index


Message-ID: <53109asstr$1140127803@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "E. Z. Riter" <ezriter@hotmail.com>
MIME-Version: 1.0
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit
Subject: {ASSM} {EZ}Tiffany, Brie and Me (MFF, Inc, lolita) 1 of 4
Lines: 764
Date: Thu, 16 Feb 2006 17:10:03 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

This is fiction intended for legal adults readers. If it is not legal, DO
NOT read.  This is a copyrighted work.  Reposting or any other use strictly
prohibited without the express, written permission of the copyright holder,
except may be posted as part of a review or posted to my pre-approved
archives.

Copyright 2006 by E. Z. Riter

E mail address: ezriter@hotmail.com

Please!        Give me your comments!

The works of E.Z. Riter are archived at www.storiesonline.net and at
www.asstr-mirror.org (http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/E.Z.Riter) And at
www.ruthiesclub.com

The works of E.Z Riter writing as Ezra Zane are archived at
www.ruthiesclub.com which is a fully illustrated pay website.

This is a copyrighted  work of the author. Do not use without permission.


TIFFANY, BRIE, AND ME

Part 1 of 4

by

E. Z. Riter


Friday morning I drove my daughter Tiffany to school as I did most mornings.
She was dressed in her high school uniform of white long-sleeved blouse with
three buttons showing above the skirt waist and a narrow lapel, a
green-with-yellow-and-red-stripes tartan skirt that came to her knees, white
knee stockings, and white cross-trainers. Her hair was in a ponytail held by
a rubber band.

The uniform was designed to be modest, but it was sexy on Tiffany.
Everything was sexy on Tiffany because she had it all, starting with waist
length hair Clairol would call light blonde, the perfect color tone like the
picture on the box. It was like Mother Nature opened her vault and gave
Tiffany the works-flawless skin, big blue eyes, full lips, a body men ogled,
and killer legs.

Physically, there was only one girl who equaled her-her best friend, Brie.

"Tonight's the spring football game," she said. "You haven't forgotten, have
you?"

"Of course not."

"Brie's spending the night with me."

"As usual."

"Tomorrow we need to pick up her things from her grandparents."

"It's all arranged. The Wilsons aren't leaving for Europe until Tuesday so,
if we forget anything, we have Sunday and Monday to pick it up."

"You're a sweetheart for letting her live with us while they're gone, Daddy.
You're always a sweetheart."

"Oh, Brie's no problem," I replied. "I like having her around."

She repressed a smile, but the twinkle in her eye was unmistakable. "You
don't have a date tonight, do you?" she asked.

"No, I don't. You asked me to stay home and I will. Do you have a date?" I
said.

"No," she replied. She turned her head to stare at me with a palatable
intensity.

"Why not?" I asked.

"I didn't want one. I mean, the guys line up to ask me out and, if there was
someone special, I'd go out with him. I'd rather be home with you and Brie."
She reached over and squeezed my hand. "You're special, Daddy."

"Thanks, Baby. I think you're special, too."

"Can we talk about my birthday?" she asked brightly.

"Got any ideas?" I asked.

"I have it all planned out. Want to hear?"

"Shoot."

"Graduation is Thursday the thirty-first, and school's out for the summer.
On the first-that's Friday-I want a sleep over with just the three of us.
You know-Brie, Megan, and me. We want Chinese food from The Golden Palace
with sweet and sour for Megan and plenty of that hot mustard for me. We'll
watch movies at home."

She turned in her seat and tucked her left leg under the right one. Her
skirt flopped up high on her thighs and I looked at her legs, which were
magnificent. They had just the right musculature and were covered by a
satiny skin. Her eyes told me she liked me looking.

"We want to watch An Affair to Remember or maybe Sleepless in Seattle."

As I stopped for another light, she leaned toward me and put her hand on
mine. I turned to look at her.

"And we want Behind the Green Door."

She should've blushed or giggled or acted coy or something, but she didn't.
Her expression was hot and frank and knowing as she studied my reaction.
Thank God I'm a hell of a poker player so she had trouble reading my face.
As I turned to watch the traffic, I saw her smirk.

"Don't tell me you haven't seen it, Daddy," she said.

"Oh, I've seen it but I don't know if I want you to see it," I replied.

"Dad! This is the twenty-first century. I've already read the story on the
net. That's why I want to see the movie."

"Maybe we should talk about the story, the movie and what else you've seen
first."

"Great! I want to talk to you about sex, Daddy," she said. She leaned
against the car door and pulled up her skirt. Out of the corner of my eye, I
saw something black between her legs, which I presumed were her panties
since Tiffany was a natural blonde.

She waited, seeing if I'd take the bait so delightfully exposed and look
directly at her crotch. When I didn't, she frowned for an instant, pulled
her skirt down just enough to hide her panties, and said, "I want to finish
telling you about my party. We'll sleep in Saturday morning until... oh,
say, ten. When we get up, we'll want pancakes, eggs, and OJ. We'll soak up
the sun for a few hours, grab a burger, and go to the mall for some new
clothes. That night we'll get all dressed up in our new things and go to The
Onion."

I had heard of The Onion. It was a nightclub for the teenaged set too young
to drink legally, with an age limit of fifteen to eighteen. There was loud
music and plenty of room to dance. And there were rumors of a dark, bubbling
undercurrent of drugs, booze, and sex.

"And we want to go in a limo."

"Go on," I said.

"We'll sleep in Sunday morning, then have a breakfast of eggs Benedict and
mimosas. We'll catch some more rays by the pool until about three, then
Megan will go home and Brie and I will crash."

"Mimosas?"

"You know. Champagne and orange juice."

"Do you drink, Tiffany?" I asked in my most fatherly voice.

"Only the wine you sometimes let me have with dinner, Daddy, but I'd like to
have mimosas. I mean, this is my sixteenth birthday party."

"How about birthday cake and opening presents and the traditional things?"

"Sunday after breakfast," she replied. "Dad, I'd like you to be there the
whole time to, you know, fix the breakfasts and everything. I mean, you're a
great cook and your eggs Benedict are to die for. And you can go to the mall
with us."

"To pay for the goodies and carry the packages?"

"Yeah. Like that, but much more than that. You're cool and we like having
you around." She turned in her seat to face forward, flipped the visor down,
and studied herself in the mirror. I pulled into the queue of cars
disgorging students in front of the school.

"Do you think I'm beautiful, Daddy?" she asked.

"I think you're very beautiful."

"As beautiful as Mom?"

"Much more beautiful."

She sighed, leaned over with her hand on my arm, and gave me a kiss on the
cheek, not a peck, a kiss that lingered too long for a child. "I love you,
Daddy," she said in a soft, sweet voice.

"I love you, too, honey."

She opened the door, bounced out of the car, and retrieved her book bag from
the rear seat. She leaned back in the car and said, "Brie's coming home with
me after school and we'll change and everything at our house. Will you pick
us up, Daddy? I mean you, not Mrs. Harris. Please."

"Sure."

She smiled her sunshine smile, the one where her dimples flashed and her big
blue eyes sparkled. "Thanks, Daddy. See you at three thirty."

She shut the door and walked toward the school. I watched her gentle sway,
with her ponytail keeping rhythm with her skirt, until I realized I was
holding up the line. I put on my headphones, pushed the speed dial to call
the house, shifted into drive, and eased forward into the traffic. When Mrs.
Harris, my five-days-a-week housekeeper, answered at home, I told her she
could leave early, which she always appreciated, particularly on a weekend.

Next, I called Tim Simpson. After he answered, I said, "Are we still on for
this afternoon?"

"Sure. Why don't you get here at noon? Mary can make sandwiches and we'll
talk before we play."

"I'll be there," I replied.

I disconnected from Tim and called my office. Sandra Mackey, my secretary,
answered on the second ring. She was a tall and willowy divorcée who was a
superb secretary. She was cool, classy, and super-competent at the office,
and she was an even better mistress-steamy, slutty, and submissive in bed.

Money has never been an issue with me. Fortunately, I had a rich daddy who
believed his only child should be raised and educated to manage and grow his
business as well as inherit it. When Denise, my first serious girlfriend,
got pregnant, I was sixteen and she was fifteen. No doubt the pregnancy was
a calculated gambit by Denise to snare a rich husband. I didn't mind. She
was vibrant and fun and stunning with a body that could grace Playboy's
pages. More than that, she loved sex. Wild, woolly, unrestrained sex. All
kinds of sex. We had a lovely church wedding and, five months later, a
beautiful baby girl we named Tiffany.

Dad gave me a generous allowance and I continued my education, fast tracking
in school as I'd always done, and faster tracking in my sex education with
Denise. I was nineteen and starting my MBA when Dad's private eye proved
what I already knew-Denise fucked around, and not just once, but many times.
She signed over her rights to Tiffany, took a wad of cash, a monthly income,
and disappeared on the rear seat of a Harley behind a guy covered with
tattoos. Three months later, they both died when that Harley went under a
semi.

I raised Tiffany as a single father with the help of my parents, my friends,
and Mrs. Harris. She's a sturdy and stalwart woman who is my housekeeper.
There were many opportunities for marriage over the years, but I carefully
avoided them all.

Tim and Mary Simpson were my best friends. Tim was big and handsome, with a
wide grin and friendly demeanor. His outward warmth and his cool ability to
read people made him an unqualified success in insurance sales. He had been
the high school football star and a pretty good competitor at the college
level. Mary was the stereotypical cheerleader-beautiful, stacked, and
horny-but she was as smart as she was stacked, and offered a trustworthy ear
if I wanted to talk. They were childhood sweethearts who married when they
were eighteen. They had Monica when they were twenty. Four years later, Mary
gave birth to Megan, who was Tiffany's age and one of her best friends.

I left the office at eleven thirty and pulled in Tim's driveway promptly at
noon. He opened the door as I walked up the sidewalk and his face told a
tale of trouble. After Tim shut the door behind me, Mary gave me a hug, and
said, "Come on into the kitchen."

I sat down at their kitchen table opposite Tim and Mary took a chair between
us. None of us started eating. "Okay, spill it," I said.

Mary was the mentally tougher of the two of them and she took the lead. "The
girls know about us."

"Oh, shit. What do they know?" I asked.

"Almost everything," Mary replied.

"How?" was all I could say.

"Megan got sick at school Tuesday. Normally, she'd call me, but Ruthie Wayne
happened to be up at school and gave her a ride home. Megan saw your car and
Tim's in the driveway and decided to sneak into the house. She listened at
the bedroom door long enough to understand what was going on. After you and
Tim left, she confronted me in the bedroom. I denied with all my powers but
she's not dumb."

"No, she's not," I replied.

"I was naked except for my collar and the bondage gear was all over the
bedroom."

"That leaves little room for doubt," I said.

"Damn little," Tim muttered.

"She told Tiffany and Brie."

Tim picked up a potato chip and stuck it in his mouth. The crunch seemed
abnormally loud. I sipped my Dr. Pepper as thoughts whirled through my head.

"Do they know about Monica?" I asked.

"Megan's known you and Monica were lovers almost since the beginning and she
knew when it was over, but she just told Tiffany and Brie this week. I don't
think any of them know what a slut Monica is or that Tim has screwed her.
She might tell Megan she was your mistress, but B&D incest isn't something a
girl easily admits to, not even Monica."

"When did Tiffany find out?"

"Wednesday," Mary replied.

"That explains a lot," I said. "She was royally pissed off about something
when she came home from school Wednesday and her behavior has gyrated even
worse than usual. Back and forth. Hot and cold. She's teasing me
unmercifully. Christ, she flashed her panties at me on the way to school
today."

"She loves you, Shaun, but she's not sure how. She wants to fuck you, but
you're still her father and she's conflicted. Brie loves you, too, and would
do anything for you." She grinned lewdly and said, "Megan doesn't love you,
but she does want to fuck you."

"You're that kind of guy," Tim added without a hint of jealousy.

I just nodded. There wasn't a lot to say. They were teenaged girls and their
hormones were running wild.

Mary said, "I trust Megan to be discreet, and I trust Tiffany and Brie. I
think they're right in dumping Brandy from the group. She loves to gossip,"
Mary said, and Tim nodded agreement. "We need to see how this plays out.
You'll just have to handle it as best you can."

"Any specific instructions about Megan?" I asked.

Tim grinned. "Fuck her long and hard and break her in for her old man," he
said.

Mary stood and pulled up her wraparound skirt to flash her hairless pussy at
us. "If you ever want in here again, be careful what you do to my baby," she
threatened, but with a sexy grin that removed the sting. She dropped her
skirt, sat down, covered my hand with hers, and said, "You're a good friend,
Shaun Miller, and you do know how to please a woman. Do what it takes, and
if that means fucking her, go ahead. You won't be her first."

Trying to lighten the conversation, I said in a disappointed tone, "Aw,
heck. Who beat me to her?"

"Clint Devers has been her boyfriend since seventh grade. If I can read the
signs left in her panties, she gave up her virginity to him last summer and
she's been doing him regularly since then."

"Who's doing Tiffany?" I asked.

"She's still a virgin as far as I know."

"And Brie?"

"I thought you knew her story," Mary said.

"Not really. All I know is she lives with her grandparents."

"Brie's mother is Connie Wilson, who was a grade ahead of Tim and me all the
way through school. We know her well, don't we Tim?" There was an edge to
her voice and Tim squirmed a little. "She was the school punch and Tim was
one of those who fucked her."

"Christ, woman, it's been twenty years. Are you going to hold it over my
head forever?"

"Yes," she said, but her voice was loving and she ruffled his hair. "Anyway,
Connie went off to college, flunked out..."

"More like fucked out," Tim groused.

"...and went to California to make a new life for herself. Somewhere along
the line, she got pregnant and had Brie."

"Where did you hear all this?" I asked.

"Lucy Wilson, Brie's grandmother, is my mother's best friend. When Brie came
here to live with Lucy and Frank, Lucy and I had a long talk."

"It gets better," Tim said. "Go on, honey."

"If you'll be quiet, I will. Connie fell for her boss and became his
plaything. When Brie started menstruating, she became his plaything, too.
Apparently, he wasn't cruel-just dominant and sexually demanding. As long as
his women pleased him, he treated them well."

"Sounds like you, buddy," Tim said.

"Can I finish? The boss had a heart attack and died. That's when the
problems started. Connie fell into another guy's clutches and he was cruel.
He beat Brie and she went to the cops. Child welfare arranged for Lucy and
Frank to be her guardians and she came back here to live."

"I had no idea," I said. "She doesn't act like she's been battered. In fact,
she seems to be positive and happy."

"Yes, she does," Mary said.

"She's a real charmer," Tim added.

"But she's sexually experienced-probably more so than we know," I said.

"Lucy said Connie's boss took Brie when she was thirteen and he had her
until she was sixteen. So she was his toy for about three years. There's
probably little he didn't have her do." Both of them were watching me
intently. "I think she prefers dominant men. Maybe that's the reason she's
in love with you."

"Loves me? What makes you think that?"

"She told me she loved you with all her heart," Mary said.

"Teenage girl talk," I said.

"I don't think so," Mary replied.

"Girls that age don't even know what love means," I said.

Tim snorted and Mary gave me a cold eye. "You don't even believe that," she
said.

My mind was reeling, with conflicting visions flashing in and out. There was
Brie, naked and blowing some man with an unseen face, which was arousing.
Mary naked with the collar around her neck, haranguing Megan, which was
humorous in an off-kilter way. And Tiffany knowing it all, which was
troubling. The vision that seemed to force the others aside was Brie under
me, calling my name as I fucked her. And, under it all lurked the terrible
specter of love.

We all started eating our sandwiches at once as if on some unheard command.
We didn't talk again until Tim said, "Thanks, honey. That was good."

"Want another?" she asked.

"I'm saving myself for some sweet desert," he answered with a leer.

Mary said to me, "I don't want to play this afternoon. I'm going to take my
ever-loving husband to bed and fuck his socks off."

"That's fine with me," I replied. "I'm got some thinking to do and I
promised Tiffany I'd pick them up at school."

"This isn't going to mess up our games," Tim said firmly.

"No, it isn't," Mary replied lovingly. "Shaun will still be my bull and
you'll still be my cuckolded husband, just the way you want it. But, today,
I just want to be with you."

"Bye, Shaun. Don't let the door hit you on the ass on the way out," Tim said
as he gave me a broad and friendly smile. He stood, pulled Mary to her feet,
and headed down the hallway to their bedroom. She waved goodbye over her
shoulder. I let myself out and locked the door behind me.

I was in the pick-up queue at three-thirty thinking about Tiffany and Brie
when the doors to the high school burst open and the students stampeded out
for the weekend. I saw them with Megan, Brandy, and a couple of other girls
whispering animatedly at the foot of the entrance stairs. They hugged like
teenaged girls do before Tiffany and Brie started my way. Teen-aged boys
stopped in their tracks to watch them but the girls seemed oblivious to the
silent admiration.

"Hi, Daddy," Tiffany said as she slipped into the passenger seat beside me.
She kissed my cheek and gave my arm a loving squeeze. "We need to stop by
Brie's house so she can get her uniform and things."

"Hi, Daddy," Brie said, as she shut the rear car door behind her. "Thanks
for rescuing me again." She patted my shoulder, gave it a little squeeze,
and let her hand rest there until I gave a pat in return.

"Anytime, Brie," I said. The day I met Brie she started calling me Daddy,
although she usually called me Mr. Miller in public. Calling me that was
Tiffany's idea, and I certainly didn't object.

We stopped by Brie's house and I waited in the car while the girls retrieved
what she'd need for the night. When we got home, the girls announced they
wanted a snack now and pizza after the game. We adjourned to the kitchen
where the "snack" ended up being chef's salads and garlic bread eaten around
the kitchen table. The girls cleaned up the kitchen before disappearing into
Tiffany's room. I changed into chinos, a polo shirt, and Docksiders before
going to my home office to putter on my computer.

"Daddy, it's time to go," Tiffany yelled.

It was six, and the game started in an hour. The girls were both on the
drill team and they needed to be there thirty minutes before game time. I
turned off my computer and joined them in the kitchen.

"How do we look?" Tiffany asked.

Dressed in their drill team uniforms, they both pirouetted for me to see.
"You'll knock the boys' socks off," I said honestly. I gave a silent thanks
to whoever selected those uniforms, for they displayed all that feminine
pulchritude in a most delightful way, with Lycra from waist to the high
collar, arms bare, half skirts to mid-thigh with matching outer panties, and
mid-calf, lace-up boots with three inch heels, all in the blue and gold team
colors. Their sly faces told me those two young minxes knew what they and
those uniforms did to me.

"Daddy," Brie said, tying to act innocent. "I'm wearing a new bra tonight."
She gave me a side view and then one full face. "Do my breasts look
different?" she asked sweetly.

Yes, they looked different. I'd noticed the instant I saw them. The
uniform's material was stretched to the limit and her breasts seemed larger.

"I mean, 'Do my nipples show?'" Brie asked.

"No," I said. My mouth was parched, and my voice tight.

"I told you," Tiffany said.

"That's good, because I only want my special man to see my nipples," said
Brie, being sultry.

With a flip of her skirt, Tiffany turned and said, "Let's go." Brie gave me
a soft, sexy smile before following my daughter out the door.

I dropped the girls by the side gate where the players, cheerleaders, and
drill team entered, watched them until they were safely inside, and drove to
the parking lot. I walked through the entrance gate and climbed up the
stands to where the parents sat. By then, my cock was only semi-hard from
thinking about Brie's nipples, and the rest of her.

The parent's section, high up and behind the student section, was about a
quarter full. The band was filing into the section to the left of the
student section. Soon they would be lustily blowing and thumping away as the
players came onto the field. In a few minutes, the drill team would march in
to sit in the front row of the student section.

Tim and Mary were sitting in the center of a row in the bleachers. Tim waved
for me to join them. Mary was the other side of him from me.

"How's it going, Shaun?" Tim asked as he shook my hand.

"Good. How about you?" I asked as I sat down.

"I had a magnificent afternoon. The best in ages, if I do say," he said with
a grin. Mary leaned around her husband, gave me a dazzling smile and a wink.
We three chatted like any parents and greeted other parents as they came and
sat near us. When the cheerleaders ran onto the field, set up a banner, and
our football team crashed through it, we stood and cheered. We stood and
cheered again at kickoff. The game was underway.

I never played football. I was the youngest in my graduating class by far,
and education came first. I was a father long before most of my
contemporaries because Tiffany came along when I was barely seventeen. My
limited athletic leisure time was spent playing golf, which better fit my
long and lean body shape, and swimming in my backyard pool for exercise.

But I always loved football games. High school football, particularly in
smaller cities like ours, is more than an athletic event. It is a happening,
a festival of socialization and camaraderie, a carnival of sights and sounds
and smells bellowing into the night. The spring football game in our city,
between the town's only two high schools and held at the end of spring
football practice, was, in some ways, a more enjoyable celebration than
during the regular season for, at the end of the game, the crowds from both
sides poured on to the field to mingle with their friends. Soda pops, hot
dogs, and the other goodies from the concession stands were free, courtesy
of the school board, and the pizza and burger places arrived en masse to
give away their wares, courtesy of the two Dads' Clubs.

After the game, the students generally left before their parents, slipping
away to here and yon, or do something private to release the tensions the
game and nature engendered-sexual tensions, for high school football is a
sexual event with testosterone and estrogen so thick you could cut it with a
knife. The young warriors, in their brightly colored armor with its
exaggerated broad shoulders and jock straps with cups and thigh pads under
skintight leggings supplementing what nature provided, struggle mightily on
the field. The young maidens, in their skimpy uniforms or equally appealing
civilian regalia, twist and turn and cheer, with their cheeks pink and their
eyes aglow.

The parents in the stands-those older warriors and maidens-feel the surge of
hormones as well, perhaps remembering they own halcyon days of youthful
glory, or perhaps watching the youth of today and wondering, even
fantasizing, about being with them. I know I did.

However, I never, under any circumstances, showed a sexual interest in any
of the girls, the wives of my friends, or the mothers of Tiffany's friends.
Single male parents aren't usually welcome in a couples' world. Some
husbands think I'll seduce their wives and some wives are afraid I'll lead
their husbands astray. I walk the line of probity.

Still, there have been two situations I could not turn down. Tim came to me
about joining them in some sexual games and we three had several long talks
before we began our play about three years ago. The other was Maria Deleon,
a dark skinned, black haired, black-eyed beauty, who showed up on my
doorstep one Saturday evening, inebriated and horny. But that's another
story.

Monica was different. Since she was four years older than Tiffany, she often
babysat while she was in high school. Monica was fifteen when I first
noticed her flirting with me. As she grew, the flirting grew, finally
erupting into flagrant teasing. One night in September, shortly after her
eighteenth birthday, I came home from a late dinner meeting. The house was
quiet and dark except for the television coming from the den. When I went
into the den, I found a porn film on the DVD and Monica naked in my easy
chair, watching intently as she stroked her pussy.

Monica was a near carbon copy of her mother. Both had brown hair and big,
luminous brown sloe-eyes. Both were about five seven with strong,
well-muscled legs anchored by a well-shaped ass, and big boobs. Her eyes
were hot and diffused and needy when she looked at me. "I want you to fuck
me," she said. She stood, wobbling a little, and said, "And I won't take no
for an answer."

"I'm not planning on telling you no," I replied. I took her hand and led her
to my bed. She laid back and stroked her dripping cunt as I quickly
undressed. Foreplay wasn't necessary. We fucked long and hard until we both
lay exhausted in a pool of sweat.

I didn't take her home that night. I called her parents and Mary answered.
"Monica and I had sex and she's spending the night," I said.

Mary was silent for a moment before replying, "Thanks for calling, Shaun." I
didn't expect her to complain. Mary knew her daughters.

When I dropped Monica off at home the next morning, I told her to cut school
Monday, be at my house at nine, and not to wear panties or bra. When she
arrived on time and dressed as instructed, I knew she would be my playmate
for a long time.

There was one critical difference between Mary and Monica. Mary loved her
husband with all her heart. Bringing me into their sex life was his idea,
and she made damn sure he was serious before she agreed. About sixteen
months after my affair with Monica began, I caught her with another man. She
coolly informed me that he wasn't the first, and that there would be more
because she had the "right" to play around. Been there, done that, so I
dumped her.

The sexual tension is the main reason I love high school football games. I
watch the parents in the stands. I watch the band and was rewarded once when
a pretty clarinetist caught the eye of a gangly trumpeter. She slid her
mouthpiece deep in her mouth and the poor boy shook like he had palsy.

I watch the girl cheerleaders, who are all seniors and graduates of both the
drill team and an intensive summer cheerleading camp. They are the crème de
la crème, four athletic young beauties, matched like four prize horses.
While it's not true that they have to screw three football players to be
selected, it is true that there's not a virgin in the bunch.

I watch the drill team, particularly when they perform at halftime. They are
quite appealing in their uniforms-thirty-two babes selected from all four
high school classes for their looks, coordination, and their willingness to
spend the hours necessary to learn their routines to perfection. Most of
them have long hair that billows around them like gossamer wings of angels.
I watch all the sleek, firm legs and flat tummies and hair sparkling under
the spotlights.

While the cheerleaders seem to be precision-molded by some master machine,
the drill team has variety, and variety is the spice of life. Some of the
girls were mechanical in the dance routine with faces void of emotion or
locked in fierce concentration. Some moved effortlessly with a joy in the
dance. Some flaunted their femininity, creating a caricature of sexuality
too obvious to all.

A few had, as Tim would put it, "the power"-a raw, natural sexuality capable
of rendering men speechless. His daughter, Megan, was one of those, although
less so than her mother and sister. Tiffany had it, although I wasn't sure
she knew it. And Brie had it - had it in spades - and she knew it. She kept
it locked up as if she knew the power was nuclear, and she was afraid of
what might happen if it escaped.

I now knew why Brie acted the way she did, why sometimes she seemed
painfully shy and other times as knowing as a whore, sometimes afraid I'd
even look at her and other times coming on to me with an intensity I could
barely refuse.

That night of the spring game, I particularly watched Brianna Dawn Wilson,
as she wanted me to do, all five feet five of her, with her oval-shaped face
with its high cheekbones, flawless lightly tanned skin, and big, green eyes.
I watched her golden blonde hair float and fly around her. I watched her
dancer's legs and high, hard ass, and her breasts swell her uniform high
above a tiny waist, wondering what she looked like naked and how she'd feel
under my hands. I wondered how her pussy would taste as she moaned on my bed
and how it would feel around my cock.

Brie watched me watching her and smiled in a secret way.

When the game was over, I visited with the crowd as we wound our way down
the stairs and onto the playing field, which was full of students and
parents starting to party. I hadn't been there two minutes when Tiffany came
bouncing up to me with Brie right beside her. They each grabbed an arm and
Tiffany kissed my cheek. Their cheeks were flush, their eyes bright.

"Hi, Daddy. Ready to go?"

"You don't want to visit for a while?"

"We want to go home and talk." She took my hand and tugged me toward the
gate. "Come on."

Brie took my other hand and they pulled me onward. Brie held my hand all the
way to the car, and gave it a loving squeeze before letting go. She got in
the passenger seat beside me and Tiffany got in the rear. That was a first,
and it moved with a precision indicating it had been pre-planned. Brie
fastened her seat belt, turned toward me, and tucked her left leg under her
right one. Her shoulders were back and her back slightly arched to raise and
offer her breasts. Her head was level and her eyes bored into me. She took
my hand and guided it to the inside of her thigh just above her knee,
holding it there as her thumb stroked the back.

My cock was hard, desperately hard, and my heart was in my throat as I
slowly and softly squeezed the satiny girl-flesh and stared into her
knowing, mesmerizing eyes. Brie's lips parted and a pink tongue tip appeared
between them. Her eyes fluttered and she leaned toward me.

"Let's go, Daddy," Tiffany said sharply. I looked in the rearview mirror and
Tiffany was staring back at me. I knew that look. I'd never before seen it
on my daughter, but I'd seen it on other women. It was a demanding,
predatory sexual look.

Suddenly, the scent of women was overpowering-a smell of hormones and
perfume and sweet, girl-sweat. I turned the air conditioner to high and
pointed the air vents at my face. They watched me all the way home and never
said a word. My mind whirled with images it should not have had.

"I'm tired," Tiffany moaned as I pulled into the garage. I wondered if it
was a ploy.

"Me, too," Brie said. She yawned and stretched and her hand brushed my
shoulder. I swear it was a caress.

"Let's get ready for bed, talk a little, and then turn in," Tiffany said.

I followed them into the house. When they both went into my bedroom, the
hair on my neck stood up. "Where are you going?" I asked.

"To get sleep shirts," Tiffany said. It was only about last fall Tiffany
began sleeping in my T-shirts. Come to think of it, she asked shortly after
Brie moved to town. "They're big and roomy, Daddy. Please," she had said.

Tiffany opened my chest of drawers, but Brie said, "Not clean ones. Where
are the dirty clothes?"

"In the bathroom," Tiffany replied. They both disappeared, only to reappear
seconds later, each holding a wrinkled dress shirt from the clothes hamper.

Brie held the shirt to her nose, took a deep sniff, and said, "See? It
smells like him."

"It does," Tiffany said brightly. "I like that."

"Me, too," Brie said and her eyes held mine.

My feet were rooted to the floor as Tiffany came toward me. She squeezed my
forearm lovingly as she passed by me toward the door. "Hurry and get ready
for bed, Daddy," she said. "Come on, Brie."

Brie's sexuality exploded, "the power" hitting me like a fist. She took one
step toward me, and the power disappeared, leaving her a shy, young maid.
She slipped past me, avoiding making eye contact and taking care not to
brush against me, and followed Tiffany down the hall.

I changed into my pajamas before going into the family room where I poured
myself a double Maker's Mark and plopped down in my recliner. Word and
pictures tumbled through my aching head and I was lost in introspection when
a soft hand touched mine.

I looked up to see them smiling at me, sweet little-girl smiles with soft,
loving eyes. "Are you all right, Daddy?" Tiffany asked solicitously.

"A little tired," I replied.

"Come sit on the couch with us so we can talk," she said anxiously, taking
my hand.

To Be Continued

Please! Send your comments to ezriter@hotmail.com

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com>|
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderators: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|ASSM Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org>   Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org> |
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}|
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+