Muffles voices from outside sifted through the pink-orange light of sunset in the summer. Hot sticky air had the party guests wafting fans and drinking the ice cold pink lemonade that Jezebel was pouring into a pitcher for the third time that day. Rubbing off the condensation of the pitcher onto her hands she pressed them against her forehead and large pale, milky white breasts that peaked out of her knee-length white summer dress, though conservative in it's appeal, on her body it seamed like a tease, especially with the blood red ribbon tied around her waist. Jezebel was a curvy sort of girl, heavy breasts and generous waist with a thin waist, nothing like the picturesque models of today, but she was the epitome of female sensuality, her skin was pale and milky, her hair a dark brown that had natural red tints only brought out in the sun, the same sun that caused her hazel eyes to glow like molten gold.
Jezebel was startled by the screen door creaking open and then slamming shut. A pink blush crept across her face as she turned around to see her neighbor Mr. McKee, standing there, red hair tousled gently, a lazy grin on his pale freckled face. Laughing at her own shocked face, Jezebel smiled and waved at him, a tiny voice in the back of her head whispering; Gods he's handsome, and so young, such a shame he was widowed so soon after having that cute little girl, only two now.
"Well, to what do I owe the honor of you in our kitchen Mr. McKee?" She asked, an over-the top curtsy following her grand remark. They shared goofy grins as she nodded to two cherry pies. "If you wouldn't mind helping me I'll give you the first slice."
As she turned back to the pitcher and added a few slices of lemon for decoration, she felt his large hands circle her waist, as he whispered in her ear, "Well, my dear, I'd love a slice of something a bit sweeter, all dressed in white, by the way, call me John." Heavy breath brushed her neck as a hot tongue licked her earlobe.
Struck like a deer in headlights, Jezebel stood there, unable to move or say anything as his hands began to snake their way under her dress. One moment he was there, the next gone, followed by a large thud behind her. Glancing back, she saw her step-father, Grenne Hammeltooth, pinning John McKee against the refrigerator door, a shower of nick-knack magnets rained down onto the pearly white linoleum.
A low growl tore out through Grenne's throat as he clasped his hand round John's throat, an action which made Jezebel blush, "Touch my baby girl again and your very reason for wanting her will be nailed to your fucking forehead, limp and pathetic in its ugliness, now get the hell out of my kitchen before I tear you a new one." John fell to the floor and scampered off as soon as Grenne released him.
Grenne looked at his step-daughter, though they were only fifteen years apart, her mother being twenty three at the time of conception, he viewed her as his own blood, something that few step-fathers would, especially after her mother died, only two months after Jezebel's eighteenth birthday, but he let her stay there with him, just five months after her mother's death and Jezebel felt closer to her Step-father than even her true father, a dead-beat asshole who tried to steal then pawn off her mother's wedding ring after they were divorced. Her eyes filled with tears as she ran up to him and wrapped her arms around him.
"Hush now baby doll, it's all right, I'm here." Frowning, he kissed Jezebel on the forehead, a loving movement that slowly turned into a protective gesture. "He was just another asshole that couldn't keep it in his God damn pants!"
After pulling away from him, Jezebel wiped her eyes and carried one of the pies as her step-father carried the other and the lemonade. Her golden hazel-eyes gleamed with pure adoration as she watched him.
Later that same night:
"...hmm hmm hm, side of glass you are on...fuck what are the words?" Frowning, Jezebel tossed her hairbrush into the drawer, her dark coffee locks slightly frizzy reflected back to her in the mirror, she inspected the face they were framing, the high cheek bones, small English nose and full juicy lips, she admired her beauty yet didn't let her pride in it consume her. She pulled her brown locks back in a very loose bun, a few shorter locks hung forward and brushed her collar bone as she pulled up the empress style night gown she so favored, silky and red with a hem that reached just below her soft round globe of an ass, which tonight, in lieu of her highly active habit of masturbation, was unrestrained by any sort of panties, not even the few wispy thongs or teasing lace boy-short style panties that could be found in her dresser.
"Jezebel! Can you come in here for a moment? I need to talk to you about something..." Called Grenne.
Jezebel slipped out of her bedroom and into her step-father's room. "Yes?" She smiled and stood in the doorway admiring him; his skin, tanner than hers but still smooth and undamaged by the sun he so loved; his eyes, blue as the ocean; and his hair, dark brown and gently waving, it reached mid-back length and was as smooth as silk, at thirty three he was as handsome as any boy in her graduating class, maybe even more so.
