Father Knows Best: The Midnight Ride (M/f,inc)
by Uncle Mike
The shrill ring of the phone yanked the Andersons from their sleep. Jim
rolled over, with a mild groan that spoke of every one of his 50 years, and
picked up the alarm clock on his nightstand. He held it up so he could see
the face in a shaft of moonlight from the window. "It's 2 a.m.," he said
irately. "Who would be calling at this hour?"
The phone trilled again. "Well, we certainly won't find out just lying here,"
his wife Margaret said. She got up and walked down to the hall phone.
Jim nestled back under the covers and had just about gotten back to sleep
when Margaret shook him. "Wake up, Jim! Get up! Oh, do get up, Jim!"
He opened his eyes slowly. "What is it?" he said. "It's Betty," Margaret
answered quickly, out of breath from her race up the stairs. "She wants you
to come pick her up."
"At this hour?" he asked, his voice rising in dismay. "She was supposed to
spend the night at the Thompsons, wasn't she? What's wrong? And why can't Ed
Thompson drive her home?" He sat up, a worried look crossing his brow. "Ed
and Nancy did come home after the play, didn't they? Is everything all
"Yes, or, no, oh, I don't know," Margaret said. "All I know is Betty said she
needed to come home and she needed a ride and she sounded very upset. You've
got to go."
"Oh, all right," he sighed, getting out of bed and beginning to rummage
through his dresser. Margaret snapped at him: "What ARE you doing, Jim
"I'm getting dressed, of course," he replied. "Oh, don't bother," his wife
said. "Here's the keys, just go. I think she wants you to hurry."
"But I can't go out like this," Jim said, flinging his arms wide. He wore no
top, and the crotch of his pajama bottoms was so bare you could see the dark
outline of hair. A few wiry strands were showing through a gap between two of
the buttons. "Just throw on your raincoat," Margaret said. "And get going.
=== === === ===
Jim was still feeling a bit angry when he pulled up in front of the
Thompsons' house. He'd dropped off Betty just eight hours before, and she was
supposed to sleep over after spending the evening watching Ed and Nancy's two
young daughters. What was so all-fired important... Even before he could
finish the thought, Betty came flying out of the Thompsons' front door. She
ran across the lawn -- Jim noticed that she had no socks on, and only one
shoe -- and jumped into the car, quickly tossing her schoolbag to the floor
and pulling the door shut. Then she slumped back against the window, looking
very small and frail on the big, wide bench of the car's front seat.
Jim waited for her to say something, but heard only her quick, short breaths.
He snapped on the dome light and looked over. She looked flushed, and
something seemed wrong with her blouse. "Can we go, Father?" she asked,
staring down at the floor. "Can we just go?"
"But, Princess," he said, "what happened?" The anger was all out of his voice
now. She looked so beautiful in the light, the high cheekbones, the smooth
skin -- Margaret's had been like that, when she was young. "Just go, Father.
Now. Please?" Jim flipped off the light and drove away.
As the car rolled through the quiet streets, Jim occasionally looked over
at his daughter -- 14, now; it seemed such a short time ago she'd been a
toddler. Sometimes the glow of a streetlight made a halo out of her soft,
silky brown hair and cast the shadow of a firm young breast on the white
cotton of her blouse. It wasn't very big, but there was a definite shape to
it, the gentle slope down to the nipple, the sweet curve from there down
to... With a start, Jim realized she wasn't wearing a bra. He shot a glance
at the schoolbag she'd taken along. There was a squarish outline on one side
-- the textbooks, he guessed, she was going to spend the night studying --
and an odd lump -- that must be her other shoe, he figured -- and yes, just
there, peeking out of one corner of the overstuffed bag, a narrow band of
white with a small, shiny circle at the end. Her bra strap. "What the devil?"
he thought to himself.
Just then, Betty began to speak. Her voice was flat, a monotone, except every
so often when she seemed to swallow a sob.
"I put the twins to bed at 9:30," she began, "just like Mrs. Thompson said.
Then I read for awhile, on the couch in the living room. I guess I got a
little sleepy -- it was all about cell division and stuff, kinda boring.
"I thought I'd put the radio on, to keep me awake. But then I thought, no,
it'll wake the girls -- so I didn't. And then I guess I must've fallen asleep
on the couch. I don't know how long. I think I just drifted off..."
Jim glanced over. Princess was staring straight ahead, her eyes focused far
away. She was hugging herself tightly, and her legs were drawn up next to her
on the seat. She'd kicked off her other shoe. Even in the dim light, he could
see the shapely curve of her ankles, rising to the smooth young-girl knees.
Her plaid skirt had ridden up, and he could see several inches of milky white
thigh. "My little girl's grown up while I wasn't looking," he mused. "Maybe I
should do more looking."
Princess didn't seem to notice his staring, or the way he shifted in his
seat. She went on with her story.
"Then I dreamed -- or, I thought I was dreaming -- that Mr. and Mrs. Thompson
came home. I think I might have heard the garage door slam. But I didn't
really wake up. And then, I think I heard whispering, but I don't know what
they said. And then... then..."
She swallowed hard and went on. "Then I dreamed I was taking my clothes off.
It seemed too chilly to do that, but I was. And then there were people
grabbing at me. DOING things -- And then I opened my eyes, and I looked down,
and my blouse was open, and my bra was off, and my skirt was up... up around
my waist. And Mr. Thompson, he was... touching me... down there... and I
said, 'Mr. Thompson, what are you doing?' And he said, 'Relax, relax,
sweetie. You'll like this. When I saw you on the couch, those sweet legs all
stretched out, I thought you looked good enough to eat. So that's what I'm
going to do.' And he... um... and, I said, 'No! What do you mean? Mrs.
"But then I heard a noise behind me, and I looked, and it was Mrs. Thompson!
And she was naked! She was walking toward me, stumbling a little -- I think
she was drunk, she talked kinda funny, too, like you did that night when you
and Mom had the fight. And she said, 'Mrs. Thompson won't what, honey? Won't
let him eat? Hell, at least he's doing it at home, not out with some hooker.
But if he's gonna eat you, someone's damn sure gonna eat ME!'
"And then she ... she sat right on my face, and I could hardly breathe, and
her hairs were brushing my nose, and her... her thing was on my mouth, and
she was saying 'Lick me! Lick me, honey, c'mon!'
"And Mr. Thompson, he started licking me... there! And he put his tongue in
me! And I started to twist around, to get loose, and Mrs. Thompson, she fell
off and hit the floor. And Mr. Thompson, I think my knee hit him somewhere,
'cause he jumped off me and then fell over Mrs. Thompson.
"And that's when I grabbed my stuff, and I buttoned up my top -- but I was
in a hurry, so I got some of the buttons wrong -- and I called and I told
Mother and then I told the Thompsons I wouldn't babysit for them ever again
and if they touched me again I'd call the police. But Mrs. Thompson, she just
got sick all over the floor and then crawled to the bathroom. And Mr.
Thompson, he was crouched over all funny and holding himself and moving real
slow. And then you came, and ... And that's all."
The young girl seemed to run out of words all at once. As she finished, she
began to come out of her daze and look around.
The car was parked now, but it wasn't in their neighborhood. It wasn't
ANYBODY'S neighborhood, she thought -- just a bunch of factories, all dark
at this hour. Even darker where they were; was the streetlight out? She
looked over at her father.
He was turned toward her. His raincoat had fallen open; she could just barely
make out the salt-and-pepper thatch of hair on his chest. His face was partly
in shadow, but he seemed to have an odd expression, one she'd never seen
"Why are we stopped, Father?"
"Because I think you need a talking to, young lady," he said.
"Can't we talk at home? In the morning? I'm tired."
"I don't think this can wait till morning. And I don't want your mother to
hear this. It could hurt her too much, what you did."
"But, Father, I didn't do anything wrong. It was the Thompsons. They did it
to me. And Mrs. Thompson is in the bridge club with Mother. What will happen
next time they meet?"
Jim cut in. "Are you sure you didn't do anything wrong?"
"Oh, no, Father! What do you mean? I was just on the couch..."
"On the couch, yes. And your blouse? Was it buttoned up to the top? Or maybe
one of the buttons was undone, like this?" He reached over and unbuttoned the
top button. "Or two?" He opened the second; she'd missed the third hole when
she'd hurriedly gotten dressed at the Thompsons', so her blouse fell open to
the navel. Jim could just see the brown aureole on her right breast and the
nipple pressing up against the cotton.
Princess pulled the blouse to cover herself, but Jim pulled it back -- so
quickly that the last two buttons popped out of their holes as well. "And
your skirt. Was it halfway up already, like it is now? Or even higher?" He
pushed the thick material up her thigh, exposing her white cotton panties.
"And you said he touched you. On your breasts, like this?" His left hand
reached across the seat and groped at her chest. He took her right nipple
between his fingers and squeezed, gently. "Did he do that?"
"N-no, Father, not there," Princess said, trembling. "He t-touched me..."
"Here?" Jim said, his right hand covering her crotch.
"Yes, there," she said, her voice barely a whisper.
"Like this?" Jim asked, his broad hand covering her mound and rubbing softly.
"Or like this?" He tucked his fingers around to her buttocks, his thumb
stroking the now-wet pussy lips through the soft material.
She could only sigh.
"No, I don't think so," Jim said. "I think he had your panties off." With
both his hands, he quickly pulled off her panties and tossed them aside. "I
think this is how he was touching you," her father said, one hand caressing
the downy hairs while the other moved back to her breasts. "And like this,"
he went on, his middle finger slipping between the lips. "And this." The
index finger was in now, and he began to stroke, back and forth.
Princess's head was pressed back against the steamy glass of the window. A
long, low moan escaped her lips. Her arms flailed out against the heavy
upholstery of the seat. Jim continued to stroke, in and out, in and out. She
grabbed at the fingers caressing her breasts and brought them to her lips,
sucking them in one at a time, all the way to the base and back, licking at
his palm. Then she moved it back to her chest, glorying in the slick feel of
the fingers sliding over her now-erect nipples.
She reached out and clasped her father's head, entwining her fingers in his
hair. "Oh, that's right," Jim said. "That's right. He didn't just touch you."
And, with that, he bent forward, his tongue darting out. He licked slowly up
and down along the outside of her pussy, then just touching the tip of her
clitoris and moving back to the outer lips again. Her moaning grew deeper.
"Ohhhh, Godddd. Oh, Fathhher, yes! Yes! More!"
Jim buried his face in her pungent snatch, smearing himself with her juices
as he lapped at her cunt. His tongue darted in and out, in and out. Both his
hands were on her breasts now, kneading them. Her knees lifted up and she
clenched his head between her legs, holding him down with her hands. All at
once she stiffened and let out a shriek. Then her body shook, over and over
in a rippling series of contractions. Her legs unclenched and Jim sat up, his
face covered in sweat and his young daughter's juices.
"Oh, Father, Father, that was great, oh, Father," Princess murmured.
"I don't think we're done, young lady," he said. She looked over, uncertain.
He shucked off his raincoat. "You didn't tell me everything you saw,
Princess. You said Mrs. Thompson was naked. What about Mr. Thompson. Was he
"No," she said quickly, "he wasn't."
"Could you see his penis?"
"Yes," she said.
"Was it straight and hard, or all soft and small?"
"And was it big? As big as this?" He pulled off his pajama bottoms and his
cock leaped out, seven inches long, thick and throbbing.
"Oh, no, not that big," his daughter said, and her eyes grew wide.
"Did he make you touch it? Like this?" He grasped her hand and led it to his
cock. She said nothing, but began to stroke it. After a few seconds he took
her hand away and got up on his knees on the bench seat. He pushed her back
against the window and pulled her legs toward him, sliding forward until he
loomed over her, his cock pointing stiff and straight.
"And did he do this?" he grunted, and moved forward, leaning over to lick and
nuzzle her breasts. His cock poked at her hot, moist cunt, but he didn't
enter at first. He rubbed it up and down the lips, sometimes riding up onto
her patch of fur. Then he began to tease the entrance of her pussy, pushing
just the tip of the head of his cock in and pulling back. "Please, please,
please!" Princess urged. "Please what, Princess?" he whispered. "Please fuck
me. Oh please oh please oh please please fuck me!"
He entered her. Even as wet as she was, her virginal pussy lips barely gave
way. He slipped into her slowly, gently, carefully, until he had a couple of
inches in. He could feel her maidenhead barring his way. He began to stroke
back and forth, stopping a few seconds on each downstroke, then pulling back
every so slowly, all the way out, pushing back in past those tight lips, in
to the maidenhead and hold, and back out...
"I want it all," Princess said in a deep, hoarse voice. "I want all your cock
in me. Fuck me all the way. Do your daughter!"
"It'll hurt, Princess," he said.
"I don't care! Oh, God, I don't care! Do it! Do it!"
He pulled out once more and came in again, fast this time, fast and hard. He
felt the impact of the maidenhead and then it gave way all at once and he
plunged in, deep, deeper than he'd ever been with a woman before. And, God,
so tight! It felt like a living glove. He could feel every beat of her heart
pulsing through the warm walls of her cunt, throbbing around his cock. She
had held her breath when he plunged; now she let it out in a long sigh and
began to puff -- huh, huh, huh, huh.
"Are you all right, Princess?" he asked, his face hovering over hers. At
first she said nothing. Then hers arms slid up his sweaty back and pulled his
face down to hers. They kissed, and her tongue snaked out into his mouth. He
was shocked: His little girl knew how to French kiss? But then her hips began
to move, up and down, riding on his cock, and he returned her kiss deeply as
he took up the rhythm.
She brought her feet up and locked her ankles above his butt, pulling him
into her deeper, harder. He kissed her lips, her face, her neck, then bent
over and licked her left ear. A shiver shook her body. "Oh, you liked that,
did you?" he said, but he didn't give her time to reply, covering her mouth
with his again and sticking his tongue deeply into her. Still his cock kept
up its pace, plunging up and down. He could hear the sloppy sounds of their
juices, he could feel her pubic bone pressed up against him on the
downstrokes. His entire cock was buried, and the feeling was incredible. He
let out a low moan as he felt the familiar sensation stirring in his balls,
rising up his shaft.
"I'm coming, Princess! I'm coming!" He moved faster and faster, still feeling
her pussy grip his cock tightly every bit of the way. Just as he exploded in
her she began to buck wildly, almost tossing him loose. He fell upon her,
thrusting deeply as he felt wave upon wave of jism pulse through his cock.
Her legs flew up and she sighed, deeply.
They collapsed together, Jim rolling off toward the back of the seat while
Princess slid over to the front; he held her to keep her from falling.
For several minutes they just lay there, in each other's arms, until the
chill of the night air began to cool their sweaty bodies. Jim sat up, pulling
Princess up onto the seat next to him. They kissed again. Jim held her off,
looking up and down, admiring her young body. A smile came to him. She looked
up to him.
"What is it?"
"Oh," he said, "nothing. I was just thinking, I hope you learned your lesson
"What lesson was that?" she said, a smirk on her face.
"A very important one, young lady," he said, in mock sternness. "A very
important one: Father knows best."
"Mmmmmm," she answered. "Yes, he does." Then she smiled. "But I think I'll
need more lessons, Father."