Jack shifted in his own seat uncomfortably, tugging at his trousers where they'd begun to tent.

The girl on the video began typing again. Daddy held her as she typed. Jack watched as her dad moved her small hips slowly back and forth on his knees or lap.

Chelsea was gently chewing on a strand of her hair from her pony tail, teasing it as she typed. She whispered, "He's asking 'What's your dad doing?'"

The dad laughed, slipping his hands up from her small hips to cup a breast in each hand, squeezing gently. Chelsea looked down in surprise, then started typing furiously. The faster the teenager typed, the more her dad fondled her.

Even as he watched, Jack's own cock began filling and he cursed mentally, FUCK, that kid has nice knockers. Nice, they're not just nice, those are great knockers!

Jack punched the OFF button, ultimately aware that something was definitely wrong about secretly hoping the dad actually would take off her top. I am sitting here praying Daddy will take her top off. What the fuck? I am watching what may be a crime by a man I may have to defend. And all I can do is secretly is guilty.

Well, maybe not so secretly, he thought to himself as he looked down at his crotch. So, this is why Spencer had to try to give me this case. It makes him hard. Obviously, as senior partner, I am in better control of my animal instincts.

He walked over and poured a small glass of water and returned to his chair. He hit PLAY.

This time, the first thing he noticed was that the date stamp on the tape was just a few months old.

He watched as the man slipped his hands under the fabric of the tube-top. He could see the dads fingers move as he squeezed her breasts and teased the nipples. The girl looked down at her breasts. Then she looked back over her shoulder, a question in her eyes; but, he just kept squeezing them and she returned to the keyboard typing an answer to the question the guy she was cybering with had asked.

"What chat room are you in, Chelsea?" her dad asked, as he palmed his teenage daughter's tits. She bit her lips but managed to get out, "Dads and Daughters."

"What's his screen name, honey?" he asked, peering over her shoulder. She whispered. He laughed.

"Do you know what that means?"

She nodded, Yes! "Daddy, we studied Dracula in English class at school. The vampire was also called Vlad, the Impaler. This man's screen name, 'dad the impaler' is like wordplay. He puts his little daughter on his pole and impales her."

"Aren't you smart? Lift your arms, honey," her dad instructed.

Thank you, God! Thank you, thank you, thank you! Jack sucked in his breath sharply watching her lift her small arms to let dad pull the top over her head.

No bra, either, he noted.

She resumed her typing. Her dad now had free access to one of the best pair of tits Jack had ever seen and on a teenager. God damn, little girl, you certainly don't disappoint. Those are fucking beautiful.

Well, maybe the second best, he grinned, remembering Jennifer's, but it's a close second.

"What's your screen name, honey?" the man asked.

"lolipop," she giggled. "They all seem to like that name, Daddy."

"Let me move a little, Chelsea." She stood so he could push his legs together. She stepped across them and settled into his lap again, still rocking.

Must be a nervous habit, Jack surmised.

With a sigh of satisfaction, the man cupped her breasts again. He leaned in slightly and kissed her on the neck just beside her ear. "God, I love these tits, little girl," he chuckled softly. "Lift up a little, Chels."

She complied, and he pulled the little tartan skirt out from under her. Jack only caught a quick flash of ass as she settled onto his lap again. Turning to him, she smiled and returned to her typing.

Pausing a brief second, Jack could see her lips move as she read the screen, then snickered. The dad peeked over her shoulders to inquire, "What did he say, darling?"

"He wants to know if me sitting on your lap like this is causing you any 'problems', Daddy."

"What are you going to tell him, baby?"

She stood up and peered down at her dad, obviously appraising his state of arousal. Jack still couldn't see what the man looked like below the waist.

"Well, baby?" the dad demanded. Grinning she sat back down on his lap, typing a short response.

"Not yet!" Bursting out into a fit of giggles.

"Oh really?" her dad teased. "How about lifting up again, Chels?" She did.

Jack couldn't see a thing because of the fucking tartan skirt. He sat silently cursing all school uniforms, the sadists who designed them, and the companies selling them.

What he did manage to see was the man reach down between them under the skirt as though he was adjusting something. Then he brought his hands back up to her small hips, and slowly began pulling her down. Chelsea took a deep breath, exhaling cautiously as she settled onto him. This time her movement was definitely slower, more careful. When she turned back around to look at him, her eyes were wide. Then she began biting on her lip as she went back to typing.

Jack was fascinated. He leaned in, unconsciously squeezing his own cock through his slacks. His interest piqued, he looked at the pair, Father and Daughter on the screen. Something's changed. She's not as fast at the keyboard.

Shifting his hips, the man took his hands off her breasts, lightly running his fingers down her bare back. His fingertips lightly traced her ribs, then glided slowly around to lift her breasts again. Jack could actually see goosebumps begin to form on her back and sides. He could only imagine what the nipples of her breasts were doing.

She's started trembling. Why is she trembling? Jack thought and all his alarms went off. No it can't be that!

Jack watched as the dad's ass flexed, while the girl tightly gripped the desk's edge. Her hair swayed rhythmically, and she was gently rocking. It was barely noticeable, but Jack spotted it.

Jesus Christ, so will a jury!

The onscreen father pressed his body against his daughter's back, molding to her like a pair of spoons.

Jack's mind supplied the apt description, Making the beast with two backs.

Reaching under her armpits, 'daddy' adroitly grabbed her shoulders from in front and below to pull her down onto him. In reaction, her head jerked back onto his shoulder. She was panting, with her eyes shut tight. You are beautiful, little girl!

That fucking skirt! But Jack also knew that, so far, The jury won't have seen an essential element of the crime. Penetration.

No penetration. No incest. Jack was equally aware that those thoughts weren't entirely about the client's innocence, but his own. Shit! Spencer's right. You can't help thinking of your own child. Of your own daughter. And, of yourself.

Chelsea's father spoke again his voice thick with need, "Baby, put the web cam where he can see, and ask if he wants to go to video with us, okay? Tell him we have a cam. Tell him the screen name is 'Chelsea's Dad.'"

She leaned forward, typing slowly as her dad moved under her.

The familiar sound of ring tones could be heard. Startled, Jack physically flinched when a small picture filled the computer screen and another male's voice asked, "Chelsea, are you there?"

She typed "Yes," and the caller laughed and suggested, "Turn on your mike for me, baby. That way, you won't have to type."

She did, and a small hum filled the room. "Can you hear me now?" she asked, her voice cracking slightly.

"Oh yeah, baby. Fuck, yeah!" The face of 'dad-the-impaler' was that of a stocky, clean-shaven younger man in his late thirties. He was smiling, but the image faltered a little as he smiled. His lips moved, and a split second later she heard, "Wanna see what talking about your own daddy like that has done to me, Chelsea?"

She barely got out a Yes! before the picture shifted. Ceiling ...blur ... darkness ... finally a shape. It was the head of a cock. Quite a large cock. The image was sharp enough to make out the veins, the loose skin, well maybe not loose now, on the end, and the know an angry red color with the need. Well, someone's excited!

Eyes wide, Chelsea stared at the screen. "Look, Daddy, he's hard too, just from talking to me."

The young man asked sincerely, "Look, Chelsea, I'll understand if you're... if your dad isn't really there with you. I'm just really pleased you decided to talk to me. I mean, we all tell little lies here."

Chelsea was indignant. "I don't!"

"Well sure... of course, you don't. I mean...okay. You are eighteen, right?" he fumbled nervously, his cock lengthening as he talked to her. He was getting skittish; Chelsea's use of a 'little girl's' voice had convinced him that she was very young and most definitely female.

Suddenly, both Jack and 'dad-the-impaler' jumped at the unexpected sound of her dad's voice. "Would you like to see Chelsea? I mean really see her?"

"God, yes! Please, I wanna see her; she's about the same age as my daughter."

"Hold the camera for him, Chels," her dad instructed firmly, "and turn on the video."

She did. Her own picture appeared next to the guy's, showing a slightly out-of-focus teenage girl's face. She smiled. You really couldn't tell much. But, then she slowly lowered the camera. Jack and the other dad watched as first one breast came into view, then both.

Fucking Christ, those are perfect teenage breasts, capped with two absolutely perfect young girl's coral-pink nipples.

Jack had been looking at the for nearly ten-minutes and he was still unable to look away. He wondered what the other dad was thinking seeing them for the first time. That has to be some kind of epiphany. It was for me. It was for Spencer.

The camera stabilized and cleared as a pair of hands, her father's, jerkily appeared in the picture and closed around her breasts. He was lifting them, as if they were being weighed. His hands teased the nipples and twisted the whole breast gently, squeezing them both then pulling the nipples forward trying to bring it to a point.

'Jesus fucking Christ, man, I don't believe this. That is one awesome pair of knockers." Then the caller challenged, "Are you really her dad?"

"Yeah! She's my mine, not my stepdaughter or girlfriend. She's my daughter. I made these fucking tits," he chuckled, lifting her breasts in his hands for the camera at the side of the room to record. "Hell! As much as I've fondled, squeezed, and played with them, I guess you could say they were handmade. Right, baby?"

Jack heard the guy on the other end of the video chat session go, "Holy fucking shit, those on a girl as small as my daughter." Jack watched the guy fist his cock faster, now.

"Is your daughter cute?" Chelsea asked, gently bouncing on her dad's lap.

"Oh, hell yeah! I think she's very cute, but she's flat chested. She has small breasts. Not like yours," he sighed.

"Are you guys close? Uhhh...like me and my dad?" she stammered, letting out a sharp little gasp.

"I'm not sure I understand."

"I mean, like... you know...does she turn you on?" Chelsea try to explain.

.

Impatient with the chit-chat, Chelsea's dad cut in, "Does she make your dick hard?"

Chelsea gasped. The surprise at her Dad's bluntness appeared genuine. "Daddy?"

"Oh, Hell yes! Sometimes, I think I get wood every single time I'm with her."

He heard Chelsea's dad command, "Lower, baby" and the camera refocused again as it moved. He could see her tummy, flat like a teenager, a little belly button--an outie, and the waistband of that damned tartan skirt. She held the camera still for a second to allow the picture to focus.

She tilted it just a little. The guy on the other end was pleading. Sweating, Jack shakily reached for the water and nearly spilled it. Why am I so fucking thirsty? It's just a video. This is just a video!

The picture sharpened. He could see the skirt. She lifted it.

The picture was shadowed so he couldn't quite make out the shape in the video image, but she had to be pointing it at where she was sitting on her dad's lap. Jack walked to the TV and craned his head trying to make sense of the whole thing. He could see she had absolutely no hair down there. And it looks like.... Frustrated, he kept angling his head one way then another. Just what the hell am I really looking at? Where's her dad's cock? Maybe under you?