All Characters In This Story Are 18+ Years Old.
***
Eighteen-year-old Mary McGuinness opened her eyes. During the night, she had turned over onto her right side and now lay nose-to-nose with Edward Trotter, the thirty-year-old high school math teacher who had providentially substituted for Mary's ailing English teacher on Friday afternoon. His soft warm regular breath tickled her upper lip and she felt comforted in a way she had never known.
Looking over Trotter's bare right shoulder, Mary saw the luminous dial on his bedside Westclox 'Big Ben' alarm clock. Its hands showed two-fifteen, which meant it was Sunday morning - six hours after she had fallen asleep in the teacher's cuddling arms with his softening prick parked against her pussy. She smiled in the dark at her lover, who had taken her virginity, and then, in the course of the next thirty-five hours, gloriously fucked her four more times.
While she stared happily at his placid slumbering face, Mary debated with herself. At last, she decided to depart and leave him as he was, in sweet peace. Kissing him lightly on his bristled cheek, Mary whispered, sotto voce, "Gotta go, Teddy... Thank you... I LOVE you." The corner of his mouth twitched, but he slept on. Mary rolled away and out of his bed, careful not to disturb him.
As she wandered nude through the variegated shadows of Trotter's cottage, collecting her widely dispersed few articles of clothes, Mary remembered there was no streetcar service between 11:00 p.m. and 7:00 a.m. Thinking about the twenty-block walk home ahead of her, she was glad she had sturdy oxford shoes and thick homespun linsey-woolsey socks. "At least my feet will be warm," she said to herself ruefully as she slipped on her flimsy silvery silk chemise and wriggled into the dress her mother had sewn her from three old 'Ful-O-Pep Quaker Oats Egg Mash' feed sacks.
She regretted yesterday's impetuous decision to forego her bloomers and bra. Excited by her notion of being alluring, she had forgotten that, even in late May, the early morning hours could be chilly. Also, with her parents away at an all-night charity dance marathon contest, she had expected she could catch an early trolley and still beat them home. Now, however, she just wanted to hie home and be safe asleep in her own bed when Jock and Isabel McGuinness returned with their anticipated winnings.
Deciding to extend Teddy's generous loan of his rust colored wool cardigan, Mary pulled it on over her dress and stepped into the fresh dark morning. Out the gate and through the alley to Central Avenue, she crossed the alphabetically arranged streets, from Holmes to Porter, at a brisk pace. Turning left on Porter Street, she continued over Dorchester and Eason Avenues and then onward at Third Avenue into the numbered blocks.
When she reached Tenth Avenue, at the border of Arbor Heights, where the avenues changed again, but this time from numbers to tree names, Mary paused for a moment. Slightly out of breath from her uphill walk, she puffed to herself, "Just one more block," and then marched on. At Oak Avenue, the McGuinness bungalow's glowing porch light invited her warmly as she strode up the front walk and let herself in.
Mary went straight up the entry hall's half-flight of stairs to her bedroom under the house eaves. As she closed her door behind her and walked to her wardrobe, she neither saw nor sensed her father, who sat, on a straight chair, in a dark corner beside her far dormer window. The bright beams from the nearly full moon filtered through open curtains on both her windows, illuminating her iron bed and the maple bureau next to where Mary stood.
When she pulled her too-small smock over her head, the bottom curves of her bottom's cheeks shone alabaster white in the natural light as the sackcloth drug her lingerie up to her tailbone. Jock McGuinness deliberately coughed and noisily scraped his chair's legs on the garret's wooden floor. "EEEEP!" Mary yelped with surprise and spun around at the sounds.
Instantly her left hand tugged her chemise hem down to hide, as much as possible, her downy peach. Likewise, her right hand flew to her low square neckline and pulled it up to conceal the tops of her full firm young breasts. Simultaneously, Mary's mind registered her unexpected visitor's umbral form and identified her father. "PAPA!" She recoiled against the closed wardrobe as her voice rang in the rafters.
Jock's face, still shadowed behind the waxing moon's light, held an odd expression as he stood and stared at his stunned daughter. Her belated efforts at modesty were counter-productive. In fact, they only served to accentuate her charms, highlighted in bas-relief against the tautly stretched filmy silver undershirt. "Come over here, Mare," Jock ordered in a falsely calm voice. His low tone put Mary on guard, but she dared not disobey. Stepping around the end of the bed, she stopped a foot in front of her father while still shielding her delta and hills.
"Now, now, girly... None of THAT," Jock continued in an ominously quiet even cadence. "Drop your hands and stand up straight." Mary took a deep breath and obeyed. Jock licked his dry lips and swallowed with difficulty as he watched her chest rise behind its veil. Her chemise hem necessarily lifted an inch, exposing the nadir of her thin tight little slit. Jock reached out and took his daughter's hands in his. "So, would you care to tell Papa where you've been all night?"
Mary's voice quavered. "I th-thought you and Mama wouldn't be home until late in the morning!"
Jock released Mary's left hand and slapped her sharply across her cheek. Tears filled her eyes and, through her ringing ears, she heard him say, "That may be WHY you went out. But, it doesn't answer my QUESTION." He pulled the loose lingerie material away from Mary's trembling tits. Pinching and rubbing the starchy, visibly cum-stained, silk between his thumb and forefinger, he went on. "I can SEE what you've been DOING... Now, TELL me: WHERE were you doing it and with WHO?"
Mary blubbered fearfully. Jock squeezed her right hand at her hip while he let go of her chemise's front and pushed its skinny straps off her shoulders. She quivered as he slowly lowered the ruined top over her pert upright breasts and exposed their pink puffy crowns and rigid nubbins to plain view.
"MAMA! Where's MAMA?" Mary bawled, "What's happened to Mama?" She could not imagine her mother being a party to her father's actions.
Still firmly holding Mary's right hand, Jock continued pulling her chemise until if fell past her hips to the floor. Raising his free hand again, he drug his palm, ever so slowly, up the back of her right leg and cupped her ass cheek at the top of her thigh. In a neutral, matter-of-fact manner, he answered his panicked daughter's question.
