Girlfriend's Sexy, Slutty Daughter

Then, even though I now knew who she was and, obviously, she knew who I was, without even so much as a formal introduction, a how do you do and a handshake, she lifted my right hand and placed it on her ample, left breast and squeezed. Then, stepping on my shoes and standing on her toes, as if she was my daughter and I was dancing with her at her wedding, she wrapped her arm around my neck, while pulling my lips down to her lips, closed her eyes, and French kissed me again. This time, her kiss was a much longer, deeper, and more probing kiss. Following her lead, having already lost my senses in her perfume, my mind to the feel of her soft, full, red lips against mine, and my dignity to the sensation of her breast that filled my hand, with a hand wrapped around her slim waist, I pulled her closer, closed my eyes, and returned her kiss. Immediately my mind blanked, as if I was floating on a cloud on my way to Heaven. With that second kiss, I was her sex slave forever. With that second kiss, she ruined me from thinking of any other woman but her, including and especially her mother, what's her name, my girlfriend.

With my left hand feeling her nipple emerging and pushing through the material of her blouse and bra, I felt the tip of her mammary gland hardening against the center of my sweaty palm. Unable to stop my fingers from moving, especially after she squeezed my hand in her encouragement for me to feel her tit, my fingertips felt her bra clad breast, as if I was testing for a ripe grapefruit in a supermarket. As if I was a horny teenager again sitting in the last row at the movies with slutty Gina, thirty years ago, never have I felt such sexual excitement, as I was experiencing now. Then, already having bet the farm, I went for broke, reached behind her, and grabbed a handful of her round, firm ass and squeezed. If I had the presence of mind and the balls enough to do it, I would have reached beneath her short skirt and grabbed a handful of her panty clad pussy, that is, knowing her as I do now, if she was even wearing panties.

Too sexually excited to be embarrassed, forsaking my honor, my dignity, and my modesty for a chance with her, I wanted to turn to everyone staring and tell them that I really wasn't her father, but her mother's boyfriend. Instead, with her second kiss raising me to new sexual heights that I haven't experienced, since I was a testosterone filled, always horny teenager, suddenly feeling like the lover that I wished I was, wanting to tell them all, indeed, that I was her boyfriend and her lover, I didn't say anything. It was then that I realized, instead of being her father or her boyfriend and lover, in a sudden sad sense of strained reality, I was merely her mother's boyfriend and lover. Other than that, wishing I did, I had no sexual connection or romantic claim to this woman. Obviously and sadly, she was just playing a sexy game that she must have played with other men before.

A mere mortal, albeit now an admitted dirty old man, who has just lost his mind over my girlfriend's sexy, slutty daughter, I was deranged with inappropriate thoughts of Ellen on her knees and sucking my cock or leaning forward, when taking her from behind and feeling her tits. Not wanting to ruin the moment, with my emotions heightened to that of a seething, smoking, and active volcano ready to erupt to show his lust for his girlfriend's daughter, I maintained my silence. As if I was an onion covered with complicated layers from having lived life for so long, she peeled them all away with just her kiss.

"How did she do that?" I thought to myself.

Only, when the kiss and the feel of her warm body against mine was over, when I was no longer a pawn in her sexy game that made her use me in her crave for everyone's shocked attention, especially mine, now alone with my bad self and feeling immediately abandoned, I was crushed. Oh, what a fool I've been to have played such a losing game with her. How could she use me and arouse me like that? Why me? Why her? Why now? Why the Hell not? So what? Who cares? The important fact remains is she French kissed me.

Coming home and living with us, after graduating from college, receiving her master's degree in physiology, and majoring in physical therapy, even after the prelude of that sexual episode at the airport, I couldn't even imagine what would have happened between her and me, if the first move was left up to me. Nothing probably. Never would I have kissed her or even touched her. With her being the daughter of my girlfriend, I never would have started something that I couldn't finish. I didn't dare. I wouldn't have had the balls to even kiss her, never mind French kiss her, in the way she French kissed me. Without doubt, I wouldn't have had the balls to grope her breast through her blouse and finger her nipple through her bra in the way she felt my cock through my pants.

Suddenly, feeling so sexually stressed, I needed some relief. Feeling a phantom pain in my neck that continued down my spine, before culminating in stiffening my cock, in desperate need of a bit of massage therapy, and with her coincidentally being a physical therapist, I wondered if she'd be willing to give me a naked massage, one that had a happy ending. Only, quickly returning to reality, how could I even think such inappropriate thoughts about my girlfriend's daughter, but I was. No longer thinking of how I'd hurt Anne, I was too preoccupied in thinking of how I'd please Ellen.

Because she was such a knockout, even had she not pressed her body against mine and kissed me, grabbed my ass, and felt my erection through my pants, no doubt, I still would have inappropriately been thinking of Ellen naked. Yet, the fact that she had already French kissed me, allowed me to feel her breast, and grabbed her ass, I so wanted to experience feeling her again. Heralding the introduction of her to my life, now whenever thinking of my girlfriend's, sexy, slutty daughter, the Eagles song, Witchy Woman, suddenly played a sad and sexually frustrating refrain through my head.

"Raven hair and ruby lips, sparks fly from her fingertips. Echoed voices in the night, she's a restless spirit on an endless flight. Woo hoo witchy woman, see how high she flies. Woo hoo witchy woman, she got the moon in her eye."

Only hoping she's not evil, whether real or imagined, definitely, she's my witchy woman. As if the elevator doors suddenly parted and seeing Marilyn Monroe, Jayne Mansfield, or Elizabeth Taylor emerge in their day, when seeing Ellen for the first time emerge from that airplane disembarking tunnel, beginning with how shockingly good-looking she is, I could go down the list describing all of the cliché attributes of her beauty. Suffice to say that she's beautiful, a real beauty and, whether on stage, screen, or in magazines, she's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen in my life.

Instantly, feeling my cock swell, as if playing the odds, when counting cards at a Blackjack table, taking a big gamble, she was worth the risk of getting caught cheating. Yet, with a bad storm brewing on the horizon, I was adrift in a turbulent ocean without a life vest or a paddle, while wondering what my chances were with her. Nonetheless, with my thoughts of abandoning my current ship to jump aboard her vessel and sail away with her from my safe harbor, forsaking mother for daughter, suddenly feeling as if I was a man overboard, instead of captain of my own lifeboat, I realized that I needed more than the strong, uncontrollable sexual attraction that I had for her. Other than how hot she looked, ready to sink or swim, I didn't even know the woman and she didn't know me, but she was worth jumping ship to find out more about her.

"Oh, boy," I thought to myself, while hoping my sexual attraction to my girlfriend's daughter wasn't my fatal undoing. Already in deep, way over my head and lost at sea, unable to think of anyone but her, I was in real trouble now. "Oh, boy," if this is my chance to live my life in the way that I want to live it, what do I do now?

Not even thinking about my 48-year-old girlfriend, Anne, in deference to her 24-year-old daughter, actually forgetting about Ellen's mother, as if finally meeting a movie star in person that I had lusted over for years, I was suddenly lost in the moment, a moment that never ended. Only, once seeing Ellen, even before she kissed me and allowed me to touch her, while feeling me, if a crime happened in front of my eyes at the airport, the criminal would have gone by me unnoticed and gotten away. Unless I was suddenly struck blind, I could not remove my stare from her beautiful face and sexy figure.

"Please God, I was just kidding before about wanting to be blind. Please don't strike me blind, especially not now," I thought to myself while staring at her beautiful face and shapely body.

Normally attracted to tall, blue eyed, busty, Texas blondes, women my age, a little younger or a bit older, in comparison, Ellen was just a little, young thing. Barely 5'4" tall without benefit of heels, she was a petite 115 pounds, but with the shapely body of 34-22-34, I found out later. A woman blessed with natural curves, she had a figure that kept me staring and maintained my sexual interest, whenever she paraded around me in her barely there bikini or in her short skirt and low cut blouse. I never tired of looking at her.

Knowing that I should have felt ashamed of myself for holding her, for French kissing her, for inappropriately touching her, and for wishing she were mine, I didn't care that she was only 24-years-old and I was 50-years-old. Somehow, at least to me, and hoping she'd feel the same way, too, our ages didn't matter. Quickly, I did the math in my head. Gees, just out of high school, she was only 18-years-old, when I was 44-years-old. Jesus. Yet, in fifteen years, she'd be 39-years-old, when I'm 65-years-old, not so bad, so long as I watched what I ate, stayed in shape, and took Viagra to remain sexually active. Moreover, in fifty years, she'll be 74-years-old and I'll be (gulp) 100-years-old. I should live so long, by then, no doubt, I'd be tired of her and will be looking for a younger chick, a nice 65-year-old.

Better looking than Faith Hill and Katherine Zeta Jones, my long time hot women standards that measured a woman's beauty and since, replaced by Jessica Alba and Natalie Portman, Ellen made them all pale in comparison. Hearing the song, The Girl From Ipanema play endlessly in my head, as she strutted her stuff, while walking towards me in the airport, she hit me in the way that Mia Farrow must have hit Frank Sinatra or Lauren Bacall hit Humphrey Bogart. Already dazed and disoriented, yet, realizing, of course, how easy it is for a younger woman to seduce an older man and make him fall in love with her, aside from money, power, and influence, I never understood why a younger woman would ever fall in love with an older man. Powerless to care about our ages or about her mother, love at first sight, I was already in lustful love with her, as I hoped she was with me, while knowing that she wasn't.

Perhaps, our huge differences in age would be an issue later but, at least for me, especially for me, it wasn't an issue now. Acting as if nothing happened during the drive home from the airport, sitting in shocked silence, while playing a looping video in my head of her touching me and kissing me, I listened to her endlessly talk about herself. Perhaps the nonstop drone of her voice would be annoying, one day, especially when she started talking about fashion, but it wasn't now. Sweetly feminine, she had the kind of voice that would make me hard, while she talked dirty to me in bed.

"May I suck your cock, again, Drew?" I imagined her being cutely submissive enough to ask my permission to suck my cock, while we lazed around in bed.

"Of course you may suck my cock again, Ellen. Please do. It would be my pleasure for you to suck my cock."

"Oh, thank you, Drew. Thank you."

"You're welcome. Don't mention it, Ellen. Just suck."

As much as I was stunned by her extraordinary beauty, I was still stunned by her sexy, albeit aggressively slutty behavior at the airport, that is, until she said something else that caught my attention, other than calling me Daddy.

"My mother is lucky to have a man like you," she said allowing me to catch her looking down at my crotch. "In one quick feel of you, I could tell that you have a big cock," she said still staring at the bulge my growing erection made in my pants, before looking up at me and smiling. "Having already been with a lot of men, I mean, a few men, I know enough that I prefer a man that has a big cock."

"Thank you," I said eager but nervous to broach the next subject for me to get a sense of her and hear her reaction to what happened. Catching me off guard by talking about my cock, it amazed me that she was the aggressive one and I was the shy one. Doing all that I imagined doing to her, she shocked me with her forwardness. "That was quite the show you put on for those poor men at the airport. Realizing that they understood more English than I understood Brazilian or Italian, I knew enough to know what they were all talking about, when they ended their sentences with Papa!"

"Isn't that every man's fantasy," she said putting her hand to my thigh and looking up at me to make eye contact, "to have sex with his daughter?"

Who's your Daddy? Oh, gees, I wanted to say, just take off all your clothes and call me Drew, Daddy, or whatever you need to call me to get you in bed. Glad that she wasn't my daughter, if she was, just by what I was thinking of doing to her, I'd be breaking the law in most of the United States and many other countries.

"No, that's not my fantasy," I said looking down at her hand, while wanting to grab it and move it to my cock.

Hoping she'd move her hand higher to touch my cock through my pants again, while thinking that it was my sexual fantasy to have sex with her, this young woman was way ahead of me on the sexual sophistication scale. Even if she was my daughter, she was beautiful and sexy enough that I'd, no doubt, want to have sex with her. Fortunately, she wasn't my daughter. Unfortunately, she was my girlfriend's daughter.

"Tell me, what's your fantasy, then?" She left her hand on my thigh, before finally removing it and when she did, suddenly experiencing separation anxiety, in the way of being spooned one minute, before my bedmate turned away from me the next, already I missed the warmth of her hand.

"Oh, I don't know, like every other man, I'm a voyeur. It turns me on to see something that I'm not supposed to see," I said hoping she'd show me some part of her body, while wanting to tell her that what happened at the airport was really my sexual fantasy come true.

Only treading unfamiliar ground, I didn't know what to say to someone so young, albeit so sexually provocative, to make her want me. Maybe I should be talking about Twitter or Facebook to her, but I didn't have either of those. Willing to continue playing her game, if that's what she was doing and if that's what it would take to get in bed with her, I was hoping for more. Yet, not wanting to risk a hot night of sex by asking her to make a commitment to me, a man old enough to be her father, with all of this going too fast too soon, I decided to play it by ear and go with the flow, by allowing her to take the lead.

"So, understanding voyeurism, as I do, if I was to raise my skirt," she said with a devilish grin. She reached down to raise her short skirt high enough up her shapely thighs to show me that she was wearing panties and, nearly driving off the road, I stared down at her panty clad pussy mound. "And if I was to unbutton my blouse," she said with a sexy smile. She looked over at me watching her, as she unbuttoned enough buttons of her blouse and flayed it open wide enough for me to see her bra, cleavage, and the full roundness of the tops of her breasts. "While acting as if I didn't know that I was so exposed," she said turning her head away from me to mindlessly look out her passenger side window. "Would seeing me sitting like this so exposed arouse you? Would seeing my panty and bra make you want me?"

"Yes! Yes! Oh, God, yes," I said staring down between her legs, before looking up at her breasts. Forgetting about trying to be Mr. Cool, I involuntarily blurted out my desire for her. Oh, my God, who is this woman?

Wishing I wasn't driving, wanting to stop the car and park along the side of the road and make out with her, I wanted to touch all that I was seeing of her. Unfortunately having to pay attention to the road, unfortunately trying to remain faithful to her mother, I excitedly looked over at her exposed panty and bra a half dozen times, before grinding my teeth in sexual frustration and tightly gripping the steering wheel, as if I was driving white knuckled in a road race.

"Men are so easy," she said laughing, while pulling down her short skirt and buttoning her blouse. "You guys are all alike no matter what your age."

Damn, she was such a slutty, sexy tease but, never having been sexually teased like that, especially by a woman so beautiful and one who didn't have to tease me to get my attention, I was loving every second of her attention. A gross understatement, even when I was a teenager, never have I been the focused sexual attention of a woman so young and so hot. Having been accustomed to women, who viewed sex as something they had to do, this young woman viewed sex as something fun and exciting. Already, she was years beyond her mother in understanding what men want and need. Already, willing to do whatever she wanted me to do, she had me as an active participant in her sexy game of tickle and tease.

"What's your sexual fantasy?" Hoping that I was acting hip, cool, and sexy, instead of old, boring, and perverted, I didn't want her to think that I was like all the other men she knew, just after one thing, which I was, of course, while hoping for more.

"Oh, that's easy," she said. "I'm such an exhibitionist. If I wasn't such a slut, I'd be embarrassed," she said with a sexy laugh. "Exposing myself turns me on, especially when showing my body to a man who appreciates all that I'm showing him. I love teasing a man," she said turning to look at me and waiting until I made eye contact with her, before turning away. "It turns me on to show a man something that he's hoping to see, but not expecting to see, while pretending that I don't know that I'm showing, as much as I'm he's seeing," she said with another sexy laugh.

"Wow," I said looking at her in disbelief that a woman as beautiful, as sexy, and as slutty as her really exists. "Is that what you just did to me? Were you experiencing your sexual fantasy, in showing me your panty and bra?"

"No, not at all," she smiled me her patience. "Flashing you my panty and bra was only for your benefit not for mine. For me to get aroused, a game that I enjoy playing, when exposing myself, it must appear accidental. It works better, if I think that the man is taking advantage of me by peeping. Preferring to play the innocent victim, instead of the beguiling vixen, I love driving men wild with desire for me. Then, if he plays the game correctly, I'll show him everything that he's hoping to see."

"Everything?" I looked at her, while imagining her naked and standing in the middle of a crowd of men.

"Everything," she said with a smile that made me smile.

Rule! Rules! Where do I find the damn rules to correctly play her game of exhibitionism and voyeurism? Or as women and men, are we born with an inherent knowledge how to correctly play such a sexy game? Only, absent that day, married, no doubt, to my ex-wife or living in sin with Ellen's mother, I didn't get the memo.

"Wow," I said again no longer trying to act hip, cool, and/or sexy but, instead prying her for more masturbation material. "Do you have any accidental on purpose flashes that you can share with me?" I looked over at her just as a sexy smile widened her lips.