The Dirtiest Daddy's Taboo

by Alina Nicholson

I recognized Sandy's voice, and was never so glad to hear it. The relentless reproof of the storm would be less punishing with another human in the cottage, and my Jorge was not to be back until Friday.

  Jorge and I were renting this cottage for the summer. It was a delightful spot, right on the beach on the long arm of Cape Cod. Jorge's boss owned the property. Having recently become a widower, Charles was still adjusting. His deceased wife had been buried at sea, and he had no heart to use the beach house this season. He let Jorge and I use it for well below market price.

  The only downside to the arrangement was that Jorge was only able to enjoy it on weekends. He arrived after work on Fridays, and left very early on Monday morning. It was nearly one hundred miles to work in the north end of Boston, so he stayed at our townhouse in the city the other four nights of the week.

  Sandy was a neighbor. The cottage immediately adjacent to ours was strictly a weekly rental. The cottage after that was Sandy's.

  "Angela!"

  I stepped aside. I was so thankful to have company in the obscurity of the darkness.

  Sandy and her male companion stepped in. The candle flame flickered and died...the lone source of light gone. Just as I closed the door against the elements, another crack of lightning lit up the night; for nearly two seconds it was as though it was daylight. The white foam of the Atlantic could be seen eating at the sand. The beach was giving in to Triton's excesses.

  Sandy was the sort of woman that every man dreams about as having for a neighbor. Her body was the main attraction whenever she was on the beach. Her long raven hair flowed about her shoulders, back, and breasts. Her deep dark eyes always danced with a sort of wickedness, seemingly just short of evil.

  She had lovely long legs, and when she walked, it was always as if she had on high heels, even when barefoot. Her legs were topped with a tight little rump that seemed to beckon. I've never before been aroused by another woman, but Sandy seemed able to provoke thoughts of lust no matter who beheld her. If I could feel fire well up in me, I can only imagine what she did to a man.

  Sandy was an annual attraction here. Certainly, to look at her, one would guess that she was nineteen, twenty at most. But, it seems, listening to gossip, that she has been here for generations! Her sun bathing is legend.

  Only yesterday I found myself studying her flawless breasts as she lie sleeping in the sun, her bikini top lying unused beside her in the sand. It wasn't that I was jealous or envious of that bust. I was enthralled, drawn to the pair as if they summoned me with an unknown capacity to convene.

  As I had studied her, I felt my loins slowly contract. Gradually, I became aware of a wetness. Slowly, I moved my long fingers inside my string bikini and explored the epicenter of my quake.

  I'd watched Sandy's slow, rhythmic breathing, gently lifting and returning her breasts in the Cape's summer sun. I released my own breasts from their bikini's captivity and gently caressed and explored them. With my left hand, I pushed my left breast up to my mouth with its protruding tongue. Gently I nibbled on my own nipples, never taking my eyes off Sandy's own perfect form.

  Then, in perfect cadence with her prone body, I stroked myself with my right hand until I felt a shudder begin, the way steam predicts the eruption of molten lava. Quickly, I pushed three fingers deep inside. Almost instantly, I experienced a wave of rapture as muscles contracted.

  I had been seduced from afar, and I loved it!

  And now she was here. I had never before seen her with a companion, male or female. Her escort tonight was elusive and mysterious. Angelina did not introduce him, and he said not a word. Had not an occasional flash of lightning outside flickered a scant illumination across the room, I would not even have remembered he was in the house!

  "Angela, come sit down with us."

  Sandy's sensual voice came from the sofa. I moved towards the sofa, and as I did so, wondered to myself how she had known the sofa was there. To the best of my knowledge, this was the first time she had been here.

  As if she could read my mind, she offered, "Cassandra and I used to sit here and talk. But she is in the sea now. Her presence, though, is still in this house. She and I had gotten very close. We even did a business deal right here." She patted the cushion. Lucky cushion.

  Cassandra was Jorge's boss's deceased wife.

  As I stumbled in the dark, I found my way to the sofa and gently lowered myself, sitting gingerly in the middle of the upholstered cushions. From my left I heard Sandy giggle. She bubbled with excitement. "This storm has my heart pounding with a thrill."

  I turned towards the voice. It didn't appear to have a well-defined point of origin; rather, it floated and bobbed on the turbulent night air.

  I could hear the man on my right breathing, but still he offered no conversation. Instead, I felt his hand gently take mine and move it to his lap. He may have been quiet, but he certainly was not shy. In the darkness, it was impossible to see his face, or any other part for that matter. But the he was throbbing and pulsating, nearly in rhythm with the waves breaking outside my door.

  Almost simultaneously, Sandy took my left had and guided it toward her inner thighs. She was as wet as the ocean, and seemed just as energized. She issued a moan in perfect resonance with the wind rushing through the cottage.

  I felt strangely eager. With my right hand I stroked the enthusiastic gentleman. With my left, I manipulated Sandy's moist labia and discovered a jutting clitoris responding to my exploring touch. For the second time in as many days, I was busy with both hands, and more aroused than I could have ever thought possible.

  Gently, Sandy guided my head onto her chest. Her perfect breasts were covered only with a thin cotton blouse. Sandy instantaneously opened the blouse, allowing me to stroke her provocative nipples with my appreciative tongue. I circled her nipples. They responded by projecting into my mouth. I took them between my teeth and gently bit.

  Sandy made no sound, but firmly pushed my face to her lap, while she simultaneously situated herself in such a way as to make my kissing her pubic wisps inevitable. Gradually, I nibbled and licked around her inviting folds. As I began to concentrate on Sandy's vibrating vulva, I released the male guest I'd been holding. I moved and concentrated wholly on Sandy. My tongue now tickled a clitoris that stood out at attention, similar to the projecting nipples.

  With one hand, my fingers found Sandy's still aroused nipples. I pinched them between my thumb and forefinger. With my other now free hand, I explored and caressed Angelina's perfect ass. As I fondled Sandy a pair of hands found my own ample breasts and squeezed. The fingers roamed until they encircled my pink nipples, progressively stimulating them until they were standing out straight like little torpedoes.

  The room was still chilly from the winds and sea mist, but I could feel nothing but warm. I knew that I was sweating, and I could feel my neck redden either from a heated desire or Sandy's heated thighs, or both!

  Never had I felt such an ecstasy. I had never had a woman before. I could feel a huge rush of energy, and I knew that something tremendous was about to explode.

  I contracted and pulsed rhythmically, sending a wave of throbbing oscillations throughout my body. I felt that I was, at least for moment, one big genital. I could feel every thrill throughout my being.

  My eager labia opened and closed, grabbing for what ever might be near. I became aware of my own swollen clitoris, aching to be petted.

  Sandy moved her hands slowly down my body, pausing momentarily at my hips. Her hands moved my hips in a natural, rocking rhythm, keeping perfect time with the pulsing pussy and breaking waves. Her hands move on, gradually circling my ass in an ever-decreasing spiral. She just barely brushed my asshole, and then moved right on to my clit. The moment she touched my engorged pearl, she actually turned on a switch. Climax detonated inside of me like I had never experienced in my life. I screamed a shrill shriek, emanating from a center of ecstasy. On my right, I heard a low, moaning tone that resonated with the dirge outside. Sandy's purr reverb
erated an enharmonic antithesis, and again the sound had no true point of origin. We were entwined, nearly entangled, the two of us in our own piece of Paradise.

  Suddenly, she got so hot that I had to pull by mouth away from her steaming sticky pussy lips.

  Then she laughed. An unforgettable laugh that permeated the environment.

  The room shone with a luminescence as an extended sheet of lightning danced upon the waves the ocean.

  "Jorge bet very heavily that you could not be coaxed into betraying him." Sandy virtually glowed with pride. "He couldn't have known my powers, though. Poor guy."

  I followed her dark eyes to my right and saw my husband's lifeless, strangely twisted body. His disappointed cock was just beginning to lose its stiffness.

  Sandy continued. "And now, Atlantis has its mortal sacrifice for this summer. I have a soul to offer to my almighty. And, for what it's worth, your Jorge lived to see your dramatic fulfillment of the terms of our wager. He didn't loose until your entire body surrendered to ecstasy....my ecstasy!"

  She stood, her sensual being never losing its dominance. As she opened the cottage door, the sea subsided. The sea seemed to have experienced its all-encompassing climax. The sky, accepting the betrayal of its companion as inevitable, shrugged off its jealous rage and caressed the horizon again. Peace with its lover at all costs.

  I was alone in the cottage with my Jorge's contorted body.

  All I knew for sure was that burial at sea was mandatory.

  The End.

  Around the Island

  Alan Bryant emerged from the cabin of his boat to see Joseph, the local lad who he employed part -time, turning his charm on another teenage tourist. Alan smiled to himself, while restraining a twinge of envy; Joseph was thirty-five years his junior, but that wasn't the only reason why the kid was so good at getting into the skimpy bikinis of young female holiday-makers. Joseph had an athletic physique, lean but muscular, but more importantly, he had an easy smile and a quiet, seemingly diffident charm that made every casual chat with a woman or a girl into a seduction that the target didn't even recognize as such.

  So far as Alan could tell, Joseph also delivered the pleasure that his smile promised, too. At least, the girls generally came back for more. He didn't even have to promise much beyond simple fun; many of the girls knew that Joseph was working his way along the beach, often keeping multiple affairs on the go simultaneously, but they didn't complain. And when their holidays ended, they went home with many longing smiles but few tears. Joseph even had a knack for making them think that these short flings were their own ideas.

  Joseph's latest target looked to be in her late teens, wearing a slightly less skimpy bikini than some and a gauzy sarong. She had dark hair falling below her shoulders, and her eyes were fixed on Joseph's face as she talked. Alan idly wondered what her name was...

  "Caroline! Margaret!"

  Well, that almost answered the question. One of those names had to belong to the dark-haired girl; the other had to fit the second girl who Alan had barely noticed, sitting on a nearby bollard with the air of patience of a plainer sister who had learned to live with this situation. Joseph was the first to look around, though, redirecting his smile – only to have it bounce right off a sour middle-aged maternal scowl.

  Alan recognised this situation, too. Impressively, when Joseph's conquests came with parents attached, around half of those parents tolerated, even liked him; some were sensible enough to recognise that holiday romances were inevitable, to see that Joseph was polite and thoughtful, and to trust their daughters to show just enough sense, while some mothers simply fell for his sexual charm. In fact, some mothers had taken him to their own beds.

  This one, on the other hand, was clearly in the other fifty percent – the half of parents who guessed correctly what he was up to, and responded with hostility. If she felt a twinge of desire, it doubtless just made her bitterly jealous of her daughter. She was a little too heavily dressed for the Caribbean sunshine, with a floppy-brimmed hat which kept the sun off her face but which contrived to make her look ridiculous, and she was bearing down on the three youngsters at a fast walk.

  Then Alan saw who was trailing behind her, and winced for himself; he suddenly realised that lunch might be even more boring than he'd feared. He clambered onto the jetty and strolled over to where the woman was now quietly berating the girl about nothing in particular, while Joseph retired from the scene without a word. Sometimes, in these situations, he continued the chase; sometimes he didn't bother. There were always plenty more fish in the sea.

  Alan caught the name "Caroline" several times – so that was the long-haired girl's name, so her sister, with the practical page-boy bob and the slightly plumper figure must be Margaret – and then the girls' father, the woman's husband, finally arrived on the scene.

  "Hello Alan. Nice to see you."

  "Hello, George. Good flight?"

  Alan Bryant had known George Peterson as a business contact for twenty years, and somewhere along the line, they'd started exchanging Christmas cards as a courtesy. Then Alan had retired, bought his dreamed-of boat, and moved to the island – but twenty years of habit died hard, although he'd never considered George a close friend, and the exchange of cards had continued, now by air mail. Then, George had sent a letter announcing that he "and the family" had booked a holiday on the same island, and Alan, on reflex, had suggested lunch.

  "Who was that boy?"

  Alan turned to the woman. "You'll be Irene? Please to meet you; George has told me all about you. That was Joseph. He's a nice lad..."

  "Local, I take it. He looked like trouble to me. He was... he smirked."

  Alan recognised this situation, too. Few parents, even of an older generation, would be so crass as to mention Joseph's skin colour outright, but the families who were wealthy enough to book into the grander tourist hotels were generally also conservative by nature, and the thought of their daughters becoming friendly with Joseph reduced the worst of them to seething panic. Alan couldn't think of any way to handle this that wouldn't lead to him becoming angry, so he changed the subject.

  "Lunch, then? There's a very good restaurant just down here."

  The meal wasn't quite as boring as Alan expected, as it turned out, but that was mostly thanks to the girls. While Irene remained largely wordless and George rambled about old colleagues who Alan had been happy to escape, their daughters at least seemed bright and interested in the world around them; both tried local seafood dishes at Alan's recommendation, while their parents stuck to chicken and chips and Irene dropped dark hints about food poisoning. Margaret – who winced twice when her father addressed her as "Maggie" – had finished school the year before and had been working at short-term jobs to make some money before starting at university, Alan learned, while Caroline had just finished her final year at school and was prevaricating about what to do next. Both, in fact, were fully old enough to holiday alone, but as with many others in the hotels, the chance to have parents pay for such a trip was enough to make them put up with having those parents along.

  Over coffee, Alan remembered his politeness again, and decided that the girls at least deserved a good holiday, and suggested that they spend the afternoon on his boat, sailing around the island.

  "Well, I'm not sure..." murmured George.

  "We both get seasick" snapped his wife. "That's why we're not taking a cruise."

  "I'm sorry to hear that. Perhaps the girls feel up to a little sailing?" See how you feel about that, Alan thought; being older than George, he felt safely categorised as a father figure, so there'd be few excuses to veto the suggestion.

  As it turned out, the girls liked the idea a lot – Alan had no doubt that they were anxious to get away from their parents for a few hours – and despite some further grumbles from their mother, they accepted the offer. Then, as George was, to his credit in Alan's eyes, insisting on paying the bill, a couple of thoughts struck Alan. Some people would have called the second m
alicious; he, on the other hand, thought that it was kindly.

  "I'll just nip back to the boat," he said, "make sure it's all fuelled up. You can catch me up."

  He reached his vessel with a few minutes in hand, and ducked into the engine compartment for a moment. Then he emerged smiling calmly as the Peterson family arrived. "All good to go" he announced. The girls climbed aboard amidst final stern commands to take care from their parents, and Alan cast off, trying not to look hasty.

  He steered away from the jetty, and then, as the boat moved beyond earshot and almost out of sight of George and Irene Peterson, he turned to Caroline. "You might want to look back there" he said, indicating the engine compartment. With a puzzled look, Caroline obeyed, then issued a squeal of sheer glee as she came face to face with Joseph, who had remained quietly hidden where he'd been working, at Alan's suggestion. Caroline instantly flung her arms around Joseph, and Alan felt another twinge of envy at the sheer speed of Joseph's effect on the opposite sex. He continued to steer for a moment, then looked back to see the pair still embracing – and Margaret Peterson looking bemused.

  "You two might want to move to the cabin" Alan said, with the jetty now safely out of sight, and Caroline and Joseph quick obeyed. Alan was slightly startled to see Caroline leave her sarong draped over one of the outside seats, and as Joseph began to push the cabin door shut, he glimpsed her reaching up to unfasten her bikini top.

  "She's impossible." Alan glanced round to see Margaret now sitting beside him.

  "I must admit – I was just thinking – Joseph is a charming boy, but he's not normally that fast..." Alan trailed off as it occurred to him that this might be more than Margaret wanted to hear. She smiled, though, albeit a little darkly.

  "Let me guess – he's the local Casanova?" she said. "Oh, don't worry, I'm not surprised. Caroline can always find them. And he may have met his match this time."

  "Oh." Alan wasn't sure what to say. "Look, I hope that you don't think that I'm some kind of dirty old man." Though maybe I am, a bit, he admitted to himself. "I just thought that both of you two probably deserved a break from your parents, and Joseph is generally, well, good company."