Claire’s sporty red convertible pulls into your gated driveway late in the morning. Not wanting to seem overeager you wait until Ashley texts you to head outside.
“Hi, Mr. M,” Claire giggles the moment she sees you. “Looking sharp.”
You’d donned your best polo and golf shorts, even breaking out the gaudy Rolex you rarely wore outside formal functions to round out the rich older man look. Ashley launches herself into your arms for a grateful hug. You kiss both girls on the cheeks and help them unpack, insisting on taking the heaviest bags for yourself. Your display of chivalry is also the perfect excuse to flex your strength. It works wonders. Claire purrs and runs a finger up your taut bicep too overtly for Ashley not to notice.
When all of Ashley’s trunkful of belongings are inside, you give Claire a gift card to Lucien’s as a thank-you present to wrap up this affair in a neat little bow. But as you’d feared, she’s too determined to send off that easily.
“I was thinking,” she says. “Such a nice day for a swim and your pool’s so big. All that space to yourself must get lonely.”
You try your best to come up with an excuse on the spot. Ashley doesn’t let you.
“Please, Dad? I brought my swimsuit and Claire’s already wearing hers underneath. It’ll be fun!”
You have no choice but to reluctantly agree. Of course Claire had planned all this out in advance. You’re more surprised Ashley would agree to an idea that would leave her a third wheel to her best friend’s tactless teenage seduction of the most important man in her life. Perhaps you’d overestimated Ashley’s attraction to you, or underestimated her own devotion to Claire. Both are disturbing thoughts.
You leave them to get changed and head upstairs to do so yourself. Before you do though, you make one last pass into Ashley’s new room to double-check the surveillance gear you’ve set up inside. Perfect.
You arrive at the pool to find the girls already in their bikinis. To your disappointment and relief she’s not wearing the revealing red number you’d stroked yourself off to, instead sporting a conservative white two-piece nonetheless a tasteful contrast against her bronzed skin tone. Claire, however, does not pass up the opportunity to test your self-control.
What this little slut wears is swimwear in name only. Crisscrossed strips of neon green form the bra; a matching slip the size of your palm, the crotch of a thong that barely conceals her pussy. Even though mentally you’d steeled yourself for such a sight your cock still stirs.
Even for your libido you haven’t felt nearly so excitable since before your first “child” was born over twenty years ago, and perhaps not even then. Your body knows its reproductive clock is running out, you think, and has blessed you with this inexhaustible second wind at forty to fulfill its need to breed. A need Jessica denied from you, a debt you now know a daughter she stole from you was born to settle.
“Are you fucking serious?” you hear Ashley hiss. “You said you’d wear something appropriate.”
Claire shrugs it off. “I did. You saw the real showstoppers in my closet.”
You dive into the deep end headfirst and kill two birds with one stone. The crisp splash of cold water nips your burgeoning hardness in the bud; the loud splash, the girls’ bickering chatter. With their full attention you swim the twenty yards of your nearly Olympic-sized pool in strong measured strokes to emphasize the full range of back muscles you’ve sculpted repetition by painstaking repetition in the weight room.
And when you emerge in front of your little audience with hair wet and spray glistening on your skin, you’re glad you’d agreed to this. Claire squeezes her breasts between her biceps and eyes you like a piece of meat, but this time Ashley is too occupied to care.
She’s been checking you out too.
Not as overtly as her friend, of course. But you’ve always been keen to a woman’s tells. This girl you yourself raised is an open book. Wavering eye contact. Flushed cheeks. Teeth biting the insides of her lips. Legs ever so subtly crossed.
The thrill of confirmation races your heart. Consciously or not, you’re more than merely attractive to Ashley.
You’re her forbidden fruit, too.
___________________________________________________________________
Despite the stimulation, entertaining two teenagers makes you feel your age for the first time since your birthday. The ordeal is an exhausting one compounded when Ashley and Claire jump into the pool with you. You’re obliged to swim laps every few minutes when you get erect again. Worse yet, Claire spares no effort in her relentless mission to tease you. Presses breasts into your back, hooks a leg around yours underwater until you can make out the shape of her vulva grinding against your thigh. Even flashes you a pink, mouthwateringly puckered nipple the moment Ashley swims the other way.
Of course you reprimand Claire when she crosses the line, but you can’t quite find the self-control to make her stop. Fantasies of tearing that farce of a swimsuit into shreds and taking her by force in front of her best friend run away with your imagination. You wonder if this shameless slut would even object. Jessica certainly would not.
Had not, on several occasions.
The delicious torture finally ends when one or both girls’ stomachs start to grumble for lunch. Claire gives Ashley a choice of several local restaurants, many of them your competition in name. You have other plans, however, and seize their indecision as an opening to take back control of the day’s itinerary.
“Ash and I already have plans,” you tell Claire with a saccharine smile. “But thank you for offering.”
To your surprise both girls comply without a fight. Ashley seems to have had enough of Claire’s brazen advances for the day. Why the latter would take no for an answer escapes you. Regardless, you figure you haven’t seen the last of her when her departing remark is a loud whisper of a “favor” in your former daughter’s ear.
“Why’d you lie to Claire?” Ashley asks you over the nostalgic poolside lunch of crudites and chicken sandwiches you’d prepared.
“I didn’t. Your afternoon’s fully booked unpacking and getting yourself settled in.”
“We can do that whenever,” she whines. “How about later tonight? I might go to a fling with some friends in a few.”
You see your chance. Now or never.
“No, Ash,” you say. “You won’t. Not today.”
Ashley quails at the sudden firmness of your voice. Your fatherly voice.
“But I can finish in an hour! I didn’t even pack that much shit.”
“Language. And if you have spare time, feel free to my home office to catch up on studying.”
The meaning of your words dawns on her. Upsettingly so.
“You’re grounding me already? For what Claire did today? That’s not fair!”
“No, you’re grounded because you’re a month away from repeating senior year.”