Dancing for Daddy
Copyright© 2020 by Lubrican
Chapter 1
Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 1 - When Bob's wife divorced him, while he was deployed in the Middle East, there was nothing he could do about it. She took his daughter with her and even changed their names. Her intent was that he never find them again. But he did find her again. He found her in a strip joint. And she wasn't a waitress.
Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Ma/ft Consensual Reluctant Fiction Incest Father Daughter Interracial Black Male White Female Exhibitionism First Lactation Masturbation Oral Sex Petting Pregnancy Safe Sex
Rudy, Bob’s warehouse manager, stood in front of him and ruined his day.
“I called them and they told me the truck broke down. They have to send a new tractor to pick up the trailer and then they’ll deliver it,” said Rudy. “They said it won’t get here until tomorrow afternoon.” Rudy looked sad. “They said it will be here by six P.M. for sure.”
“Well that’s just fucking wonderful,” growled Bob. “What the fuck am I supposed to do with ten thousand pounds of chocolate at six P.M. on Valentine’s Day? People are buying chocolate today, for Valentine’s Day. The only people who buy chocolate at six in the evening on Valentine’s day are the ones who forgot to get something. Do you think we have enough of those idiots in town to buy ten thousand pounds of chocolate?”
“Probably not,” said Rudy.
“Call ‘em back. Tell ‘em they own all that chocolate and not to expend the fuel to get it here. I’m not signing for it. It was already late. It was supposed to be here three days ago. If they give you a hard time, tell them to read the contract. The contract guaranteed delivery on the tenth, not tomorrow fucking night!”
“Mister Jeffries, there’s a call for you,” said a perky woman at the door.
“Thanks, Heather,” said Bob, his voice weary.
“Mister Jeffries?” mouthed Rudy, with hit eyebrows raised.
Bob looked at the door. The woman was gone.
“The new hires always show me the respect I’m due,” he said. “It’s the old dogs like you who get lazy and insubordinate and disrespect me. Don’t you have something to do in the warehouse? You’re the warehouse manager, after all.”
“Hey, don’t get mad at me because a truck broke down... Mister Jeffries.”
Rudy’s grin softened the formality of his comment.
Bob picked up the phone.
“Bob Jeffries,” he said into the microphone. He stuck his tongue out at Rudy, who gave a sloppy salute and turned to go back to work.
“Bob, Karl Appleton. I manage the Cokeley’s store in Williston, North Dakota.”
“What’s going on in the far north?” asked Bob.
“I just got finished with a surprise inspection by the vice president of operations for the eastern division.”
“How is Adolf?” asked Bob. The vice president of operations for the eastern division was Dave Esty, but everybody called him Adolf, as in Hitler. It was only partly because of the moustache he had, and it was always behind his back.
“As sour as ever. I got a peek at his itinerary. You’re next.”
“Well, that’s fucking wonderful,” groaned Bob. “I should have stayed in bed today.”
“Trouble in paradise?”
“Ten thousand pounds of chocolate that was supposed to be here at seven, three days ago, broke down and won’t be here until six PM, tomorrow.”
“Ouch,” said the manager of Cokeley’s Emporium in Williston, North Dakota. “Have Adolf help you unload it. That might give him a taste of what we go through.”
“Yeah, right,” sighed Bob.
“Make sure your rat traps are empty,” said Karl. “And take him to a strip club. He loved ours.”
“I’m trying to imagine what a strip club in Williston, North Dakota, would be like. The image in my mind is of an old west saloon,” said Bob.
“Not even,” said Karl. “It’s state of the art, a critical part of our infrastructure up here. The oilmen mob the place, and their pockets are stuffed with money. The owner gets a new stable of girls in every two weeks. They’re college girls from Missouri and Arkansas and who knows where else. They come up here and make enough money taking their clothes off to pay for next semester’s tuition.”
“In two weeks?”
“Yup. And that’s just if they dance. As I recall, you were a marine, right? You know the deal. They probably make enough on their backs to pay for a couple of years of college.”
“Yeah,” said Bob. He didn’t want to talk about hookers. Not if Adolf was on his way to put the final nail in the coffin of Valentine’s Day. “Thanks for the heads up.”
“No problem. Have a good one. Send me a box of peaches. I could probably sell fresh peaches for ten dollars apiece.”
The line went dead and Bob rubbed his face with both hands. Peaches. Karl’s comment about peaches was because Bob’s store was in Georgia. Nobody bought peaches for Valentine’s Day, though. Even if they wanted to, peaches weren’t in season.
Valentine’s Day. All it meant to him anymore was that it was another reason to have a sale. Valentine’s Day hadn’t meant much at all since Trudy went off to the Congo, or wherever, probably to drill wells so the natives could have clean water. She’d become a dyed-in-the-wool pacifist while he was deployed to Afghanistan (as in: “I couldnt possibly live with a baby killer”) and when he got home, he found she’d emptied the house of all her stuff. She’d taken their daughter, Chastity, with her too. He’d been served with the divorce papers six months before he got back. Her lawyer had been smart. It’s possible to get a divorce in every state without the consent of one spouse. She had filed papers that claimed she and her daughter were routinely abused when he was home, that he had severe PTSD and was a danger to both herself and their child, and that if he knew where she was, he would find her and take revenge. The judge granted the divorce and her request for an official name change at the same time. It was as close to being in the witness protection program as a ‘civilian’ could get. When Bob got back, he couldn’t find either her or his daughter.
That had been five years ago. Chastity would now be a senior in high school, assuming she was in school at all. The only reason he had any clue about his ex-wife’s situation at all was because the post office had held the mail until his return. In it were letters from various NGOs thanking her for her interest in a variety of social service missionary type things, and telling her how to apply to work for them. Trudy had already been a tree-hugger before she decided being married to a marine was being married to a murderer. It was hard enough being deployed in a war zone. It didn’t help when you came back to the world and your life mate hated you.
He didn’t miss her, to be honest.
But he missed his baby girl. Chastity had been the light of his life, smart as a whip. The last time he’d seen her she was twelve, and she could throw a baseball hard enough that it stung his hand when he caught it. They’d only had his old glove, back then. He’d wanted to get her one of her own, but then the Marines sent him off (for the third time) to protect her from afar. He’d never seen her since then.
He thought about her now and then. He wondered what she looked like, and how she was doing in school. Was she overseas with her mother? Could she speak more than one language? He didn’t even have a picture of her to put in a frame on his desk. He’d had a wallet size shot of her with Trudy, but it got lost after he got shot up in a fire fight, when they cut his bloody uniform off of him.
He sighed.
Thinking about his daughter wasn’t getting the store ready for Adolf’s white glove inspection.
He stopped at Heather’s desk on his way to the sales floor. She’d only been on the job for four days, and was still trying to get up to speed. The woman who had previously done her job had decided to just quit, rather than take maternity leave. She’d worked up until her water broke. Bob could still see the faint outline of the puddle that had been on the floor, and Heather was sitting in a new chair.
“You can call me Bob,” he said.
Heather looked up at him. She was forty-four and had raised two kids. Once they left, she was bored. She had no work experience, but this man had given her a chance anyway. She liked him. If her husband continued to neglect her, she might even entertain the idea of having a fling with him. She’d only worked there for four days, but had already been told four times that Bob Jeffries was single. Half a dozen women who worked there seemed to have fantasies about being with him. Thus far, though, he hadn’t flirted with anybody. At least she never saw anything like that.
“Yes sir,” she said.
“We like to think of this as a family business,” he said. “Not so formal.”
“Got it,” she said. “I’m just used to being polite.”
“Polite is fine,” he said. “Just don’t make me feel like I’m my father.”
She smiled.
As she watched him walk away, she thought about how John hadn’t touched her sexually in over six months. The kids were finally in college, and they were alone again. She could walk around the house naked, again, like she had before there were any babies, but it wouldn’t do any good. She was still in good shape. Her boobs sagged a bit, these days, but walking every day had kept her thighs and waist trim. Still, John never came to her and presented an erection anymore, grinning and rubbing it against her. Now all he did was read the paper while he ate dinner, and sit in his recliner in front of the TV, until he fell asleep.
She felt a little thrill at the thought of Bob Jeffries inviting her into his office to discuss something, and then making a move on her.
He had a couch in there, after all.
Bob stayed late, doing his own inspection, pointing out things that needed to be done before Adolf showed up. The store was already in good shape. It always was. That was something he’d brought with him from the Marine Corps. Things needed to be squared away, and that ethos was part of his management style.
That said, he didn’t sweat the small stuff. His people liked him and wanted him to be happy with their work. If something needed attention and everybody was busy, he’d step in and do worker bee stuff himself. He didn’t have any use for slackers, and they never lasted for long. But stepping up when everybody else was busy didn’t bother him at all.
He was at the store bright and early. He was in the middle of a call from somebody at the candy company, who kept insisting that he take the late shipment of chocolate, when Adolf showed up.
“I told you,” said Bob, without raising his voice. “The contract says delivery by the tenth was guaranteed. It wasn’t here. We’re not taking it. If the truck shows up, I’m sending it back. You need to take this up with the trucking company, not me.” He hung up.
Adolf looked around, disdainfully. Bob hadn’t redecorated his office when he took over from the previous manager. Things looked a little worn and tired, but Bob didn’t care. He just worked there. The two men knew each other. It was Adolf who had hired him.
“I didn’t expect to see you,” said Bob, extending his hand. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”
“Yeah, right,” said the regional manager. “I’m doing a surprise inspection. What was that all about?”
“Shipment of candy was supposed to be here Monday morning. The truck broke down and they said they couldn’t get it to me until tonight. I told them never mind. This guy was upset that I’m refusing the load.”
“The contract is clear?”
“Yes.”
“Fuck ‘em, then,” said Adolf. “We’ll find somebody who does value our business. That will put a dent in your anticipated February sales, though. Won’t look good.”
“I’m glad you were here to get the explanation in person,” said Bob. “What do you want to look at first?”
The only bright spot in the whole day was that the truck full of candy didn’t show up at six. Adolf was still there, walking around the store. He’d pored over the books and sales reports. All Adolf did was sweat the small stuff. And ogle the women. He’d had the mandatory sexual abuse training, and knew better than to say anything to them, but he leered.
Finally he turned to Bob, who’d hadn’t gotten anything done all day, because he’d had to follow Adolf around.
“Where are you taking me for dinner?” asked the man.
“Olive Garden, Rambler’s Steak House, Chili’s, take your pick,” said Bob. “We’ve got an IHOP if that’s what you feel like.”
Adolf chose a restaurant and then ruined the meal by talking about his inspection, nitpicking and complaining. It wasn’t until the server brought the bill that Adolf leaned back and asked, “You got any night life in this town?”
“What kind of night life are you looking for?” asked Bob. “We don’t have any clubs. Not like the ones you’d find in Atlanta.”
“How about a bar? Maybe one with girls?”
“We’ve got a strip club in town, but that’s all.”
“That’d be fine,” said Adolf, his mood improving. “We’ll have a couple of drinks and relax. My flight doesn’t leave until eleven-thirty, tomorrow.”
“Buster’s, it is,” said Bob.
After getting the ‘heads up’ call from Karl, in North Dakota, Bob had done some research. He didn’t want to ask around at work if there was a strip club in town. That might give his employees the wrong impression. Instead, he visited a bar after work and asked around, there. The name “Buster’s” had come up, and directions to the place had been obtained.
Buster’s was in the industrial part of town, and located in a building that had, at one time, been a windmill manufacturing plant. The reason they went out of business was because they made the old style farm windmills, and technology had passed them by.
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