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o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
o The 'Bookshelf collection' offers a very wide variety of o
o stories. They have been submitted by people from all over the o
o world. Also from alt.sex.stories (Newsgroups). There is no o
o particular order other than offering them to you in alpha- o
o betical directories. o
o I don't believe in categorizing things. "I don't want to o
o be typed therefore I don't type things myself." I think it's o
o a lot more fun to browse around and find 'little' surprises o
o that you might not have even thought of looking for. o
o Lest we forget!!! This story was produced as adult en- o
o tertainment and should not be read by minors. o
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
Archive name: Stew05.txt
Authors name: Unknown
Story Title: "The Scandalous Stewardess"
Chapter 5
Peter Knight hurried into his beach house and locked the door
behind him. He was sweating, and his temples throbbed. The ache in his
groin reminded him constantly of his manhood. The devils were dancing
in his head, playing cruel tricks on him, evoking wicked, disjointed
thoughtsin his mind. He had to rest, to sleep, to get back his
equilibrium before Davie came home . . .
He ripped off his clothes and flung them onto a chair. He fell
into bed, wincing as his hard, erect cock thudded on the mattress. He
had some unfinished business down there . . . he couldn't stand the
agony any longer.
Grabbing his long, beefy pole in his hand, he once more stroked his
enraged organ hotly until he came all over the bedsheet. It was only a
matter of seconds. Exhausted then, he knew he should get up and wash,
but his body refused to budge, and he fell fast asleep without
remembering the need to cover himself.
When Davie got home a couple of hours later, she was surprised to
find the door locked. She figured she must have done it without
realizing it. No problem. She remembered the door to the lanai--that
would be open for sure.
She wanted to shower and change and wash the salt water out of her
hair before she appeared at the lodge to see her father. Perhaps she
wanted to wash the scent of sex and another female body away, too . . .
The hours she had spent with Trish were beginning to bother her. She
wasn't dazed with wine any more, and the reality of what she had
participated in with the blonde stewardess was beginning to weigh
heavily on her conscience. Oh God, what's happening to me? I'm not a
lesbian .. . I don't want to do it with girls! I couldn't help myself,
it felt so good. But it's wrong. It's not the way I want things to be.
She opened the lanai door and stepped inside, a worried expression
on her young face. She could feel the first tautness that follows
overexposure to the sun, and she knew she had lain on the beach too long
for the first day. Yes . . . she had lain too long on the beach for
alot of reasons . . .
She turned toward the small chest of drawers that held her
clothing. An unexpected groan caused her to look in the direction of
her father's bedroom. From where she was standing, she could see only
his head and his bare torso. He was sleeping heavily, his mouth open
and emitting soft but coarse sounds that bordered on snoring. Davie
smiled as she watched her father reposing on the big bed. She looked
over at him with pride, thinking how peaceful he seemed, how handsome he
was. His chest was broad and hairy; his muscles were well developed.
He was a very masculine man.
She thought she could get her things and tiptoe quietly past him
without awakening him, so she gathered her shampoo and creme rinse and
took another long dress out of the drawer and stepped through the
doorway into his bedroom.
An involuntary gasp escaped the young girl's throat as she found
herself looking at her father's totally nude, sleeping form. There he
was, sprawled on his back, his muscular legs spread apart, exposing the
full sight of his genitals to his daughter's widening eyes. His flaccid
penis was cradled in the hairy hammock of his enormous testicles.
Daddy's penis was huge! Davie was hypnotized by the sight of her
father's massive prick and his plump, hirsute testicles.
It 's so big! How could any woman possibly have a thing that big
inside of her? It would tear her to pieces! It must be over ten inches
long when it's . . . when it's hard it's twice the size of those models'
in VIVA magazine! And theirs were pretty big . . .
Davie felt a sudden dryness in her mouth and throat as she stared
at the naked, powerful body on the bed. She knew she couldn't continue
to stand there gaping at him. And she didn't dare take a shower for
fear of waking him up. He'd know she had seen him. So she carefully
tiptoed back to the lanai, replaced the clothing in the drawer and went
out the door. She hurried to the lodge and used the phone to call him
up.
"Y-yes . . ." a groggy voice answered.
"Hi, Daddy," she said brightly, "it's your sun-baked daughter. I
think I'm about medium rare."
"Davie! Where are you, sweetheart?" he asked, sitting up. He was
suddenly springing to alertness.
"Sheboygan, Wisconsin. Really, Daddy," she teased, "where do you
think I am? I'm at the reception desk."
He had difficulty marshaling his reason. All he could think of was
Davie being eaten by that vixen, Trish. "Well, eh, what are you doing
there, darling? I thought you were . . . on the beach."
"I was. Now I'm here. I came to look for you because the door's
locked, so I figured you were at the lodge. Daddy, are you all right?
I mean, this conversation is ridiculous!" She said it with mock
reproach, then followed it with one of her girlish giggles.
"You're right, darling. It is. l didn't realize how heavily I
slept. Still trying to clear the cobwebs out of the attic. Why don't
you come along to the house?"
"Thanks, Daddy. I'm dying to take a shower. Bye." And she hung
up, leaving Peter Knight with a dial tone and a glazed expression on his
face.
Moments later he was covering the telltale stain on the sheet with
another sheet, then dashing to the door to unlock it, then scampering
into the shower for a necessary cleansing. By the time Davie reached
the house, he was out of the shower and half-dressed.
Davie was suspiciously cheerful, it seemed to him. Of course, he
knew what had happened between her and Trish Byers and he suspected--and
hoped--that his winsome offspring was feeling guilty about the whole
perverted episode. He was bothered as hell himself, and couldn't look
her squarely in the face, but he also couldn't take his eyes off her
nubile bikini-clad body.
She acted awkward and embarrassed, and he thought wistfully to
himself what a sad thing is the loss of innocence. He blamed himself
once more for what happened on the beach. He should have been there, to
save Davie from the sexual clutches of that rapacious female! Why was
he never there when she needed him? If he had stayed with her in New
York, none of this would have happened. But then, he didn't. All he
cold do now was make damned sure nothing like that ever happened to her
again.
When she had showered and dressed in a most becoming long dress,
Davie joined her father in the living room. He was having a drink, and
offered her a coke on the rocks, which she smilingly accepted.
"Tell me about your day," he began. "Did you enjoy the beach?"
"Very much. It's so beautiful. I've never seen such white sand.
And the water is glorious. You can see all kinds of fish as plain as
anything. Like looking through a tinted window. I saw this one mean
looking fish with a lot of teeth. Trish said she thought it might be a
barracuda, so we got out of the water fast!"
"Trish? You went swimming with her, eh?" he asked, eyeing his
daughter carefully for giveaway expressions. But Davie was artfully
cool. That disturbed him, too.
"Oh yes. She came by this morning with a super lunch for the two
of us--you have the best food here, Daddy. We walked way down the
beach, found a spot and just roasted ourselves all day. Of course,
Trish could take it. She does it all the time--sunbathing, you know.
That's why she has such a beautiful color. Look at me, I look like a
half cooked lobster!" She giggled at herself again, and Peter Knight
returned the grin. But inwardly he was agonizing. He couldn't blot the
image of his naked daughter on her back with her pussy in the blonde's
face from his mind. He couldn't shut out her cries as she lay there
cumming, brought to the peak of pleasure by that sex-starved woman who
had acted as Davie's. . . lover! Trish was a dangerous influence on the
impressionable Davie. If she spent too much time alone with Trish, she
might become as venal as the stewardess. The bitch would have Davie in
a gang bang with all the guests at French Leave looking on. Christ, what
a thought! No, Davie was still pure, she was still innocent. She
didn't know what the hell she was doing today, or at school. They forced
it on her. Davie needed a man to straighten her out. Her soft, young
body, her lips, her ripe breasts and her beautiful pussy cried for a
man's caresses . . . a man's body to complement hers . . . a man's cock
to fill her precious little cunt . ..
My God, what I am thinking!, it suddenly occurred to him. I'm
thinking of Davie as though I were her lover! As though she needed
that! She only belongs to me spiritually . . . that's the only way I
can have her. That 's the only way that's right between a father and
daughter. Any other way is sick, degenerate . . . as degenerate as what
Trish did to her today.
"Daddy, is anything wrong?" Davie suddenly asked him. He had been
lost in thought for several moments. He found himself staring vacantly
into his scotch glass. When he looked up at Davie, her eyes expressed
concern.
"Sorry, honey I'm still half asleep, I guess." He smiled at her
reassuringly. "Let's go have dinner at the lodge. I really should be
on hand most of the time."
A yachting party arrived during the dinner hour and Peter Knight
had to leave his daughter alone for several minutes, during which time
Trish Byers and her brother appeared in the dining room and got in line
forthe sumptuous buffet spread. By the time the resort owner returned,
Trish and Randy had joined their table, a thing which did not please
Peter Knight in the least.
"Good evening, Miss Byers, Randy," he said politely, offering a
curt smile.
"I'd be so pleased if you called me Trish," the seductive blonde
told him, giving him a flashing smile. She looked stunning in a low-cut
white cotton dress that did little to hide her feminine assets. Her
feet were shod in the barest of high-heeled sandals, making her long
beautiful legs seem even longer. Her tan was deep and golden against
the electric whiteness of her dress. She oozed sensuality from every
pore. He was seething inside and he wanted to slap her half way across
tile dining room. He hated everything about her, except her face and
her voice and her body . . . He was caught in a repulsion-attraction
syndrome--his reason repelled, but his being drawn to her like a magnet.
Davie's thigh accidentally brushed against Randy's and she moved
hers away hastily, but not before the contact had produced a tiny
electrical charge in her loins. She couldn't help thinking of the
pictures in VIVA, and now that he was seated next to her at the dining
table, she found herself comparing him more and more to the guy in the
photograph. She speculated on the size of his penis, and wondered if it
resembled the man's in the magazine or that of her father. What would
Randy be like? What would it feel like to have his thing inside me?
He's very sexy, just like his sister, with those bedroom blue eyes and
all that soft blond hair. He does have a fantastic build . .
The young girl felt her face flush. It was already hot from the
hours of harsh sun. She couldn't look at Randy directly; there was
something about him that both frightened and intrigued her. He didn't
talk much, and seemed very shy himself. But she couldn't suppress a
little shudder when she thought again of his resemblance to the man in
the photographs.
They lingered over dinner, with Knight having to excuse himself at
intervals to attend to one kind of business or another. During his
absences, Trish focused her attention on Davie, giving her enigmatic
looks across the table. At Other moments, she did the same thing to her
brother. Davie felt there was something peculiar in their
relationship. Sometimes she seemed to be flirting with him! Once or
twice, Randy looked down at Davie from under his sleepy eyelids and she
found herself melting inside. And the liquid warmth manifested itself
in her panties! When Randy asked her if she'd like to go for a walk
after dinner, she readily agreed. Peter Knight had other ideas.
"I think it's getting close to your bedtime, young lady," he said,
in a very paternal way. To his surprise, Davie was angered.
"Really, Daddy! I'm not a child. Besides, it's not that late.
I'm not a baby!" she said, her voice tight and her eyes sparkling with
indignation.
"She's right, Peter," Trish added without solicitation. He gave
her a chilling look. "I'll make that decision, if it's all right with
you," he said to her levelly. "Randy, why don't you escort Davie to the
house. I'll be along shortly."
"Sure. My pleasure, Mr. Knight," Randy said, rising to his feet.
Davie got up, too, and left the table without another word to her
father. She was embarrassed to tears, as only a sixteen year old girl
can be.
Her anger, fanned by guilt and the confusion that resulted from her
turmoil and frustration brought sudden and unexpected tears to her eyes
as the two youngsters walked out into the refreshing night air. "Why
did he have to say that? He was talking to me like I was some kind of
two year old moron. He sounded just like my mother!" she protested
hotly.
Randy put a comforting arm around her shoulder. "Don't take it so
hard, Davie. Your old man's just looking out for your interest, that's
all. He doesn't want his little girl out with a big, bad wolf like
Randy Ferns!" (And with good reason, he added silently.)
She had to smile. She looked up at him and he gave her an
endearing grin. She thought he had the sexiest eyes she had ever seen.
They walked slowly on, and she began to feel more relaxed in his
company. He really was a nice boy. He was as understanding as Trish ..
..
They laughed a lot. He wasn't nearly as shy as she thought he
was. Maybe he was only shy in a crowd. At one point he casually took
her hand and she felt another surge of excitement go through her. Every
now and then, their bodies would brush against one another. The air was
cool and fragrant. Crickets chirruped and the sea gently slapped the
shore. Davie felt warm and contented to be with this understanding,
masculine boy . ..
In another part of the compound, Peter Knight was declining an
invitation to 'come in for a nightcap.' "Thank you, Trish, but I'd
better get home."
"Why so soon? Afraid the boogie man is going to get your darling
daughter?" she taunted.
"Look," he said through clenched teeth, "my daughter is none of
your goddamned business! And as far as that goes, I'd be ever so
grateful if you left her the hell alone! A girl like Davie doesn't need
a woman like you as a friend!" He hadn't intended to loose his
cool--Trish Byers was a guest, though she wouldn't be a guest ever
again! Still, he prided himself on self-control; on maintaining an
unruffled, professional posture with both guests and help alike. He
didn't want to show his hand; the bitch just might tell Davie that her
father had seen them making love!
Trish felt her own anger bob. "How would you know?" she railed
back at him. "You haven't even seen her for three years! It just so
happens, Mr. Big, that Davie does need my friendship. Who else is she
going to talk woman to woman --YOU? Yes, I suppose she could . . ."
That hit home. She had slashed at his manhood, and any residual
control that he had fled with the wafting island breeze. He reached
pasther, opened the door and thrust her roughly inside. The light from
the moon illuminated the room enough so that he could see her striking
features clearly. He looked at her bright, sensuous mouth, remembering
vividly that it was the mouth that kissed Davie, that licked and sucked
her tender breasts, that ate her teenage pussy . . .
He grabbed both her arms and held her in a viselike grip. He
looked at her long and hard. Her face was close to his as he breathed
the words out through his rigid jaw.
"You know what you are? You're a vile, low-class scheming bitch!
Worse than that--you're a cunt a real cunt!" (God, how he wanted to
fuck her. He wanted to tear her apart with his cock. He never wanted
to fuck a woman more in his life than he wanted to fuck this big-titted,
sexy blonde bitch!)
"Flattery will get you nowhere!" she snarled back at him, her lips
curled in a defiant pout.
"I don't want to get anywhere, cunt!" he growled back through
clenched teeth. "I wouldn't fuck you with a ten foot pole!"
"Braggart! You'd touch me with any kind of a pole--if you had
one. But obviously, you don't . . ." She had him now, and she knew it.
Peter Knight smarted visibly from the gauntlet she had flung so cruelly
across his face. If that assault on his masculinity didn't get him to
drop his pants, nothing would. She looked up at him with disdain in her
big, blue eyes. She smiled a mocking little smile with dewy,
half-parted lips.
He could feel her hot breath on his flushed cheek, scalding him
like oil from a boiling cauldron. Her bare knee touched his trousered
leg, searing his flesh through the sharkskin. Oh Geezus, he had to fuck
her! He didn't care about Davie being home alone; he didn't care
whether the blonde bitch was a guest, or that he hated her guts; he
didn't care about anything! He only knew that the cum in his balls was
being boiled to a broth. He had to put the meat to this pagan,
she-devil cant standing so tauntingly before him, had to teach her a
lesson she would never forget. . . with a fucking she would never
forget! When he got through with her, she would crawl back to Nassau!
He was dimly, very dimly aware that later, when it was all over,
there would be remorse and self-loathing. But at that moment, nothing
else mattered except funding the shit out of the so ft. warm, musky-
smelling evil woman who was only inches away from his throbbing,
granite-hard ten inch cock . . .
Without another word, he pulled her to his body and kissed her
brutally on the mouth, pressing his teeth into her yielding lips and
forcing his tongue into her oral cavity. He tongued her mouth, and she
answered with hot caresses from her oral member. Suddenly, he bit
it--hard, causing her to cry out in a gagged scream of pain. He
relished her agony. Then he bit her lip, drawing a warm, salty trickle
of blood from the petal-soft flesh. Trish began to fight him, pummeling
him with her fists to try and push him away. But he was a pillar of
stone, and she, with her 120 pounds of female flesh, was hardly a match
for the enraged resort owner.
Peter reached behind her and unzipped the pristine white dress with
one deft yank of the zipper, drawing her in tightly to his loins as he
did, forcing his truncheon-like cock against her pubic bone as hard as
he could; grinding it into her in a way he knew was bruising. Trish
struggled against him, a look of fear and pain contorting her lovely
features. She saw the look of a madman, the frenzy of the rapist in his
blazing hazel eyes. Still, it excited her. She had wanted this man for
so long; she never figured him to show the balls he was showing. Of
course, she had goaded him into it; but she had expected to call the
shots. He was definitely out of her control. What was he going to do?
"You bitch . . . you cunt . . . you frigging whore . . ." he kept
muttering over and over under his breath, as he reached up under her
dress and grabbed the sheer nylon panties she wore and ripped them down
over her satin hips, leaving them around her thighs like a ragged
tourniquet. She gasped under his harsh stripping as his clawing hands
left angry red tracks in her sun bronzed flesh. Then he shoved his
middle finger into her hotly steaming vagina, and she bucked from the
suddenness of his harsh and abrupt entry, even though her pussy was a
cauldron of desire, and the juices of lust lubricated her cuntal
passage.
She started to groan as he finger fucked her deeply and she swayed
on her feet, her eyes closed. Seeing her reaction, he abruptly withdrew
his hand and wiped his finger across her supple mouth, saying, "Here,
slut, eat this! You like the taste of pussy, I'll bet; take it. Lick
it!" He worked his finger into her mouth as though it were a cock, and
slid it back and forth between her lips and around the inside of her
cheeks. His other hand was up under her dress, pinching her ripely
curved ass-cheeks as hard as he could.
Trish wanted to bite his finger, but she was afraid of what he
would do. This man was capable of anything now, she realized. God
knows what he might do to her if she retaliated. Besides, she liked the
taste of her pussy; it was a taste similar to the sweet, aromatic pussy
of Peter's teenage daughter. Hah! If only the bastard knew!
Yesss . . . that was it! What better way to get even with the
stuck up son-of-a-bitch than to arrange for a little private
"exhibition" . .. with the star performer being his darling little girl!
He suddenly brought both his hands up to her shoulders and pulled
the white dress down until it fastened like a straight jacket around her
body, just below her melon-like breasts, pinioning her arms to her
sides. The stewardess was unable to slip the dress either up or down,
and stood there, her face a mask of impotent rage.
"Get me out of this goddamn thing, you bastard!" she shouted out at
him. She drew up her foot and kicked him sharply on the shin. She
followed it with a knee to the groin.
Her aim wasn't true; he hardly felt it. But a devilish sneer
appeared on his lips. "Oh . . . so you like to play rough, eh? Ok,
hitch. We'll play rough!"
He picked her up and slung her under his arm as though she were a
store mannequin. She was screaming and kicking her legs. He literally
threw her on the big bed, on her back, and tore the sandals off of her.
Trish was still straight-jacketed by the crumpled, constricting dress,
which had worked its way up to her hips, exposing her dark blonde mat of
pussy hair to his wanton, rapacious gaze. While she lay there kicking
and screaming, he ripped off her panties, then hastily removed his
jacket, shirt and trousers. He slipped off his loafers and socks and
peeled down his shorts.
Her eyes widened as she gazed at his naked, ten-inch rod of man-
flesh, the blood-engorged head purple with rage. His huge, hairy
testicles hung tautly between his sinewy thighs. He was a tower of
virility before the wide-eyed stewardess, who thought she had seen
everything there was to see in the bedroom--until now! He looked so
powerful, so cruel and menacing as he loomed above her, his handsome
face grimacing with vindictive lust.
"Like what you see, cunt?" he asked, reaching for his massive pole
and grasping it gingerly in his hand as if it were a baby club.
"Oh my God, Peter . . . Oh my God!" was all she could say.
"This is what you wanted, isn't it? Isn't this what you've been
after all along . . . every time you gave me one of your
come-up-and-see-me-sometime looks? Every time you wiggled your hot
little ass at me, or stuck those big round jugs under my nose? You
wanted me to fuck you, didn't you, slut? You wanted me to stick my cock
up between those good-looking legs of yours and fuck your hot little
whore pussy, didn't you? . . . "I . . . I . . . yes . . . YESSSSSS!" she
cried out at him.
"Yes, what?" he taunted, a victorious sneer on his face. "What did
you want me to do? See, I have to be sure you really want me,
becauseI'm very insecure, and I might not be able to get a hard-on until
youreassure me . . ." he said, sporting an erection that would do credit
to a prize bull!
"I . . . I want you . . . to . . . fuck me," she breathed.
"How's that? I also have a hearing problem. You'll have to say it
louder."
"I want you to fuck me. FUCK ME, goddamnit!" she screamed, the
veins in her temples and the cords in her neck distending as she raised
her head off the bed to shout at him. "FUCK ME . . . FUCK ME . . .
NOW!"