My mouth must have gaped opened, but I was utterly speechless. I stared at the girl stupidly. I literally could not believe what I had just heard. “Huh?” I said dumbly, finally managing a word.
The girl smiled. “You heard me. $300 an hour. It beats the hell out of what I get for babysitting!”
She scooted completely off the bench and stood. I looked up at her in disbelief. “Are you…are you sure you’re only eighteen?” I asked.
She giggled. “Yes. Why?”
“If you’re like this at eighteen, what the hell are you going to be like at thirty?”
“Rich,” she said, and briskly strode away
For the next two weeks I was actually quite busy and really didn’t have too much time to think about Brittany or dwell on the painful loss of my $10,000. I did mention to Ashley that I didn’t think she should hang out with Brittany any more, but my daughter came to the defense of her friend. “Dad, just because she wears revealing clothes? Really! Get with the times! I wish you’d let me be more like her.”
“No!” I shouted the word much too emphatically, and Ashley looked at me in astonishment for a long moment before charging out of the room. I couldn’t very well tell my daughter that I had confirmed evidence that her friend was a $300 an hour whore. So I dropped the issue.
It was after those two weeks that Ashley had some friends—boys and girls, she had told me—over one Friday night. I came home late from a business dinner and could hear them downstairs. I went straight to my bedroom, took off my clothes, and got into bed with a book. But I had trouble concentrating on reading. I was wondering if Brittany was one of the invitees that at that moment was under my roof? Suddenly, I couldn’t get her out of my head. I realized I was horny. My normal love life was showing no promise. As I say, I had been very busy, and had had no time to devise any plan to get laid with a normal woman.
I couldn’t stop thinking about Brittany. “If you want to fuck me with my eyes open”, she had said. “Just call me. $300 an hour.”
Suddenly, the thought of that intrigued me to no end. I put the book down and reached for my cell phone on the bedside table and for the first time looked at the pictures I had taken of the girl that night in the motel room. I should have downloaded those photos by now to get them off my phone. Put them on a memory stick or something. It was stupid to keep porn shots of the girl in my cell phone, for Christ’s sake! What was there about her that made me do stupid things?
The photos were fabulous. There she was, in progressive stages of undress, until she was finally stripped naked and laying before my lens in gloriously unladylike positions. My penis swelled.
I went to a dresser drawer where I had hidden the girl’s panties. Another stupid thing was probably not having burned the fucking panties right away. I went to my bed and lay down with the panties in my hands. I could barely hear music coming from my daughter’s party in the basement. It seemed like it had gotten softer. Was the owner of these panties down there at this very moment? I was dying to know. I turned the bedroom light down low and reclined naked on the bed. I put the pink panties, unwashed since last adorning the crotch of a lovely sixteen year old hottie, over my face and began to masturbate. “Call me,” I moaned to myself as I stroked my hardened cock. “$300 an hour…you can fuck me with my eyes open”. I fantasized that for $300 an hour she would probably wear whatever I requested. Her cheerleader’s uniform? Maybe her Catholic school girl outfit, with those short plaid skirts and white shirt with necktie? For $300 she would also surely suck my cock, a cock which now became bone hard in my hand as I envisioned that lovely mouth enveloping it.
In my fantasy, after sucking my cock in her cheerleader’s outfit, Brittany got on her hands and knees with her cheerleader’s skirt hiked up over her naked ass. She looked around at me with wide open eyes. “Fuck me like a bitch dog!” she cried.
I came in a tremendous explosion that sent hot cum squirting onto my chest, some of it as far as my neck. I lay there for a long while, feeling the pleasurable afterglow of my ejaculation, breathing through the panties of the girl to whom I had just masturbated. I was hearing the music coming from the basement. It seemed softer still, and suddenly I was convinced that there was a teen sex orgy going on down there, led by the little whore Brittany and involving my own precious daughter. I pulled the panties from my face and used the scanty undergarment to wipe the mess off my chest. I then reached for my cell phone on the night table to call Ashley and demand that she break the party up. But I hesitated after dialing and before pushing send, and then let the phone drop. I continued listening to the slow music as I lay in the darkness, convinced that my daughter was losing her virginity at that very moment, but feeling oddly benign about it. My ejaculation had mellowed me considerably. I soon fell asleep listening to the music.
The next day, a Saturday, I dialed Brittany’s cell phone. My palms were sweating. I felt like a high school kid, which made sense, really, since it was a high school kid that I was calling. The girl again obviously recognized my number on caller ID, for her first words when answering were: “What took you so long, Mr. C?”
THE END
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