Dangerous Flirtations

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Inspired by L.B

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The hotel ballroom was absolutely jam packed solid with bodies dancing, necking and drinking. It was dark except for the laser lights that scurried around in no particular order, and it was noisy. The band was playing some old fashioned rock and roll, and in between their sets the DJ knocked out typical MOR music intended to keep all ages happy. Mom, Dad and I were here at the invitation of the guest of honour, Patricia, who was an old friend of Mom’s and who was celebrating her fiftieth birthday. Apart from the hostess, the three of us knew nobody else at the party, so we pretty much stuck together for the early part of the evening.

But now it was getting on for eleven thirty, and after drowning three or four large vodkas, I was feeling pretty squiffy, and a little bit horny, and decided to get onto the dance floor by myself to see if I could attract any admires. To be honest, that was the only reason that I’d agreed to come here in the first place. Not that I could say that to Mom and Dad, who felt sorry for me being home all alone on another Saturday night. You see, I’m a married woman with a husband who is in the army. He’s currently half way through a six month tour of duty overseas, leaving me by myself. Now I don’t care what anybody says, but no matter how much you might love your husband, a girl of twenty two needs a lot of sex in any given three month period, and I hadn’t had any in all that time. The prospect of going without for a further three months finally got the better of me, and that was the real reason that I was here now.

We were staying over at the hotel and I had a room to myself with a big double bed in it, on the floor below Mom and Dad. I had dressed sexy, but not too provocatively I thought, in a white, strapless bustier, that was really no more than a leather bra, a pair of white, skin tight pants that came up to my hips not my waist, and a pair of high heel, white ankle strap sandals. The strobe lights on the dance floor caught my white outfit and made me look as though I was in a spotlight.

As the DJ played ‘Boogie Wonderland’ by EWAF, I prowled around the dance floor in search of a bedfellow. After about three songs worth of this, I realised that the boys of my own age had all come with dates, and the middle aged men with their wives; although that hadn’t stopped them from giving me a good secretive look over. With ever decreasing hope, I finally set eyes upon a man by himself. True, he was an old man, probably between sixty and seventy I thought, but any port in a storm was my philosophy that night. I danced towards his direction, and tried to get his eyes upon me through the crowd of people who were between us. I pretended to let myself get lost in the music as I gyrated my body ever closer to my old admirer.

When the record finished, I left the dance floor and went to stand next to him. It felt like an eternity before the old man finally plucked up enough courage to speak to me.

He said that I danced well and that he was surprised that there wasn’t a young man on my arm. I turned around and looked up into his face. He must have been handsome in his day. But now, skin wrinkled and gnarled, almost bald and stick thin, he looked just like any senior citizen you see down at the old folks’ home. I accepted his offer of a drink, and he returned from the bar with a large vodka on ice. He told me his name was Frank and I told him to call me Lucy. As his confidence with me grew, I was aware that he had moved closer to me. The crowd was so thick that this was only natural.

The excitement of being hit upon, after so many barren months, was making me hornier by the minute. At last I felt his cold, bony hand on my bare waist. I looked around at him and just smiled. Encouraged by this, the old man bent his head down to my ear and asked if I would mind going somewhere a little less noisy. I asked him where he had in mind and he suggested that we go to his room and continue our chat there. No sooner had I smiled and nodded my agreement, than I felt his eager hands on my shoulders pushing me towards the hotel foyer. I tried to put myself in his situation. He must have thought his lottery numbers had all come up at once. Here he was, a man old enough to be my grandfather, about to have his way with a young, blond bimbo. I had to admit that it felt good to be at the centre of his carnal desires and could hardly wait to let him get at me.

We were half way between the ballroom and the bank of elevators in the lobby, when the worst possible thing happened. There were about four hundred people at the party and I only knew three of them. So what were the chances of bumping into one of them on my way to a glorious fucking. Well, it was going to be one of those nights, because walking straight towards me and my old escort, was my Dad. I guess a father can spot the lustful motives of another man towards his daughter, and with a concerned look upon his face, he came to block our route to the elevators. The old ataşehir escort man realised that this was my Dad and immediately took his hands from around my waist. I told Dad that I had been feeling ill and that this gentleman had kindly helped me out of the crowded ballroom so that I could get some air. Dad thanked the old guy, knowing exactly what his intentions to me really were, and said that he’d take care of me now. My prospective lover, as disappointed and frustrated as me, no doubt, turned and went to the elevator by himself. At least I’d given him something to think of, to pull himself off tonight.

Dad asked me if I was OK. As I looked up at him, I noticed that he was staring at my heaving cleavage. When I said that everything was fine, he said:

‘Is there anything that I can do for you?’

Dad’s emphasis on the personal pronoun made me wonder whether he was trying to make a pass at me. But instead of staying and probing further, I became embarrassed and excused myself to go to the ladies’ bathroom. As soon as I walked away from him, I was cursing myself for not saying something.

Whilst in the bathroom, I had decided that I would ask Dad just what he had meant by his last remark. I was surprised when I returned to the lobby, to find that he was no longer there. So, resigning myself to another night with my electric vibrator, I went back onto the dance floor to lose myself in the loud, pulsating rhythm. At just after midnight thirty, I noticed Dad walking out of the ballroom with Mom leaning against him. Poor Dad. Every time we come to an event like this, Mom has too much to drink and he ends up taking her to bed and missing the rest of the night himself.

I danced for another three or four records and then went to stand at the edge of the dance floor when the DJ played a slower number. I was being jostled every which way, and my head was spinning as people from all directions shouted their apologies for bumping into me. It was then, for the second time that evening, that I heard a man’s voice behind me telling that I danced well. I turned around and looked up into the handsome middle aged face that was in front of me.

‘I know a lot of men who would pay good money to have you dance for them like you were doing just then’. He said boldly.

‘What about you?’, I enquired, ‘What would you pay?’.

‘How about a large vodka rocks’, he answered with a smile.

‘Sounds like my lucky night. I’ve just met the last of the big spenders’.

With that, he suggested that we move to the far end of the bar where there was a small alcove.

He ordered the drink whilst I leaned back into the small recess, out of sight of the bar. It was noisier here than where we had come from because one of the huge sound speakers was just a few yards away. And it was just as full of people, but at least we could only be jostled from one side now, and this spot did have the advantage of being relatively dark.

He turned from the bar and put the drink in my hand. I thanked him but he couldn’t hear me. So, I leaned up to him and put my mouth close to his right ear. In a false southern drawl I said:

‘Thank you for the drink, kind sir. You are very gracious’.

He lowered his mouth to my left ear and replied:

‘My pleasure, young lady. It was worth it to see you dance so sexily’.

I feigned shock at his comment, and returned my mouth to his ear again.

‘Why good sir, could it be that you are trying to pick me up. Because if you are, I should warn you that I am a married woman’.

I felt his hot breath on the side of my face as he responded.

‘I know that you’re a married woman, my dear. I also know that your husband is not with you tonight’.

‘Quite true’, I began, ‘But you should also know that I have my Father here to protect me’. My mouth was just close enough to be able to nibble his ear lobe, and I longed to do so, just to see his reaction. Then, it occurred to me that the position we had our heads in, mouth by ear, in order to hear each other, is the same position that lovers get into as they have sex and talk dirty to each other. I could feel myself becoming turned on again and I wondered whether he was thinking the same.

‘And who may I ask, is here to protect you from your Father?’ he whispered huskily to me.

‘What makes you think that I want to be protected from my Father, Daddy dear?’

I replied as teasingly as I could.

I wondered whether this would be the end of our dangerous flirting. Maybe we had already gone too far. But then I remembered what Dad had said to me when he had caught me with the old man, and from his next remark I knew that he wanted to carry on our little game.

‘You look very sexy tonight, Lucy.’ Dad began. ‘You’re certainly the fantasy of every red blooded man here.’

I returned the compliment and said that he looked extremely handsome in his tuxedo. As I spoke, I took a chance and hooked a couple of my fingers playfully behind his kadıköy escort bayan cummerbund, and rubbed his tummy. I felt Dad’s muscles twitch involuntarily at my touch and wondered if I had gone too far. Obviously not, because I then felt his right hand land on my waist. He didn’t caress me, he just kept it still against my bare skin.

Again, I felt Dad’s hot breath in my ear:

‘I remember how you stole the show at your cousin’s wedding five years ago. You wore that white two piece suit with the short skirt and high heels. There were more photos taken of you than the bride’.

‘What about you, Dad’, I enquired, ‘Did you get any good pictures of me at the time?’

‘No, I couldn’t’, he began with a look of disappointment on his face. ‘Well, it wouldn’t have been right to have been seen taking photos of your own daughter dressed that way.’

Still tugging playfully at his waist, I told Dad that I still had that outfit. In fact, I’d brought it with me to this function, in case I’d not liked what I was wearing at present.

Dad played devil’s advocate and teased that it probably wouldn’t fit me anymore. I realised his game and was very keen to play along with it, so I proudly told him that my vital statistics were the same now as they were when I was seventeen; 35, 23, 34.

I mentioned that my stomach was still nice and flat and offered him the chance to feel it for himself. I stood back and watched as Dad licked his lips and moved his hand from the side of my waist around front to my belly. It was too dark and too busy for anyone to notice as Dad’s palm gently caressed my soft tummy. His hand wandered lower to the top of my hipsters and, as he continued to massage me, I let my own hand move to the top of his trousers. Standing on tiptoe, I once again put my hot mouth by Dad’s right ear and whispered that I’d like him to see me in that white outfit again right now. As he nodded his consent, I pulled away from his hand and told him to come to my room in ten minutes. I said that I’d leave the door on the latch and that he should lock it behind him. Before I left Dad, I also suggested that he might like to bring his camera along too, if he didn’t mind the possibility of waking Mom up as he fetched it. He told me there would be no problem; she’d be out cold till breakfast.

As I dashed to the elevator as fast as I could in my four inch heels, my heart was racing. Could this really be happening or was it all a sexy dream that I was about to wake up from? What would I do when I had Dad alone in my bedroom? How far would we let it go before one of us came to our senses? These questions continued to bother me as I entered the shower to freshen up.

As I was drying myself with a towel, I heard Dad let himself into the room and then I heard him lock the door. This was it, I thought. I was alone here with my Dad and about to perform my own little private stripteases show for him. I shouted that I’d be right out and he told me not to be too long. I knew then that he was as keen as I was. I had taken my change of clothes into the bathroom beforehand and was now getting dressed.

I put on some light tan coloured hold ups and a pair of white thongs. I decided that the white ankle strap sandals that I had been wearing all night would also look good with the white suit. I didn’t put a bra on under the suit jacket because my cleavage looked better just bunched up by the jacket buttons. When I put on the skirt and pulled it up to my waist, the hemline was about two inches above my knees. I decided to tease Dad by lowering my skirt until the hemline was on my knees, and seeing if he noticed. I applied some deep pink lip gloss and made my long blond hair all shaggy before shouting to Dad that I was on my way, ready or not.

Slowly, I made my entrance into the bedroom. Dad was standing in the middle of the room, pointing his video camera at my face. He gave a wolf whistle when he saw me, and I could tell from the bulge in his pants, that he was excited by seeing his Daughter like this.

As Dad panned the camera down to my bosom, he moved in closer to me.

‘Baby, you sure have a lovely pair of boobs. Just undo that top button, willya’ Dad pleaded.

‘Don’t be in so much of a hurry, Daddy dear. You can’t eat all the chocolates at once’. I replied. I noticed that my voice had become deep and husky, and that was a sure sign to Dad that I was really turned on by his attention.

As he moved back away from me, Dad lowered the camera further down my body.

‘Let’s see those lovely, long, sexy legs of yours’, he said, sounding every bit like a porno movie director.

When he got to the hemline, Dad suddenly put the camera to his side, and complained like a spoilt child that he remembered the skirt being much shorter than it was now. I asked him if it wasn’t just wishful thinking on his part, or maybe he was becoming senile and losing his memory. When, at last, he stopped moaning that it was too long, I said that what escort maltepe I’d do is to raise the hemline slowly, and he could tell me when he thought it was at the right length. Dad smiled at this suggestion and re-focused the video on my legs. From the back, I pulled my skirt upwards until the waistband was in its proper place. Disappointingly for me, Dad shouted for me to stop, as that is how he’d remembered it.

‘Are you sure it wasn’t shorter than this, Dad’, I asked, offering him the chance to see more. When he didn’t catch on to the game I was playing, I decided that I had to be more explicit.

‘Look Dad’, I began, ‘I’m sure that I remember lowering this hemline a few years after you’d seen me wearing it at the wedding. Why don’t I just keep on lifting my skirt higher and higher until you tell me it’s at the length that you remember all those years ago.’

At last, Dad got the idea, and gave a grunt of approval. As he bent down so that the camera was level with my knees, I began to tease my tight white skirt higher.

The hem was at mid thigh now and I asked:

‘Is this about the right length, Dad?’.

‘Keep going, keep going’, he ordered. ‘I’ll let you know when to stop.’

I put my hands on my thighs and continued to let my skirt rise ever shorter.

‘Yes baby, shorter, shorter.’ Dad begged. ‘Man, you’ve got the most terrific legs I’ve ever seen.’

I turned around for Dad so that he got a view of my legs from the rear. I knew that there was a split at the back of the skirt that this would really turn him on.

‘Ohhh Lucy, Lucy,’ Dad shouted, ‘you’re gonna have to promise me that you’ll wear those shoes next time you come to visit us’.

‘I will, Dad’, I answered. ‘Just for you, and nobody else’.

As I teasingly rubbed the back of my right calf with my left foot, I asked:

‘I’ve heard that some men like these ankle strap shoes, because it suggests that the woman wearing them likes to be tied up and subdued by men during sex. Is that why you like me wearing them, Dad?’

‘I’d love to see you tied to the bed, baby’, Dad replied, before ordering me to keep raising my skirt. By now, my hemline was showing where the hold ups changed colour due to the elastic garter around the top. I turned back to face Dad and suggested that I would never have worn the skirt this short and that he must have been thinking of another suit I had. Dad’s disappointment at my remark was removed when I quickly announced that, as it was the wrong skirt, I might as well take it off altogether.

Slowly, I undid the zip at the back of the skirt, and let it fall to the floor. I heard Dad gasp as he caught the full length of my legs and thong covered pussy on video. As I stepped away from the skirt, the camera followed my legs’ every move.

I coughed to get Dad’s attention. He raised the camera to my face.

‘As the jacket and skirt are part of a suit,’ I teased, right thumb in my mouth, ‘and the skirt is not the right one. Don’t you think that I’d better take the jacket off as well, Dad.’

I took Dad’s move closer towards me as an affirmative, and proceeded to undo the remaining two buttons, starting with the lower one. The jacket parted as the last button was unfastened, revealing the hint of my swollen breasts. I turned my back to Dad and very slowly let the jacket fall off my shoulders. I rotated my face to the camera and smiled, coyly, as I lowered the jacket down passed my waist, then my hips, before letting it fall off my arms altogether and onto the floor.

‘Turn around, baby, turn around. Let your Dad see those lovely boobs of yours’.

It wasn’t that I didn’t want him to see me. Quite the opposite in fact. But I had a sudden urge for our game to get rougher. To be precise, I wanted Dad to get tough with me. So I played it shy and told Dad that he’d seen all he was going to see and that he should leave now. As I hoped, Dad reacted angrily. He said that you can’t prick tease a man like I had been doing and not expect to pay the price. I argued that it had all been harmless fun and titillation and that if he stopped now then nothing more would be spoken about the matter. Dad put the camera down on the dresser, and I knew then that I was going to get a good fucking from him.

Dad took a further step towards me. I still had my back to him, and made a half-hearted attempt to run into the bathroom. Even if I’d wanted to get away, I’m not sure that I could have, such was the speed with which Dad caught hold of my arm and twisted it up my back. My cry of pain was not an act. I began to wonder whether I wanted it this rough. Dad forced me against the wall and pinned me tight with his arm across my throat. I feigned resistance as he clapped eyes on my heaving tits for the first time. As Dad put his free hand up to fondle them, I made a pathetic attempt to stop him. He put his mouth close to my ear, just as he had done downstairs in the bar half an hour ago, and said:

‘I don’t want to rape you, Lucy, but I will if I have to’.

I had never been so aroused in all my life. I was enjoying Dad’s roughness so much now that I didn’t want him to have me any way other than by force. So, I spat in his face. Dad’s reaction was slow and measured, and took me completely by surprise.

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