Tan Lines
by Bald Eagle
A lot of people laugh at the antiquated concept of the Devil and I was one
of them until one hot and sunny day last summer. It all began innocently
enough. After my wife Sarah died, Julie and I did the best we could to get
along without her but eventually both of us felt the need for a woman in our
lives. I met Mary at one of those seminars for single professionals and we
hit it off right away. She was beautiful and successful and I was shy and
lonely. After we had dated a few times, I introduced her to Julie and the
two of them hit it off pretty well too. One night Mary convinced me that
maintaining two households was simply not cost effective and within the
month we married. It was after we had married that I discovered exactly how
successful she had been, holding a portfolio of blue-chip stocks and owning
a summer house on Martha's Vineyard. It was at that summer house that my
tussle with the Devil occurred.
Mary had to go off-island for the day, departing on the first ferry and
leaving me and Julie to our own devices. I slept in. After I woke up and
was pouring my first cup of coffee, I looked out the kitchen window and
spotted Julie down on our private beach, spreading out a blanket and wearing
the tiniest, pinkest bikini I'd ever seen. I had been vaguely aware of the
fact that she was growing up, but seeing her in that bikini made me realize
that my little girl was already beyond cute and moving quickly towards
becoming a woman. I ate a light breakfast and decided to go down to the
beach to sit with Julie and soak up the sun.
When I came crunching through the sand towards her blanket, Julie was lying
on her stomach reading a magazine and I noticed that there was no swimsuit
strap across her back. There were however two broad and bright white lines
running east to west where the double strap from last year's child's
swimsuit had blocked out the sun. Julie heard me coming and greeted me with
a languid, "Morning, Dad." I sat down beside her and removed my shirt.
"Dad, now that you're here, would you mind rubbing some suntan lotion on my
back?" she asked. I commented that she appeared to be missing the top of
her bikini and with a sweet giggle she countered that Mary had told her that
tan lines were unsightly and the mark of an unsophisticated woman.
I chuckled as I picked up the bottle of suntan lotion, which had been made
hot to the touch by the blazing sun. I poured some into my left hand and
then rubbed my hands together. "Work on those tan lines, please, Dad,"
mumbled Julie. I started up around the nape of her neck and moved gradually
down her backbone, spreading the coconut-scented lotion left and right. It
was a bit of a strain, so I scuttled around behind her and knelt between her
spread out legs. I went to work again, spreading the warm and slippery
lotion over her shoulder blades, when suddenly I recalled going through the
exact same motions about 20 years before, with her mother, on a beach in
southern California. I guess I slipped into a reverie and my hands slowed
to a stop as I tripped back in time. "The tan lines, Dad. Don't forget the
tan lines." Julie's voice brought me back to the present and I obediently
began spreading lotion over the two white lines. Where was that beach so
long ago? San Diego? Del Mar? Although I closed my eyes to try to bring
the distant memory into focus, I didn't neglect my duties and continued
spreading the lotion, lower and lower down Julie's firm young back. I had
reached the top edge of her bikini bottom when Julie reminded me gently,
"The tan lines, Dad. You're forgetting the tan lines."
I opened my eyes and took a look at the tan lines. They weren't really all
that ugly but if Julie wanted them eradicated, well, what's a father for? I
poured some more lotion into my hands and began to smother those tan lines
with determination. My mind began to wander again as I smeared the viscous
liquid across my daughter's back and I was only slightly aware of the bone
and muscle beneath my palms. When I felt her rib bones curving under, it
seemed to me that I was nearing the end of my task, but Julie said quietly,
"A little further Dad." In my mind I was back in California, young and
strong and afraid of nothing, and my hands were on auto-pilot, stroking and
smoothing away those damned tan lines. "A little more, Dad."
As if from a great distance, I received a weak signal from my fingertips
that they had moved from bone to tender flesh and were climbing a slight
grade. My mind snapped back to the present and my body froze. "Jesus
Christ! I'm feeling up my own daughter!"
I distinctly heard Julie say, "Still a little more, Dad," and I swear I
heard the Devil laugh, somewhere up inside my skull.
I removed my hands from my daughter's body and stared at them for what
seemed like hours. Then, in the slow motion movements of a dream, I picked
up the bottle of hot suntan lotion and squirted a pool of it into my hand.
I rubbed my hands together, and mumbling "Tan lines" I placed my hands on
either side of her spine and oh-so-slowly traced the tan lines, towards her
arms, under her rib cage, then up those two mounds on the other side. Julie
raised her torso off the towel a bit and my fingertips glided over a bumpy
edge and found her nipples. I swear I wanted to turn back, to quit, to beg
her forgiveness, but somebody somewhere (the Devil?), pushed my arms and
Boom! there I was, rubbing my slippery fingers over two taut nipples that
kept growing longer and harder. God, what a delicious feeling it was.
Julie began making little whimpery noises and my cock was pushing out my
swim trunks like a tent pole. As I leaned forward to give Julie a tender
kiss on the nape of her neck, my tent pole wedged into the crack of her ass
and Julie jumped up like she had been shot. I thought, "Oh shit, she's
going to call the police on me or something," but to my surprise, she was
pushing down her bikini bottom, then stepping out of it. She resumed her
original position on the blanket and, in a voice that was too husky to be
that of a child, whispered, "A little more, Dad." My trunks were off in a
flash and I was pouring more suntan lotion onto my hands. I slathered some
on my cock and then bent forward again to rub those tan lines off my
daughter's succulent breasts. My cock was now riding up and down in the
crack of her ass, slippery with lotion and hard as Japanese geometry.
Julie's whimpers now turned to low moans and her nipples felt like some
exotic berry in my busy fingers. As my left hand continued to tease her
left nipple, my right hand slowly snaked its way down her belly. Julie
raised herself a bit more off the blanket, and my right hand slid over the
tiny patch of hair on her pubic mound and my cock slipped down from the
crack of her ass to the crack of her pussy. Julie was breathing through her
mouth now, making that raspy "haaah, haaah" sound that always turns me up a
notch. My cock was 100% vertical but Julie was pushing backwards and
forwards, causing it to ride up and down in her downy slit, which was
supplying its own moisturizer by now.
"More Dad, more...."
When the oily fingers of my right hand began making little circles over her
clitoris, Julie's body flushed red, tan lines and all, and I could feel her
legs trembling.
"Oh, Dad. Unnnhhh. Oh, Jesus. Unnnnhh. Oh, shit, that feels good."
I began tweaking and tickling the lips of her pussy, gently spreading them
wider, and with my left hand, I bent my cock down so that the head was
pressed straight against the pink rosebud of her open pussy.
"This is gonna hurt a little, hon."
"More Dad. More!!!"
Putting my hands on her hips, I guided her backwards until the head was in.
Her vaginal lips sucked it in hungrily and gave it a squeeze of welcome that
sent a shock wave right up my spine.
"More Dad. More."
By straightening my back slowly, I was able to raise myself up and forward,
and I moved both hands around front to fondle Julie's clitoris while
watching in utter awe as my shaft slipped deeper and deeper in.
Julie began shaking, crying, laughing, shouting, and bucking, all at the
same time. My cock disappeared completely into my darling daughter and
Julie was rocking hard back on it, jamming it into herself with jerky
thrusts and then shivering as she lunged forward to feel its full length.
Recognizing those hoarse pants that always signal an orgasm, I squeezed her
swollen clit with one hand and a nipple with the other. When she finally
came, the noise was enough to scare off every seagull on the island. Thank
God it was a private beach.
Since that terrible day, I've never again touched my daughter in an
inappropriate way. And I have vowed that I never will.
Unless she's wearing that tiny pink bikini.
Bald Eagle