Waht Daddy Needs 8

“Hey.”

Phoebe opened her eyes and, laying her hand against her forehead to shade them from the glare of the sun, looked up at her sister. Sandra dropped into the the lounge chair next to her. She picked up the bottle of sun block between the two chairs and started to smear the white lotion on her arms. Phoebe relaxed back onto her chair and stretched languidly, enjoying the heat of the sun baking her skin to a golden tan.

“So,” Sandra said trying to sound casual as she leaned back in her chair, “how has Dad not killed you?”

Phoebe didn’t pretend not to know what her older sister was talking about. Even if their father hadn’t announced at the beginning of this family vacation that his youngest daughter was expecting, the gentle swell of her belly would have given her away. Her hand lightly caressed the round bump that her pink bikini did nothing to hide. She smiled a little Mona Lisa smile and wondered what her sister would say if she told her the truth. The truth being that her father wasn’t angry because he had assumed the baby was his. Instead she just shrugged.

Sandra lifted her sunglasses and looked over at her younger sister. “Who’s the father?” she asked. “Some little pencil dick from school?”

Phoebe laughed nervously. “No.”

Sandra gave her a slightly concerned look. “Not some enlisted guy from the base,” she said. “Do you know what Dad will do to him?”

“It’s not an enlisted guy,” Phoebe said sitting up and swinging her legs over the side of the chair to face her sister.

Sandra pushed her dark glasses back onto her nose. “Who is it then?”

“You can’t tell Daddy,” Phoebe said quietly, her eyes lowered.

Sandra turned her head toward her sister. Phoebe looked up waiting for her sister’s response before continuing. Sandra sighed loudly, unable to hide her exasperation.

“Ok,” she said, her tone mildly irritated. “I promise.”

“I was kind of seeing my English teacher,” Phoebe admitted, watching her sister from under her lashes, trying to gauge her response.

Sandra’s eyes were unreadable behind her sun glasses. “I guess I can see why you haven’t told Dad. I don’t think he’s going to take it very well.”

Phoebe took a deep breath. “That’s not why I haven’t told him.”

Sandra sat up and took the glasses off. “Why haven’t you told him who the baby’s father is?” she asked suspiciously.

“Because I’m not sure that Jamie is the one,” Phoebe said meeting her sister’s eyes. “I was sleeping with someone else, too, when I got pregnant.”

“Jesus, Phoebs,” Sandra hissed. “You’re lucky Dad hasn’t made you tell him. If it had been Cassie or me he’d have beaten us like a red headed step child until we gave the guy up.”

Phoebe stood up and gathered her things. She looked down at her sister as Sandra stretched out on the lounge chair again.

“You’re not going to tell Daddy, right?” Phoebe asked.

“I’m not going to tell,” Sandra said closing her eyes against the sun.

Phoebe turned and headed into the hotel.


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Justin let himself into the hotel room he was sharing with his dad and step mom. He dropped the towel that he’d wrapped around his shoulders when he had followed Phoebe from the pool and let himself into his sister’s adjoining room through the connecting door. He locked it behind him, then stood by the queen sized bed listening to the shower, unsure of what to do next.

Eleven years old, he knew what he wanted, but he wasn’t sure how to go about getting it. The few times before that he’d had such pleasurable encounters with her, Phoebe had been the one to initiate sex. He heard her shut off the shower and he turned toward the bathroom door as she emerged wrapped in the white hotel towel, her brush in her hand.

Phoebe paused for a moment when she saw Justin standing in the middle of her room still wearing his wet swim trunks. She flashed him a smile and continued toward her bed. She sat down and started brushing her long, dark hair.

Justin moved to stand beside her and she put the brush down. She looked up into his soft, brown eyes. He reached out to stroke her sleek, wet hair and then caressed her cheek.

“What do you want, Justin?” Phoebe asked reaching out to run her fingertip along the elastic waistband of his damp swimsuit.

His cock twitched and began to swell. His hand fell to the edges of the towel tucked in on itself above the curve of her breasts. Sliding his fingers under the thick terry cloth he gave a little tug, his breathing quickening when it fell away from his sister’s ripening body.

Phoebe pushed his trunks down over his hips freeing his rigid penis.