Uncle Bob Ch. 08

We argued a little about what constituted suitable clothes for a European vacation. I confiscated a couple of the dissolving paper bikinis, and carefully vetted the shorts and tops to make sure they were on the correct side of the 'sleaze-wear' divide. Stacey could dress like a slut for me, but absolutely not for anyone else.

By the time Dolores returned with the coffee, we'd decided on a suitcase-worth of holiday clothes for Europe, and her mom only vetoed a few things that I'd reluctantly been persuaded to let Stacey pack. The 'College' pile was harder, in some ways. California is never really cold, so a lot of sensible, warm items were not really what she needed. (Given my fears, I'd have preferred her to dress as a nun or maybe as a Muslim woman in a full burka, but I guess Stacey would have looked sexy even in those outfits.) I thought about limiting her wardrobe so that she would have to come home to get her laundry done, but that's not really practical when there's over 2,500 miles to travel.

That evening, the three of us dined together, and then Dolores and me went to bed, leaving Stacey to watch a movie. The sex was energetic, wild -- maybe just a little angry. It was as if each one of us was fighting for dominance. Dolores, in some seriously hot lingerie -- corset with suspenders, stockings, serious heels -- wrestled me onto the bed, rode my face until she was drooling and then rode my cock energetically. From underneath her, I was thrusting hard, almost brutally, into that muscular cunt of hers, and rubbing her clit with my fingers until she came, moaning through gritted teeth. Even while she was still climaxing, I flipped her backwards, slipping my legs out from under her and forced her onto her back, lifting her legs back and pressing her knees up to her tits while I pounded her cunt like a jackhammer. To my surprise, she came again just as I was filling her with jizz.

Afterwards, lying together and sipping some wine, she said "you were really fired-up tonight. Is everything OK? It felt like you were angry about something."

"I guess it's just Stacey," I replied. "I think of her as my little girl, just like I'm sure you do. In a few weeks she'll be in Europe, and I have no doubt that the sexual experimentation she's started with Josh is going to carry on there. Then she'll be back for a month, and then she'll be off to college, away from both of us for the first time. I'm worried that someone's gonna hurt her, either physically or emotionally, and that makes me angry, I guess. I'm sorry if it felt like I was taking it out on you."

"Hey, that's not a problem," she said, setting her glass down and kissing me. "Now that I've realized that you feel as if you're her real dad, and I believe she feels the same, I can understand what you're going through. Got knows we've had our moments, Stacey and me, shouting at each other and saying some very hurtful things, but each time we make up and she's still my little girl. I always thought that Michael was an asshole, fighting for custody and then mostly leaving me to bring Stacey up on my own. When he used his access visits to pass her on to you, I just thought that it was part of his conspiracy to hurt me even more, and I confess I distrusted you, even though Stacey seemed to really look forward to visiting you. I guess that's why I didn't try harder to end those visits; every time I suggested cutting back on your access, she threw a hissy fit. She didn't seem to mind not seeing her dad, but she really wanted to keep up the contact with you. I think I finally appreciate why that was, and I think I owe you a lot of thanks. You're the dad she should have had."

"Hey, Dolores, that's kind of you to offer but I think I was rather too young to have been fucking you back then."

She slapped me, playfully -- though, being Dolores, it still hurt. "You know what I mean. But it's as if Michael wouldn't accept her as his daughter, as if he somehow knew..."

Her voice trailed off.

"Knew what?" I asked, suddenly puzzled.

"Oh, nothing. I -- I just think that, you know, back then, things were pretty wild. We -- we used to do things."

My curiosity was suddenly pricked. "Things? What kind of things?"

"Look, it was a decadent time, and we moved in -- well, decadent circles. We got invited to parties. You know, the type of parties where -- where things happen."

"You mean, like in sci-fi movies? You're not saying he was possessed by aliens? It would explain a lot if we discovered his body had been taken over by some giant, alien asshole-like life form, and then he'd mutated into one himself."

"Robert, stop being such a jerk. You know what I mean."

"Dolores, I swear I've never had an invitation to parties of that nature -- not even at college. What we've been doing over the past few weeks must count as the most exciting and illicit things I've ever done, sexually." By 'we', I was of course mentally including the wider family group, not just the woman currently in my arms, but I wasn't about to make that explicit.

"Well, Robert and me, we -- I think the word is 'swung' -- when we were younger. It seemed the thing to do at the time. At first it would be a whole group of us in one room, but later we'd pair off -- or sometimes go in groups of three or more -- and just compare notes later."

I could see where this was leading. "So do you think that Michael got jealous? Or did he think that Stacey wasn't his?"

"Oh, Michael has always been jealous. Even when I'd come home to find him in bed with two plastic bimbos with tits the size of the dome on the Capitol, he'd want to know where I'd been -- which was usually at work -- and would say he was just waiting for me to arrive to join in the fun. Frankly, I'm really not that interested in other women, and I'd rather have a nice strong man munching my pussy than even the prettiest of women, especially as a guy can then go on to fill it with something more satisfying than plastic. As for being Stacey's father, he's never said so outright, but he's doesn't seem to have -- or want - the sort of father-daughter relationship I've seen with other men. I've handled divorce cases where the mother wins custody and the father and the daughter are both crying and holding one another in desperation. Michael was never like that with Stacey; but she's always been like that with you."

"Well, I'm pretty sure I'm not her father, though perhaps in some way I'm her dad," I said. (And I felt slightly queasy saying it, given what Stacey and I had been doing).

"Strangely, I agree," Dolores said.

"And you're sure Michael really is Stacey's father?"

She seemed to hesitate momentarily. "Robert, until very recently I've always practiced safe sex. In the nineties, everyone was worried about AIDS, so I would have been insane not to have taken a stock of condoms with me everywhere." She smiled what I would call her "lawyer's smile", something I was never sure I could trust. "But now I can't have any more kids, I get the choice. If I'm confident my partner is not going to leave me with a little gift it would take an army of physicians to free me from, then I prefer 'skin on skin'." She reached down and gently enveloped my cock in her hand. "So if there's any life left down below, I have the perfect plan to arrange for a resurrection and a full second coming. We just need to ensure the font has enough liquid for a full baptism ceremony -- so I hope you don't mind pausing this conversation so you can head south to read my other lips."

I mean, a guy can take a hint! From there on, the conversation degenerated into a series of increasingly-urgent noises, sprinkled with a few obscenities, followed by the soft sounds of two people sleeping.