Skipper Licked Me, Daddy II

I awoke with my daughter in my bed. I stared in disbelief, then I groaned and rubbed my face. It was real. I had stepped over the line. What a stupid fuck. I padded downstairs, made coffee, then showered and dressed before Jill awoke. I felt like shit. Skipper was bouncing around all over me. He was happy as hell. That dog didn’t care what kind of attention he got, as long as he got something. He was a lot like me.
“Do something constructive,” I told Skipper, “go take a chunk out of Mrs. Jefferson.”
I heard tiny footsteps on the stairs. Jill skipped across the kitchen as I opened my thermos.
“Jill, I want to talk to you,” I said as I filled my steel thermos from the pot of coffee.
“Morning, daddy,” she stood on tiptoes and kissed my cheek. I glanced at her and my heart skipped a beat as I saw her perfect body in a see-through neglige.
“Damn!” I yelled as coffee poured over my hand. “In the first place, get dressed. Mrs. Jefferson can see everything from her bedroom window. Put some clothes on that naked ass.”
“I thought you liked this ass, daddy,” she smiled coyly, while shaking her ass.
“I do, sweetheart, and last night was wonderful, but it will never happen again. You hear me?”
“Why, daddy,” her face fell.
“Because I feel like shit and I have to go out and face the world now. I just can’t do this again.”
“Ok,” she was disappointed.
“And one more thing.”
“Yes daddy?”
“No punks in my house while I’m gone. Phillip can come over while I’m here. Understand?”
“Yes daddy,” she said, and I believed her this time.
“If he has to fuck you so damned badly, tell him to get a 69 Chevy like everybody else,” I smiled as I closed the thermos and kissed her on the cheek again.
“Can I bring a girl over?” she asked brightly.
“Sure. Make her about 40 with long blonde hair and legs clear up too here,” I held my hand to my chest, before I slipped my boots on.
“No problem. Ah, daddy?”
“Yes sweetheart?”
“I have to tell you something . . . ”
“Don’t have time now. I have to talk to Jim Reilly before he leaves for California. I think the son-of-a-bitch is cutting stove wood from my log piles.”
“But . . . ”
“Later,” I said as I opened the door. There was Mrs. Jefferson in a white flowered bathrobe and fuzzy slippers, looking at the bumper on my truck. She made a surprised face and hurried toward her house.
“Damned kids will put anything on there, won’t they?” my yell followed her into the door.

I was right. He had been cutting wood from my convenient log piles. The stupid bastard. A good thick 20 foot pine log can net me 300 dollars. If the bastard cuts the end off, leaving me with a 17-foot log, I get half as much. He finally dropped several thousand dollars from his asking price for the entire stand of timber. I made a little money before starting work. As I filled the oiler and the fuel tank, then started my saw, I was one happy logger.

My good mood carried over into the evening. I was a little pissed when my dog didn’t show up to greet me. The bastard was getting lazy. I watched the doggy door for a moment, then brushed the sawdust off my pants and stamped the mud from my boots. Mrs. Jefferson was standing behind her house, trying to see inside my back door. I could just see her around the side of my house.
“Why don’t you come over for supper?” I called. She looked startled.
“Me?” she seemed amazed.
“Yeah, you,” I said, striding around the side of the house. “I’ll start the grill and burn some steaks.”
“I… well yes,” she said, holding her hand to her chest. She fumbled with the top button on her robe for a moment, then waved timidly. “I’ll get dressed and be right over.”
I watched her disappear into the house. She wouldn’t look too bad if she’d just get rid of those thick, ugly, birth control glasses. They made her look like Urkle.
“Come on in, the back door will be open,” I called.
It was a damned good day to be alive. The sun was shining, the lawn mowers were going, and I was about to prove I was the master of the grill. I had just picked up a hundred pounds of ribeyes in Marysville. Mrs. Jefferson was back in less than a minute, wearing a blue flowered dress with a six-pack of Bud in her hand. I liked her more all the time. I had the grill scraped and going. I dropped the lid and waved her over.

She handed me a beer and I twisted off the top. I started to flick it at my neighbor’s house, as usual, then I remembered she was standing next to me. I rolled it across my fingers and slipped it into my pocket. As I did, my eyes went to Mrs. Jefferson and I discovered something. Mrs. Jefferson has breasts. Her top two buttons were undone. I could see a nice set of breasts in a lacy bra. Well, that was a surprise. And here came a bigger one. My dick was getting hard. She looked down at herself self-consciously, then smiled as we entered the back door. Her smile and those glasses made her look like a 50-year-old school teacher. My dick began wilting again.
“Jill must be around,” I said softly. Was she asleep? No, I could hear MTV playing loudly on the TV. I would seat Mrs. Jefferson on the couch and defrost the steaks. “In here,” I nodded. I closed the screen door and turned, to find Mrs. Jefferson still standing behind me, looking into the living room. I started to go around her and my heart froze.
“Uh, oh yes,” a voice cried softly. I could hear the familiar sound of sloop, sloop, sloop, the unmistakable sound of Skipper licking my daughter’s pussy. I was going to die. I was going to kill. I pushed my way past Mrs. Jefferson and looked over her shoulder. I got an even bigger surprise. Skipper was not licking my daughter’s pussy, a girl was. Skipper was licking the girl.
“Oh my,” Mrs.