Goddess
Chapter 3: Dad

Copyright© 2016 by Bondi Beach

Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 3: Dad - Two young women on a road trip with Dad's blessing, what could go wrong? Dads mostly think they know best for their children, especially their daughters. Their daughters often have a different view. Zion National Park is a magical place, and the journey proves full of surprises and transformations. AAA coverage? Who needs it when you have a goddess with you? IMPORTANT: There's a short cheat sheet in my blog entry for April 1, 2016 to help you understand who the heck all these people are.

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Fa/Fa   Mult   Reluctant   BiSexual   Heterosexual   Fiction   Light Bond   Group Sex   Oral Sex  

WHEN I ASKED HEBE OUT on a formal date a few years ago, I received an invitation I couldn't refuse from Mr. Z.

He knew who I was, of course. The girls and Oscar and I had been friends since kindergarten, but none of that mattered now. It was the first day of summer after our freshman year at college, and this was my first official date with Hebe.

I was no stranger in either girl's house, nor they in mine, and I'd never kept track of the many meals we'd had together. Until now Hebe and I had gone out ostensibly as friends and usually in groups. Never mind that Hebe and I had already gone beyond the "just friends" thing by then, even if not as far as many of the others. I was confident Mr. Z didn't know the details or I'd have long ago seen the wrong end of his shotgun or his meat cleaver or whatever else he had handy when he found out I'd been doing unmentionable things with his darling daughter.

I had no intention of sharing my hopes and plans with Hebe for the afternoon and evening, and I fervently hoped Mr. Z wouldn't let his imagination get away from him. Even as a pretty callow nineteen-year-old I could more or less put myself in his shoes, and the picture from there wasn't a pretty one. He probably remembered his own feelings at my age, and like mine they surely involved as much skin-on-skin and other things as possible.

In short, I was terrified.

I was terrified even if in the back of my mind I knew this was theater as much as a test. Mr. Z got to show he was a concerned and protective father, and I got to pretend I had no carnal designs on his daughter and that I would return her unsullied. I had no doubts about Mr. Z. How much he believed me is unknowable, but we had to do the dance.

At mid-afternoon the restaurant was empty, the tables set for the dinner service with white tablecloths and full cutlery and wineglasses. The walls held images of the Acropolis, a statue or two, and other traditional scenes from Greece. Except that unlike the usual tourist-oriented cheesy posters these were original prints, modern, almost abstract, watercolor and pen-and-ink. The suggestion of a nude nymph or two gave a piquant, even slightly naughty, touch to the room.

Two waiters fiddled with setups at the far end of the dining room. Alone in front of the bar stood Mr. Z, arms folded across his chest, his face expressionless, as though he'd never met me before. Never mind he'd never been a cuddly guy or an outwardly warm father in his interactions with his daughters, but he'd at least acknowledged my existence before now. He'd even attended a couple of my games, and my parents and I had watched some of the girls' soccer matches.

"Hello, Mr. Z." I knew better than to offer my hand.

No answer.

I tried a little bit of a smile, an earnest but still manly effort, I hoped, that projected reassurance, no threat to his daughter's welfare.

"How are you, sir?"

No answer, but he nodded and gestured to the table. Seated, he remained silent, and I wondered how long he was going to prolong this silliness. He leaned forward. The guy was impressive, I admit that. He wasn't scowling but he wasn't smiling either. The large person who'd appeared seemingly out of nowhere to sit at the adjacent table wasn't any more welcoming. I didn't know his name, but I recognized one of Mr. Z's security guys. Did he think I was a threat?

"Hello, Sam."

At least he was willing to admit he knew my name.

"Hello, Mr. Z."

More silence. Jesus. Was I supposed to just talk? And say what, if I did? "I'm not going to hurt Hebe" didn't sound like a very promising strategy. But truth be told, terror aside this nonsense was beginning to piss me off a little. Not that I was about to say anything, not really, but after all the guy knew who I was, knew my parents, had seen me around since I was little, so what was the deal?

I remembered when I took Jean Hanford to the Christmas formal, way back in middle school. I wasn't even driving then, my dad took us. Still, I had to be hauled before her father, a doctor, and he pulled something like this. In a way it was easier then, because I didn't dare imagine I'd really get anywhere with Jean, but Dr. Hanford did the unapproachable dad thing, sitting at ease in what appeared to be his library, even if it was in a tract house. I don't remember very many questions, perhaps because even if he knew what teenage boys wanted to be up to, he figured we wouldn't get that far. Turned out he was right.

All this went through my mind as I tried to project sincerity, and we sat there until Mr. Z cleared his throat.

"So, Sam, it's good to see you."

I figured a little judicious schmoozing wouldn't hurt.

"Likewise, Mr. Z. Thank you for inviting me."

"What are your plans this afternoon?"

Getting your daughter naked and making her scream in orgasm didn't seem to be a good answer, so I punted.

"It kind of depends on what Hebe wants to do, Mr. Z. We thought we'd walk on the beach for a bit since it's such a nice day." This was totally lame. It wasn't a nice day. It was overcast and bound to be foggy at the beach. I tried to recover. "I mean, we're not going to swim, obviously, but we thought we'd get a little exercise before getting something to eat later."

 
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