Three - Daddy Finds Out
Copyright© 2026 by Pete Fox
Chapter 2
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 2 - An Iowa farmer finds out about his three daughter's secret lives, one at a time, as he’s given clues by a mysterious puppet master. He’s not perfect in how he responds. At the same time a historic tornado outbreak ravages the region. A kinky redemption story at its heart, takes place in 2024, a father's love for his outwardly normal family reveals darker depths. Illustrated, historical erotica in six parts.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fiction Farming Historical Sharing Incest Voyeurism
“The game is afoot. Not a word! Into your clothes and come!”
—Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, The Adventure of the Abbey Grange
Amelia
Tom headed west on I-80 towards Sioux City from his farm near Adair, apps on his phone receiving regular weather updates, warning that western Iowa was under an enhanced storm watch for tornadoes. It was unseasonably warm and humid, while the cloudy sky had that look that said trouble was ahead. He didn’t like it; there’d been a big tornado outbreak a little over a week ago in the southeast that caused widespread damage. He turned the knob on the multi-band VHF police and fire scanner bolted to lower part the dash, turning up the volume.
Everywhere he looked through his Oakley sunglasses, the farm fields stretched out dotted with windmills, their tall white towers and slowly turning blades rising against the sky as far as the eye could see. Freshly planted corn and soybeans covered the rolling land, with cattle grazing here and there and tractors towing planter machines hard at work.
He kept his speed between 75 and 80 mph, slowing only as he passed through the small towns. The 2021 Ford F250 offered a smooth ride, both on and off the interstate. As he drove, Tom tried to think his way through the problem, turning it over from every angle.
Yes, someone was stringing Tom along. He wasn’t stupid. “Discovering” that CornBunny18 could be his youngest daughter, Tatum, was apparently only the first round in this game. But what was the game, and to what end? If Tatum had a secret life, it was hers to own. If the person dropping the clues expected him to be shocked and react, they were only partially right. He had no intention of acting the part of the angry dad, even if he was. Now there was this “Rose” girl with the tattoo. Yes, the airbrushed face on the flyer bore a strong resemblance to Amelia’s.
Who was the person giving him the clues? He had a couple of people in mind, all of them female, but he needed more information. The clue giver would have to have access to his children’s adult secrets and be in a place of trust, so they’d share. He didn’t like where those thoughts led. His younger brother, Kevin, was a homicide detective in California for the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department, big-time crime. Tom had listened to many stories over the years about how Kevin ran cases and tracked down criminals. Kevin had chosen surfing and Tex-Mex over farm life after a stint in the US Navy. They’d strayed into the taboo side themselves a decade ago, during a drunken trip to Cabo San Lucas with their wives.
For part of the drive Tom listened to Bongino’s radio show on an AM station as he drove, Dan discussing the presidential primary season, Trump’s surge, and Biden’s age. It was a nasty mess, and Iowa was front and center as a conservative state with its famous State Fair.
His thoughts drifted to Erin, his brother’s blonde surfer-girl second wife, pretty and perfect, selling high-end real estate in Orange County. They’d crossed a line, alcohol, stress, curiosity, and maybe a mid-thirties crisis, he’d slept with her. In Cabo, the two couples shared a suite at one of the big all-inclusive beach resorts. His wife, Debbie, drew appreciative looks with her curvy, feminine build, narrow waist, and full, firm breasts, piercing blue eyes, like the singer Martina McBride. On their last evening, she fell into his brother Kevin’s lap, her tits in his face.
Tom said nothing, watching, drinking whiskey with an arm around Erin on the hotel couch, enjoying the feel of her skin, golden and smooth. Was it Debbie or Erin, or both, who first popped the strings on their bikini tops? It didn’t matter. The sexual tension had been high, and one thing had led to another, massages, dirty jokes. The new couples had gone to different bedrooms and shut the doors. He’d fucked Erin, his brother’s young wife, no regrets, everyone got what they needed. They were all heading home the next day. It wasn’t their first “swing”; his wife had found a couple of discreet couples for them to swap with in the past, always “full” swaps, a source of tension in their marriage. They’d flown close to the sun on that trip, when it came to their relationship.
More weather alerts appeared on his phone. In the locked storage box in the bed of his truck, he had his fire gear and emergency supplies ready. He spotted a Casey’s gas station ahead and decided to take a piss break and gas up. He’d booked a room at the Marriott in downtown Sioux City, within walking distance of the club. He had time.
At Casey’s, he sat in his truck with a cold Mountain Dew and texted Amelia, asking her to meet him tomorrow for lunch or coffee in Minden. Bases covered, he got back on the road. From his iPhone’s podcast app, he scrolled through the short list he’d downloaded that morning. He’d asked Juan’s wife Gloria, an elementary school teacher, if she had any programs he might listen to about dads and daughters. She’d smiled knowingly and scribbled a couple of names on a Post-it: Jocko, Jordan Peterson.
Tom settled on an episode of The Jordan B. Peterson Podcast regarding the sacred duty of parental roles. As the highway opened before him, he tapped the screen and let the gravelly voice fill the cab, the opening words about responsibility and the “weight of the father” settling in for the drive north, sipping Mountain Dew.
Club Velvet - Rose
Tom looked up from his half-price draft beer to see a bikini-clad young woman standing next to his table.
“Hi, I’m Dani. Would you like some company? Maybe a dance?” she said, offering a sweet, rehearsed smile. Dani was a brunette with a soft baby face that contrasted sharply with her outfit—a tight blue bikini top that struggled to contain a pair of heavy-looking breasts with a matching sheer wrap around her waist.
He’d been deep in his thoughts while watching the dancers on the stage, trying to unravel this quest he was on. Rose was up soon, according to the club manager working behind the bar.
“Sit, we can talk. Drink?” he said. Dani adjusted the sheer wrap and set a purse on the table as she settled into the armchair next to him, her body angled toward the stage in the center of the room.
A waitress was quick to stop by the table and take Dani’s order. Tom ordered another beer, his eyes tracking the movement of the room.
“Kansas City, huh?” Dani said as the waitress set their drinks down. On stage, a dancer with long black hair dropped her top, her golden skin gleaming under the spotlights as a customer at the rail tossed dollar bills at her feet. She had a sharp, striking Native American look.
“What?” He was caught off guard as Dani glanced at his hat. “Baseball.” She gave him a sweet smile.
Tom grinned at Dani from behind his makeshift disguise, a blue Kansas City Royals cap and horn-rimmed glasses he sometimes used for night driving. A loose polo-style shirt and jeans; he hoped to blend in. The club had a good crowd at 8:30 when he pushed through the doors on 4th Street and sat alone in a dark corner for half an hour until Dani sat down.
“Yes, what are you drinking?” he asked, small talk as he scanned the room.
“Club soda with lime,” she sipped. “First time?” she asked.
“Yes,” Tom noticed a blonde who could be Rose on the far side of the room by the pool table and dart boards. “In town for business from Des Moines. A friend said there were some good dancers here on Thursdays.”
“Would you like a dance? We can start with the next song, if you like.”
He agreed, the price was twenty dollars, standard for the club, she said. He needed to play the part, asking discreet questions.
Tom sat back, hands on the armrest as the next song started, the same dancer staying on stage for her second dance. More Latin beat.
“No touching, I have to tell you that,” Dani whispered, climbing onto the chair and straddling his thighs. She wasn’t a big girl.
“How old are you? If you don’t mind me asking,” he said as she reached back and popped the string on her top. Her breasts spilled out, pale and perfect with prominent pink nipples that hovered inches from his face. She positioned her body to shield them from the rest of the room, creating a private pocket. Without a second thought, Tom put his face between her firm, round tits; his hands touched her smooth thighs.
“Nineteen. I work here a couple of nights a week,” she said. Tom had his face between her soft tits; his hands creeping towards her ass.
Dani used her hair to tease his face, his baseball cap on the table. She turned and sat, rubbing her ass in his groin somewhat with the beat of the music, her small ass tight, the wrap falling to the floor, just in panties.
“Do you have any friends here?” He said into her ear, fishing, getting stiff in his pants. Dani’s face and tits had been on the flyer with Rose. All too soon the song ended.
Dani sat, topless for a moment, next to him, sipping her soda water. She wasn’t old enough to drink but could strip.
She glanced towards the back. “You mean Rose? We’re friends,” she said, cagy as she should be with personal information.
Tom looked towards the pool table. She’d been on a guy’s lap, excusing herself, Rose headed for the stage. That hurt to see.
“Yes, I saw you two on a flyer my friend gave me,” he said, mostly true.
“She’s popular. Let me know if you want a dance with Rose,” Dani said.
Tom caught the waitress’s attention and ordered Dani another expensive soda.
“Maybe,” he said, his baseball cap back on his head. Aware of the thinness of his disguise. “Is there someplace more private?” he said. All clubs had VIP rooms. He’d been young, a paratrooper at Fort Bragg. Fayettenam was one name for the bars and strip clubs outside the post in Fayetteville, NC, where he learned about life.
Dani sized him up as she put back on her bikini top, adjusting her tits, covered just so by the small blue triangles. Tom wore a nice polo shirt, clean-shaven—a polite farmer in town for a little fun, spending freely. As she reached for her wrap, a stage light caught her from the side. As she adjusted her bikini bottoms, Tom noticed the slight, unmistakable curve of a little round bump. He let out a silent “hmm.”
“Rose, you’re up,” a voice said over the speakers.
“VIP dances. We have a private VIP room in the back,” Dani said, a hand on his arm.
He nodded at Dani while watching the hot blonde with nice tits. Rose stepped on the stage and ran a towel up and down the brass pole as “Pour Some Sugar on Me” blared from the speakers. The swing of her hips as she wrapped one leg around the pole, the defiant lift of her chin as she arched back—fuck, it was Amelia, he had no doubt, her body glistening under the lights, nipples hardening against the hot pink top, teasing every eye in the room with that familiar curve, forbidden fruit.
Tom didn’t hear much; if Dani spoke, he didn’t notice. His daughter moved with a practiced grace as she swung and dipped on the pole. Several men took seats at the stage rail, laying cash on the plexiglass. Rose-Amelia took her time, playing to the crowd, popular, one of the prettiest girls in the club.
Pride, was that what he felt as he watched her dance? He was her dad, yet he couldn’t wait to see her top come off. Rose scanned the room while leaning against the pole. Unhooking her top, she held it in her hands as more men tossed cash onto the stage.
Tom pulled out his wallet. “Dani, give this to Rose, would you?” he said, handing over a twenty-dollar bill. Over the top, but that is the point, compared to all the one-dollar bills on the stage.
Amelia dropped her pink bikini top and shook her firm breasts at the room, moving to the beat. She bent over, putting her breasts right in the faces of the men at the rail. Bigger than Tatum’s, smaller than Riley’s chest, his oldest, he judged. Tom felt anger, but at himself. How had Amelia wound up here? Had he done something wrong as a dad? Amelia worked and lived on an animal rescue farm over an hour south of here. He and Debbie gave her space, yet she could have asked for help if she needed money. It had been weeks since they’d last talked. His fault?
Rose lay back, her legs open to the audience, men stuffing cash into her waistband, teasing and playing. A black mark on her left hip, a rose tattoo? No touching—just using her looks and body as a weapon, freeing men from their money, she had power. Dani at the rail, handed Amelia the twenty, and waved in his direction. Tom raised his empty beer glass. Rose smiled back, but there was no sign of recognition.
He had a plan, and it involved both Dani and Rose and a dark VIP room.
Grilled Cheese – The Next Day
He smiled, seeing the casually dressed young blonde woman enter the café, take off her sunglasses, and wave, Amelia. Tom stood and embraced his daughter, kissing the top of her head. She smelled of wet hay and animals, but felt good, her clothing loose, a heavy Carhartt coat over an old sweatshirt and jeans, her boots muddy.
“You look good,” he said, letting go. She’d used a scrunchy to gather her hair in a loose ponytail; blonde bangs framed a face free of makeup.
Amelia gave him a long look. “Thanks, Daddy, so do you,” she said.
They sat across from each other in a narrow booth, a small place at the corner of Broadway and Main streets in Minden.
A young woman refilled his coffee cup and took Amelia’s drink order while they looked at the simple lunch menu. The café getting busier, a lunch rush. Farmers and townsfolk.
“Daddy, is everything okay? You and Mom?” she said, a worried look on her pretty face, her blue eyes penetrating like her mother’s.
Tom had a lot to say; the kids were worried their parents would divorce, so he should say something. Last night’s memory of his daughter dancing topless and her body grinding against his in the dark VIP room was fresh. He glanced at the weather app radar on his phone; tornadoes had touched down in central Nebraska, and cells were forming. He cleared his head.
He put a smile on his face. “I’m doing okay. Your mom and I are working on it, thanks for asking,” he said, then sucked it up. “I asked you to have lunch because I want to see how you’re doing,” he said truthfully. He had been absent and he knew it.
“Okay, I guess,” Amelia said, holding the laminated menu.
The waitress, Amelia’s age, placed a café latte in front of her in a big white mug. Then took their lunch order.
Amelia waited, both hands on her coffee mug, “I realize I’ve been ... distant recently,” he said, contrite, searching for the right words after the waitress left.
Amelia reached out her left hand, covering his. “Daddy, don’t worry. I’m glad you stopped by,” she said, her warm hand on top of his. “You’re right, it’s hard right now, and I want to talk to you too.” She said, sipping her café latte, watching him with her mother’s eyes. They made small talk, Amelia asking questions about home.
How were Grandma Hilde and Grandpa Thomas, his parents, who lived nearby in the old farmhouse? His parents had met in Germany in the early 1970s when his dad was stationed in West Germany while in the Army. Was he taking good care of Spike, his dog, a ten-year-old Border Collie Shepherd mix?
All good questions that he tried to answer.
“Your grandma and grandpa miss you,” he said, applying a bit of guilt, then added they were planning a trip to a club in Florida. His mom, more progressive than his dad, was busy with her German culture group, planning a trip to some nudist sun club. Grandma sunbathing topless in the cornfields—where she thought no one could see her—was a long-standing family joke.
That got a smile as Amelia sipped her latte, listening. “Spike is with mom, getting fat in Des Moines,” he said as the waitress set their food in front of them. His daughter did have great tits; he was having a hard time shaking the memories from last night. They’d felt nice in his hands. He’d crossed a line in the dark, and he knew it, like Caesar crossing the Rubicon into Italy, there had been no turning back last night once he made the first move, entering Club Velvet.
While they ate, Tom asked questions, how work was, her living situation, was she happy, and listened, allowing her time to tell him. His pulled pork sandwich wasn’t bad.
Amelia finished her tomato soup and paused before picking up her grilled ham and cheese sandwich. “They cut my hours in January, so I’ve had to look for other work, but it’s hard,” she said. Her blue eyes caught his, then she bit into her sandwich. “The farm ... we have some animals to take care of, but it’s expensive, and we still have to pay rent.” Money, like for so many young people, was a crushing issue; inflation had been high ever since the pandemic.
Thomas listened. She had looked thinner last night on the stage, he thought it was from exercise. He just nodded and ate, actively listening.