"Kimber, will you ever get it into your head that not everything revolves around you?"
Jeeze, that girl was irritating!
She gave me her patented 'I'm-eighteen-and-you-can't-tell-me-what-to-do' look - the one that began with pursing her pretty little lips into a pout, and ended with her eyes staring daggers at you. Along with the hands on the hips, of course. God only knows where she picked that up from, but she'd perfected it over the last couple of years. Her mother, clowning around at times, had tried (and failed) to emulate Kimber's look. We usually ended up breaking up, because on Stephanie it just looked silly. On Kimber, it was plain scary.
We'd been arguing about her using her mother's car to ferry her friends around town in, leaving it full of food containers and empty drink cups. Again. Stephanie wouldn't take her to task for it. It seemed like she was the child sometimes, and Kimber ran the house. Or at least, she would have liked to. They were both redheads, but Kimber had the temper. Stephanie was the meek one who always caved in to her.
That's why I'm around, I suppose. Somebody needs to reign our daughter in, once in a while.
Well, it was good in theory. Mostly, it just ended up with the two of us standing off against one another, and an uncomfortable silence that lasted for a day or so. Then Stephanie would go to her and apologize for my actions, and Kimber would deign to talk to me again. Honest to God, it drove me nuts!
"You've always spoiled her," I would moan.
"You expect her to approach life like a boy," Stephanie would counter. "She's a girl, Dan!"
"She's a princess. And the world doesn't stop for a princess. Now, if she would learn a skill of some kind, instead of treating high school like her own private kingdom..."
It was true. She somehow was passing, but how she did it was beyond my comprehension. She never studied. Homework seemed to appear in her hands, but not always in her own handwriting. I suspected she was paying someone to do her work, or worse - trading sex for it. There was a steady stream of boys, coming and going. As well as girls, which I assumed were attracted to the 'cast-off' boyfriends that Kimber seemed to go through on a weekly basis.
When I shared these fears with Stephanie, she scoffed. "She's just pretty," she would argue. "Everybody wants to hang out with a pretty girl."
Kimber was pretty; no doubt about that. It made me proud, but it worried me, too. Her body had ripened into the kind of figure that boys dreamed about. Her breasts, like her mother's, were full and prominent, her tummy was taut, and her butt had formed into these two perfect bubbles of flesh. She often wore crop tops, which only served to highlight her boobs and flat tummy, and the shorts she favored were barely there at all! Complaining to my wife did no good at all. She waved it off as me being overprotective - a 'helicopter dad' she called it.
Today I had come home early. We had a suspected Covid-19 case among the office staff, necessitating two weeks of working out of our homes. I wasn't happy about it, but at least I would have peace and quiet. Stephanie would be at her own job, and Kimber would be at school until mid-afternoon. I could even take a nap if I finished my calls early enough.
I had picked up a hamburger on my way home, and settled onto my sofa to eat before resuming my calls to clients. As I took a pull on my beer, I heard something at the other end of the house.
"What the..." Stephanie's car had been outside, but she mostly car-pooled with Marsha, and I hadn't thought a thing about it. I paused, mid-chew, and listened.
"Oooooh god!"
Okay, that was a female voice, moaning in what I would definitely say was pleasure! I knew what it was immediately: Kimber had a boy in her room! The little schemer must have snuck out at lunch, and brought some kid back to the house, using her mother's car.
I put my unfinished burger down and kicked my shoes off. The living room floor was tile. I planned on sneaking over to her door and finding out what was going on before breaking up her little party. I approached the door and heard, "Oh, yeah, that's it. Eat that little pussy."
Oral sex? She was directing some kid in eating her out? I shook my head. Things had sure changed since I was in high school! I supposed porn had something to do with it; I only hoped she wasn't taking selfies while he did it. I put my hand to the doorknob. Locked. I'd have to yell at her through the door.
"C'mon, work that tongue," the voice directed. It was definitely Kimber's voice. To tell the truth, it was a pretty sexy voice. She had a throaty kind of voice, like an old Lauren Bacall movie. I felt my cock hardening. Then I heard, "Is that good, Mallory?" and an accompanying "Mmmm, hmmmm."
I felt my heart rate rocket up immediately! Mallory was one of her besties, a smoldering little goth-looking girl with small tits, but an absolutely drop-dead, toned body. She was into gymnastics; had been since she was a little girl. She was growing out of it now, her body filling out around the hips, but watching her do cartwheels and backflips in the driveway a couple of times, I considered her a definite hottie! So, what was she doing in there with Kimber?
The images were coming fast and furious. Kimber was giving the directions, so Mallory must be doing the oral work. My dick was definitely hard now, as I imagined her crouching between my daughter's thighs, her little mouth working over Kimber's pussy. Holy fuck! My hand moved to my zipper, and my cock was in my hand before I knew it. It was throbbing, growing thicker by the moment. I pumped it slowly, enjoying the feeling of my own hot meat in my hand as I listened.
I heard some thrashing around, then Kimber's voice again: "Sit on her face, Mal," she said, "grind that pussy all over her mouth."
Now the images changed. There were three girls in there? Who else would it be? Stacy, maybe; or the other blonde, Shelly? Oh my god, the thought of either one was enough to get my blood pumping even harder. Stacy was tall and willowy, with straight blonde hair that fell to her mid-back; Shelly was shorter, with a rack like my daughter. She wore short skirts and tank tops almost every day, and I'd caught a glimpse of her panties a few times when she sat on our sofa. Her legs never seemed to stay together! I suspected she did it on purpose; girls could be terrible teases.
