"Dad," my twenty-one year old daughter called out, "It's Mom on the phone - she wants to talk to you."

I groaned inwardly. If my wife wanted to talk, it meant only one thing - she wanted more money. Either that, or another costly favor. "Just a minute, sweetie," I shouted back, "I'll get it."

To my relief, my daughter replied, "Wait - don't bother. I'll bring it out myself."

Ah! This was life Darcy. Lazy, relaxed, and most of all, pampered by an adult daughter who still views you as her best friend. The distant roar of the waves were part of the background music, the winds of California a character by themselves. It was peak summer, and I hardly had any other plan but to lounge and soak up the sunlight.

Back to my wife. After two decades of a quiet, married life, my wife suddenly decided that the Hollywood shores beckoned her. Don't ask me where she got the idea - nobody knows the origin of that 'pearl of enlightenment', as my daughter Stacy often teased her mother. Bottom line was that I had to wind up my business and move my family to the most popular state in the US of A.

Not that I regretted the decision one bit, though. I mean, what forty-year old man would turn down an opportunity to see scores of coed bikinis everyday, with just a glance out of the window? Add to it my beautiful daughter who loves the summer for the lack of clothing it allows, and you will understand why I don't cuss about the new location.

At twenty-one, blonde and single, gorgeous would be understating the beauty of my daughter. Although I noticed these facts with only little more than paternal interest at that time, the indifference has gone, replaced by sheer testosteronal pride that this creature was mine. But that's getting ahead of the story, so I guess it's back to the turning point of the conversation with my wife, that fateful May.

"Hi, Eric!" my wife greeted me cheerfully. "And how's my favorite husband doing today?"

It was her usual greeting when she wanted a favor - a BIG favor. I took the cue, and gave my usual reply. "Favorite? You mean you have more than one?"

Granted, that's quite a silly joke, but she laughed sincerely nonetheless. Must be the fact that she had gotten used to it - after all, it had been at least a score of years since she had to suffer my comments. "Old one, Er, but good."

I acknowledged her compliment with a suave "Thank you, Madam. And how may I help you today?"

She laughed again. "Eric. How did you know that I needed a favor?"

"Habit, I guess," I remarked wryly.

"Very funny, hubby dear, but I am serious. The shooting's in trouble."

Her second movie - the first had sunk without a trace - was a better joke. I viewed it as my wife's feeble attempt to create the world's best love story - after the one of bin Laden falling in love with the late Oklahoma Bomber - and from what little I had seen of the script, I was absolutely justified in keeping my opinion. I just kept it to myself because I still loved my wife enough not to hurt her, and because I still had a lot of money I could burn.

Looked like I would have to shovel more bucks into the stove.

"How much?" I asked, absently reaching for the checkbook beside me, only to discover that I had actually abandoned that little booklet inside the house, and not brought it outside to the lounger.

"Money's not it, Eric. There is still enough left for a couple of films more - it's the cast, they are causing the problem."

"Fire them," I suggested. Ah! Capitalism.

My wife snorted back. "I am serious, Eric. And I really need this favor from you."

She was desperate; it did not need a genius to figure that out. "Sorry, hon. What is it, exactly?"

"Jackson and Ruthie - the leads have quit, at least for a week, and I have to finish the movie by this weekend. There is just a couple of scenes more, but I can't skip them. They are vital to the story."

I wanted to point out that she could probably remove the entire cast and still not make a dent in the story, but thought better of it. "Want me to talk to them? What about their understudies?"

"Talking wouldn't work - the two have gone on their honeymoon, and won't probably be back for a week or two. No understudies - you can't afford them on a budget movie, can you?"

"Budget movie -"

"No offense, Eric. It's just that the leads are nobodies - new faces - and just about as well-known as any understudy you can find. To put it bluntly, Eric, can you and Stacy help me out? Just a little acting, that's all. A couple of days' work, and everybody is happy."

I pondered this offer for a couple of seconds. "What's the role?" I asked at length.

My wife let out a relieved sigh. "Nothing much - just a couple of scenes of kissing and heavy petting."

"With Stacy? No way!"

"Come on, Eric. Be a sport. It's not like I am asking you to fuck her or anything," I blanched at her brashness, "Just a little unfatherly kiss or two. Stacy will agree if you do - I am sure of that."

"Let me ask her."

"Sure... be my guest."

Although a little troubled by my wife's insistence and frankness, I was thanking my stars - there was no way my daughter was going to neck with her father in front of her mother, and that too before a camera. I called out to Stacy, and the little darling immediately turned in my direction. She swam towards me, pausing only briefly at the edge before pulling herself up.

My jaw dropped as her body came into view. The water had not only caused the bikini to cling to her skin, it had also slid a strap off her shoulder. One bare tit stared at me proudly, its nipple wet and shiny. And, as I hoped, hard. It was a shade darker than I would have found a normal nipple, and the way it rigidly followed the sway of her nipple, it was obvious that it was, indeed, erect. I couldn't take my eyes off until my daughter muttered an embarrassed sorry and pulled the triangle back over her mound.

Both of us grinned at each other, ashamedly aware that the moment had been sexually charged. Me especially, for I was sure that my unadulterated gaze had surely conveyed feelings fathers are forbidden to have, but there was also a slight consolation in the fact that Stacy was okay with my interest in her anatomy. With my wife away most of the time, both of us had resigned ourselves to such 'accidental' peeks whenever possible.

My gaze fell to her crotch. The damp cotton piece was about as big as its contemporary upstairs, over her breasts, and the only thing it did decently was cover the inner V of her pussy. It did not cover the entire part, though; the lining of the V was prominent at the close range that I was in. In the back, as I knew from experience, it vanished into the crack of her ass, highlighting those tanned cheeks I had started to fantasize about.

It was a tiny bikini, really, and it was all the more emphasized by my daughter's ample bosom and glass-hour figure. The nipples still poked from under the top, denting significantly in a very tempting manner. The strap had slid off her shoulder again, and I was half-expecting another glimpse of her firm cup. In fact, the upper part of the areola was already starting to show.

"What's the matter, Daddy?" Stacy asked, thankfully breaking my preoccupation, for God knows how long I might have continued staring like a lecher at my daughter. I raised my eyes to hers, but I must say that it did take a lot of willpower.

Stacy smiled at my lack of composure. Of late, I had begun to blubber in front of her, acting more like an awed fan of hers than her own father. But then again, I could remember the time when I had been worried about her openly flirting with me, but that was three years ago. Three years ago, when it had seemed like she was trying every trick in the book to make me rape her.

Thankfully, I had withstood the temptation then...

Her foot-long reddish brown hair fell across her face, framing the delicate bones in a way that I found made my knees go weak. Not only was she incredibly sexy, dammit, she was also the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. And at twenty-one, she had certainly proved herself to be a very mature, and therefore, even more desirable, female.

"Your mother wants us to act in her movie - fill in for a couple of actors who ran away."

My daughter giggled as I mouthed, "Obviously." She plonked down beside me on the lounger, her ass pushing against my hips as she picked up a dry towel from the table beside us. "What's the catch?"

"It's a love scene," I said, hoping she would not catch the sudden influx of a favorable tone in my voice, "Almost. Kissing, hugging, petting, etc."

"Cool."

Okay. This was not exactly the reaction that I had anticipated, but females are strange creatures - as anyone who has seen them making decisions must know - they say one thing, mean another and do an entirely different course of action. I am not trying to be a chauvinist pig - it's just that this was the only thing that gave me hope.

"So shall I say no?"

Stacy grinned at me. "I said cool, not fool. Let me talk to her," she reached for the phone.

Mother and daughter spoke for a minute or so, before my daughter hung up with a very enthusiastic "See you there in half an hour."

"Excuse me?" I managed to ask as she stood up and stretched, my eyes automatically widening as her unhindered backside stretched taut, the string between her legs hidden by the beautiful tan of her skin. A breath caught in my chest as I traced the bikini bottom to where a small flap of skin proclaimed her femininity. She was so close, and my position was so vantage that all I had to do was reach with my fingers, and her pussy would be in my grasp.

Without turning around, my daughter threw back over her shoulder, "I agreed, Dad, for both of us. Told her we'd be there in thirty minutes."

"And do you know what we are supposed to do, once we get there?"

"The studio complex? Mom gave me the directions - take the third right, then the second-"

"The movie, my idiot of a daughter - do you know what we do before the cameras?"

"Yup." With that, she marched towards the house. "Be ready when I come down."

In less than thirty minutes, the two of us arrived at the studio. Stacy had kept what she knew of the movie to herself, and I tried to think of all the possibilities that the scenes would be utterly devoid of any sexual innuendoes. Unfortunately, from what Darcy had said, I gathered that the kissing scene was only the lesser of the two evils. Still, since I didn't have any alternative, I kept the car keys to myself, ready to run if I had to.

Another part of my head kept chiding me for my childishness. If I had to fuck my daughter, it said, and she was okay with it, then DO it. After all, I had long since ceased to see Stacy as just a daughter alone; she had replaced all the women in my fantasies, and she was, to me, the sexiest woman imaginable.

If it came to my decision, I was not sure which side I would tilt.

My wife greeted us with a huge smile plastered across her face. "Thank you both for coming. I owe you one." She gave Stacy a bear hug, which was returned in good measure. I was surprised by this show of affection between the two women in my life, for the two had not been very 'expressive' to each other in the past few months.

I was pulled into the embrace, and sandwiched between two hot bodies, I felt my cock twinge. My daughter was still having her bikini top on, though she had bothered to put on some shorts over her bottoms. During the embrace, I felt her breasts press firmly against my chest, and even shocking myself, I brushed a hand lightly against her left breast.

I am sure my wife noticed the way my daughter pressed against me harder, but she said nothing. I escaped with my good name intact.

Inside the studio, I saw only four other females - a camerawoman called Gina, the CO-producer Hallwell, and two others who I knew had worked with my wife on her previous movie. Gina came forward and greeted us warmly, but I responded awkwardly thanks to Mr.Dick still awake and dreaming about my daughter. Gina, I had no doubt, felt my hard-on, and grinned patronizingly at me.

"Looks like you are ready to go for action," she quipped, casting a knowing glance in my wife's direction.

I was not too surprised to discover that it was an all-female crew; I remembered Darcy having mentioned the fact a few weeks earlier, before the shooting began. Hallwell, a white-haired matron who also wrote the poor stories that my wife so eagerly captured on film, patted me on the back.

"The first male inside this studio in well over two days."

I smiled back, more out of politeness than out of any genuine security I felt in knowing that I was the only man in the midst of four - or God forbid, five - liberated pussies. Much as I wanted to convey the impression that I was nervous and antagonistic, I found myself acting as if I enjoyed the situation.

"What's the script?" I asked my wife.

Darcy led us to a small enclosure labeled 'Reading Room', excusing Hallwell and one of the unnamed women. The other, a light technician, was to stay behind with Gina and cover the filming.

"Basically," my wife began, "These are just silhouetted scenes - the characters are just outlined against the darkness, so no one actually sees your faces. This technique is useful and highly erotic when you are shooting intimate moments-"