I am sure I masked my true feelings at that moment. I am sure she saw nothing in my eyes other than what she interpreted as the mutual, worried concerned of a fellow parent. “No problem, Julie. It was nothing I wouldn’t expect anybody to do for my daughter.” Liar. I chuckled inwardly.
The woman followed me down the stairs. As I walked toward the front door, she offered me a cup of coffee. I politely declined. As quickly as I could I took my leave.
On the drive home my mind replayed the fun I had had, from the time I had dropped Ashley off at home until the time I laid Brittany in her bed. What a fantastic opportunity that had literally fallen in my lap! But suddenly the visions of the broken condom, and of Brittany’s eyes opening as I placed her on her bed, danced before my eyes. I shifted uncomfortably in the seat of the Porsche 911 as I drove home through the night.
Just as I was opening the garage door to my house, a car drove up to the curb in front of the house and Ashley emerged from the passenger’s seat. I drove the Porsche into the garage and shut off the engine.
“Dad!” Ashley exclaimed as she walked into the garage. “You’re just NOW getting home?”
I panicked. It was over three hours since I had left to take Brittany home. How was I to explain to my daughter why it had taken so long to take her friend home? Damn, I hadn’t planned a story explaining the long time that it took! I guess I had assumed Ashley wouldn’t be getting home at the exact fucking minute I did!
“I…I had a flat tire,” I said as I climbed out of the car and hit the button to close the garage door “And my spare was flat. A real bitch. I had to get a tow and it took forever.” Then I added hastily: “But I got Brittany home on time.”
“Great, Dad!” Ashley kissed me on the cheek. “You’re tops, pops.”
We entered the kitchen from the garage. “Those guys at the party were real jerks,” Ashley continued. “I just KNEW I had to get Brittany out of there, the way they were acting. Thanks for coming to the rescue. You really saved Brittany.”
I winced internally. “You did the rescuing, sweetheart,” I told her.
Later, I was in the kitchen and it was dark and there was a girl standing by the refrigerator. She was wearing nothing but a white t-shirt, but the t-shirt stuck out grotesquely in front, and then I realized that the girl was Brittany and that she heavily pregnant. I awoke from the dream in a sweat, and had trouble getting back to sleep.
It must have been close to noon the next morning, Saturday when I heard signs that Ashley was awake and stirring. She was coming from her bedroom to the kitchen where I was having a late breakfast and reading the newspaper. She was talking on her cell phone. I was unaware of what she was saying or with whom she was speaking until she actually came into the kitchen and I heard: “Yeah, I’ll tell him. I know, he’s a sweetie.” Then, pulling the mouthpiece of the phone away from her lips, she called to me: “Dad, Brittany says thanks for taking her home last night. She’s sorry she was passed out.”
I was taking a sip of hot coffee when she said this, and involuntarily sucked in more of the hot brew than I should have, which went down the wrong pipe. I coughed for a few seconds, and then, waving my hand dismissively, said “No problem. My pleasure.”
“He says you’re welcome”, I heard Ashley tell her friend as she opened the refrigerator door and pulled out a bottle of orange juice.
I stared at the newspaper page I had been reading, but instead of seeing the newsprint any longer, my eyes had lost their focus and instead I was seeing the lovely body of Brittany once again, naked, her legs draped over my shoulders, my cock buried inside her teenage pussy. My god but what a fantastic piece of fuck meat that young girl had been! I felt my cock stiffening inside my shorts as I sat at the table remembering her. I knew that I would be masturbating to the memory of her for months to come. And not just the memories: the explicit photos taken of her , both before AND after fucking her, would allow me to relive that evening in vivid detail. I smiled subtly to myself and surreptitiously—so that my daughter wouldn’t notice—adjusted the position of my hardening cock inside my underwear.
I was aware that Ashley continued blabbing with Brittany on the phone as she sat at the table with me and her orange juice, but had little idea for how long or about what they spoke. It was typical young female chatter. But then I heard her say: “You can talk to him now.” This raised my eyebrows. I looked up from my paper and over to my daughter. “Okay, then, call him later.” I then heard her give her friend my cell phone number.
When Ashley finally hung up, I asked her why she had given Brittany my phone number.
“She said her mother insisted that she call you personally and apologize for last night. But she had to do something right now. She’s going to call you later.”
Oh, really? I thought, draining the last of my coffee.
“She got grounded”, Ashley said.
“I got her home before eleven”, I said.
“But she got grounded anyway for being passed out drunk and having to have someone carry her home.”
I nodded. “Well,” I said thoughtfully, “maybe she’ll learn from this experience.”
An hour later I was driving the Porsche 911 to a computer store when my cell phone rang. The call went to my car radio speakers through Bluetooth. After I said hello, the voice of young Brittany filled the auto’s tight interior.
“Mr. Collins?” Her voice was soft. Sensuous.
I started to say “yes” but I found suddenly that I could hardly speak. I felt like a teenager myself, one with little or no social skills. Finally, I spit it out: “Yes? Brittany?”
“Yeah,” she said. There was a pause. Then: “Mr. Collins, I’m calling to apologize for being drunk last night. I am so embarrassed.”
”That’s okay, Brittany. But you should watch out. You’re eighteen now, but that’s too young to be drinking like that.”
“I know.” There was a pouting sound to her voice, and the way it reverberated throughout the interior of the 911 with the Bluetooth made me swallow hard. “I’ll be more careful from now on.”
“Yeah. People your age can have fun without drinking.”
“I know,” she said. Then there was another pause. I thought she was going to say goodbye, but instead I heard: “Mr. Collins, I wanted to ask you a question.”
”Yes, Brittany, what is it?”
“Did you enjoy yourself last night?”
I almost hit the car in front of me who was braking for a car that had pulled out in front of it from a fast food establishment. “Excuse me?” I said.
“I asked if you enjoyed yourself last night. When you took me home.”
“Well…what do you mean, honey?”
“You don’t remember what you did last night? Am I that forgettable?”
I felt as if a choke collar had been applied to my neck. I quickly pulled into a strip mall parking lot and brought the Porsche to a stop before I hit something.
”Mr. Collins?” the girl’s voice came softly across the car’s speakers. “Are you still there?”
“Yes,” I managed to say. Then: “Brittany, what are you talking about, honey?”
“You know what I’m talking about, Mr. Collins.”
I felt like I was going to throw up my breakfast. “No,” I finally was able to say with what I hoped was a calm voice. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about. Can you…can you tell me?” My heart was in my throat.
“I found your DNA in my panties this morning when I woke up.”
It was as if a solid fist to my face had sent me reeling. I was speechless. After a long silence, I heard the young girls’ soft voice say again: “Mr. Collins?” Her tone of voice so far had been as if she were discussing the weather.
“Brittany!” I said breathlessly. “What in the world are you talking about? Do you know what you’re saying?”
“Uh huh. Is your memory better now?”
I had absolutely no idea what to say. Was I busted? My shaking hands grasped my head. The thought that I might, indeed, be busted would not register.
“Mr. Collins,” the girl said after another long silence, “I was thinking, I have two options.” When she heard no response from me, she continued: “One, I could take my panties to the police.”
I stared out the windshield of the Porsche 911 with unseeing eyes as her words reverberated around the interior of the Porsche 911 and the inside of my head. “Or,” I heard her continue, “the other option is, I could sell them to you.”
How did she KNOW?! I shouted silently to myself through clenched teeth. DNA on her panties!? So some of my cum DID remain inside her! And it trickled out onto her fucking panties after I put them back on her! I shouldn’t have put the damn thing back on her! But then, I couldn’t very well have taken her home without her fucking panties!
“Did you hear the options, Mr. Collins?”
It dawned on me that the little bitch might be recording the call. I couldn’t afford to admit to a thing. I had to talk to her in person, where there was no fear of being bugged.
“Brittany,” I said in a calm voice, but it sounded flat to my own ears. “You must be having some sort of…problem, child. You need some help. I…I…let me meet with you. Let me try to help you.”
“You want to meet? Sure. This afternoon?”
“But where?” I asked. “Ashley told me you were grounded.” Suddenly a sickening thought struck me. “Brittany,” I said, unable now to disguise the nervousness in my voice. “You…you haven’t told anybody about…about this fantasy of yours?”
I actually heard a laugh in the girl’s voice. “No”, she said. “It’s just our little secret, Mr. Collins. So far.”
“Look,” I said quickly. “Can we meet this afternoon? When? Where?”
“There’s a strip mall on the highway close to my house. There’s a McDonald’s there. I’ll be in front of the McDonald’s at three o’clock.”
“You’re not grounded?” If this hadn’t been such a fucking serious situation I would have laughed at sounding like a teenager taking to his girlfriend.
“I can tell my mother I’m going to study at my friend’s house. She’ll let me leave for that. But I’ll have to be back by five.”
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