Serendipity 27: Family Vacation Pt. 01

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tagIncest/TabooSerendipity 27: Family Vacation Pt. 01

XXVII − Ted and Shana's Dirty Night
… at the Pineview Lodge
About a week after we arrived at our "vacation hideaway in the hills" — and four or five days after we discovered how much our younger daughter likes fucking (and other stuff) with her dad (and how much her dad likes fucking — and other stuff — with his younger daughter) — Shana walked over to the kitchen table where I was sitting with my final cup of coffee. She was holding a floppy paperbound book that looked like the telephone directory for a small rural area.
"Hey, Dad, I was looking in the phone book for around here and I found this. It looks like there's a kind of roadhouse bar about nine miles down the highway, and it's got a tourist lodge right next to it."
I had no idea what she was talking about, or why she would be interested in finding a roadhouse or a motor lodge when we had this great cabin.
She walked up behind me and laid the phone book on the table and pointed to what she was talking about. "See, Dad — the 'Pine Tree Inn' and the 'Pineview Lodge'."
"I see, Hon. But why are you showing me this?"
I'm not very quick on the uptake sometimes, so Shane had to explain it to me — in her own way.
"I was thinking, Dad — maybe you and I could slip away some evening and have a night just to ourselves." She waited for my reaction, but I was still too oblivious to see where she was headed. "I was thinking that maybe if I went in there, in the bar, maybe some good looking older guy would come up and hit on me."
And then she started in. She leaned in toward me and began licking the outside of my ear, feeling around, nibbling on my ear lobe. "And maybe you could come in, and there'd be some trashy young girl — maybe even a little slutty — at the bar, and you could pick her up, and the two of you could go to your room at the motel next door…" She resumed licking my ear, then sticking her tongue in a little, probing, then wetting her tongue and swirling it around some more.
Oh, another thing– while she was doing the ear thing, she reached down with one hand and took a firm grasp of my cock, which for some reason had become quite large.
I closed my eyes and just enjoyed the sensation of the young female hand that was squeezing my swollen cock — something that would have horrified me just a week ago, but now, after the past week,…
I took Shane's hand and gently removed it from my crotch, then turned and looked up at her. I put my thumb and forefinger under her chin and guided her lips to mine, and we exchanged soft kisses and nibbles that likewise would have horrified me only a week ago.
"Ummm, sounds yummy, Kitten. But first, let's do a little research, okay?" I picked up my phone and dialed the number in the book for the Pine Tree Inn. Yes, it rang. Yes, someone answered. And yes, they were open every day, from 10 a.m. until legal closing time, 1:00 a.m. Next, I dialed the Pineview Lodge. The man who answered the phone assured me that, yes, they were accepting guests, and yes, they did have several "holiday cottages" available the next two nights.
Having made sure that the pieces were still in place and functioning, I said what I should have said.
"I'll talk it over with your mom and see what she thinks."
Well, Georgia didn't beat around the bush. "Oh, Ted, that would be so deliciously dirty!" But, of course, a practical consideration. "Would the bar even let someone Shana's age in?"
"I actually remembered to check on that when I called. The woman said that they were pretty liberal about letting people in who were under 21, they just couldn't serve them alcohol."
"In that case, I think that the two of you should go for it."
"And you and Eddie will be alright here, all alone?" I could scarcely get this out with a straight face.
"Oh, I guess we'll find something or other to do …," she replied, vaguely.
"And don't worry, Ted — I'm pretty sure he and Shana had this whole thing worked out well in advance before either of us were involved."
So in that way, the whole matter was settled.
* * * * *
And so it was that Shane and I found ourselves pulling into the gravel parking lot of the Pine Tree Inn about 9 p.m. on Monday evening. I was surprised to find that the lot was more than half full. I guess the locals felt the need to get out and have a drink or two after a weekend of being stuck at home.
The plan we had worked out at the cabin and put final touches on during the 20 minute drive involved me checking in at the "Lodge" while Shane went into the bar — by herself.
When we got out of the car, I saw what she was wearing. The reason I put it that way is that when we first got into the car, she was wearing a fairly modest wrap-around denim skirt that I thought was kind of an unusual choice, given our "program" for the evening. But when it came time to get out of the car, Shane untied the waistband of the skirt and let it drop, revealing what she was wearing underneath the skirt: a pair of washed-out white jeans cut-offs, so short that if she leaned forward even the slightest bit, they rode up to reveal the lower curves of her tight round butt.
"Uh — Shane — uh, aren't those shorts a little … revealing?"
"Sure are," she replied. She leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. "See you inside − stranger."
And with that, I got to watch her sexy ass bounce across the parking lot and into the bar. At the moment, I was sure that I was the only one watching, but I knew that that would change quickly once she stepped into the bar.
I drove the car the short distance over to the motel's lot and went over to the office to check in. The kind, grandmotherly-looking lady in the motel office noticed that the reservations said "2 guests." "Will the second guest be joining you later," she inquired, with a knowing tone of voice and an even more knowing lifting of her eyebrows.
"Yes, she'll be along a little later."
"That's good. I'd hate to think you paid extra for two people and then didn't get your money's worth." Another knowing look.
I could have been angry with her presumptuous insinuations. Or I could have been embarrassed. But instead, I found myself enjoying it — like she knew what I was here for, and she and I were kind of co-conspirators in whatever misconduct I had planned. My guess: she was no stranger to situations like this. In fact, maybe she'd even done this sort of thing herself a time or two — or more.
I took the two keys she offered me — real keys, not some plastic cards with data strips — and went back to the car to get our stuff. I gathered the small duffel bag, plus the drinks and snacks and two frozen pizzas we'd picked up along the way, locked the car, and walked over to "Holiday Cottage 9," which turned out to be the farthest one from the office — and the one closest to the Pine Tree Inn.
I unlocked the door and brought in our stuff, put the cold groceries in the half-fridge and the ice compartment, and checked out the room. While the cottage looked small from the outside, it was surprisingly spacious. The bed — queen-sized, as I had requested — had a new mattress that felt reasonably firm and free of lumps or sags. The bathroom was "compact," but part of the reason for this was a large new bathtub-shower combination. There were three sets of towels and washcloths, not luxurious, but pretty good; and there was a selection of shampoo, conditioner, shower gel, skin lotion, and a nice block of lavender-scented soap. There was even a little China dish of potpourri that imparted a nice, kind of floral, kind of woodsy scent to the room. All in all, I was pretty sure Shana would enjoy the little touches.
I freshened up a little — there wasn't much to freshen, since our drive over had been so short — and headed over to the bar.
I haven't spent a lot of time in bars — they've just never been my thing. But I immediately felt comfortable as soon as I walked in. Like the name implied, it had kind of a rustic feel to it, like someplace out in the "backwoods." The décor, if you could call it that, wasn't very fashionable and in fact, was a bit — not rundown, but "worn." But it was clean, and there was a busy hum of conversation and a juke box was playing, but not so loud that you couldn't talk, and as I said, I immediately felt comfortable. We — meaning Shana — had made a good choice, it seems.
But I was here for a purpose, namely, to pick up, an almost-underage girl, at a roadside tavern — three things at which I have no experience whatsoever. My only thought was, "Don't overthink this." And that's when I saw the back of the slim, athletic-looking girl with the shaggy, dirty-blond hair.
She was sitting on an old-fashioned red-vinyl-and-chrome bar stool toward the end of the bar. It was obvious that some of the guys were looking at her — the younger ones, but some of the older ones, too. And it was obvious why. Her white denim cutoffs, as I suspected they would, had ridden up to display the curve of her hard buttcheeks. She had taken off her denim jacket and spread it out on the bar stool. The t-shirt she was wearing wasn't particularly tight, but anyone could clearly see the hard nipples pressed against the soft white cloth.While she was getting some attention from the guys, no one had made a move to sit next to her — yet. So far, she was alone, nursing what looked like a bottle of beer. How the heck did she manage that?
I moved in and sat down one stool away from hers. I looked at her and gave her a little smile of acknowledgement. She looked toward me, hesitated for a moment, then gave me a similar non-committal smile in return. When I gave her another sideways glance, she made a show of finishing the last of her beer, so when I caught the bartender's eye, I looked over at her and asked, in what I hoped was a casual manner, "Can I get you the next round?"
She paused, like she was thinking over the possibilities. "Sure."
"Another one for the lady, and I'll have whatever draft you're pouring."
The barkeep reached into the well and brought out a bottle of what I recognized as a well-known brand of non-alcoholic beer. So that's how she managed to get served. He uncapped it and asked her if she wanted a glass, looking over at me to signal that, with the gentleman buying, she might want to have her beer in a more "lady-like" fashion, but she told him no, so he put the bottle down in front of her.
When he set my glass of draft in front of me, I lifted it, turned, and raised it to Shane. She waited a moment, then raised her bottle and, with a slight nod in my direction, clinked it against my glass. I hoped I was doing all this right. Or was I looking like the complete idiot that I am in situations like this? And I silently thanked Georgia, for saving me from an entire life of this. "Thank you, Georgia," and then I silently added, "…and for so many, many other things."
Shana glanced down at the empty stool between us and back at me, and I thought this must be some kind of signal that I was welcome to move over and sit there. So I scooted over, hoping I wasn't bungling things.
"I'm Shane."
"Hi, Shane, I'm Ted." Another clinking of glasses.
… and I realized — I hadn't a clue as to what to say next. "Do you come here often?" "Are you alone?" "Do you live near here?" All the predictable, dumb lines.
Fortunately, Shane picked up the ball. "I came here with some guys, but they wanted to go and play video games, and probably get stoned — but I wanted a beer and some music. How 'bout you?" I wondered for a moment how Shane ever got so good at this game.
Yes — how about me? I had no idea who I was or why I happened to be in this bar at this moment.
"I'm just here by myself." I improvised. "I'm kind of taking a driving vacation — not going anyplace particular, just seeing where the road takes me." I hoped that didn't sound too fishy, or lame, or both.
Shana didn't say anything for a while, like maybe she was trying to decide whether to bring something up.
Finally, she said, "You kinda remind me of my dad." Now things are moving along.
I paused thoughtfully. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"
She thought for a moment. "Kinda bad …," I started to become concerned, "… but kinda good, too."
What could I say to that?
"How's that?"
"Well,… secret? I've always had a thing for my dad, maybe since I was five or so. 'Cause he's good looking, and even now he has a real nice bod." She smiled at me. "Sure, I check him out. He fills out a swimsuit pretty good, too," she added, just to make sure I understood exactly what it was that she "checked out." Shane smiled, took another swig of her non-beer. Then she went on. "But he's kind of a prick, too. He doesn't laugh or even smile much, and he's real strict — even my mom thinks he's too strict. He's kind of a stiff." Then she smirked right at me and added, "And not in the good way." She leaned her head back and took another swig from the bottle.
And my daughter is talking to me like this — to a guy she's just met in a bar. But what surprised me was, it was getting to me — big time!
I made my verbal "move." "So, am I like your dad in the bad way, or in the good way?"
Shane wrinkled her forehead, like she was trying to decide something difficult.
"In the good way, I think, maybe." Another meaningful pause. "I don't know you good enough to say … yet."
And there it was — the "hint" that she was going to be getting to know me "good enough" in the near future.
I realized I'd only taken a few sips of my beer, so I turned and took another drink. To tell the truth, my throat was getting dry from this conversation — and I don't mean the talking part.
"So, you're just driving through — where're ya' staying?" This was it.
"I've got a cabin — a 'cottage,' they call it — at the Lodge, right next door."
"Oh?" Interested. I felt my cock thickening inside my pants.
Just as I was about to say something stupid, like, "It's really nice — would you like to see it?" she saved me by looking at her almost-empty bottle and asking, "Do you know any place where a girl could get a real beer around here?"
"Since you mention it — I've got a 12-pack of Michelob in the fridge back at my cabin — that is, if you don't mind walking over?" Nice. Give her the option of saying no.
Without a second's hesitation, she responded, "Sure." With a quick sideways glance to see who was watching, she let her hand fall to the inside of my thigh and scratched her nails on the rough fabric of my jeans. I felt the subtle vibrations in my cock. Then she stood up and took her jacket off the stool and slipped it on. I saw that it covered her t-shirt — and the points of her nipples — but it did nothing to hide her buttocks.
Our bar tab for her beers and my draft was nine-fifty. I put a twenty on the bar and turned to see Shane hooking her thumbs in the legs of her cutoffs to tug them back down — and out of her crotch. I let her lead me out of the bar, a few heads following us, several guys — and probably several women, too — wondering how a guy like me managed to get lucky with a young chick like Shane. My real hope was that Shane was enjoying her brief celebrity — and that she would show it when we got to the cottage.
It had gotten dark during the time we were in the bar, and the lights were on around the parking lot and outside the cottages at the Inn. I steered Shane toward my — our — cottage, and we walked the 40 or so yards without any physical contact …
…until I put my key in the lock and opened the door and we stepped inside. And that's when Shane pushed the door closed, slipped the security chain into place — and, basically, jumped me, arms around my neck, lifting herself up to wrap her legs around my hips, and grinding her pelvis into me, right where it was having the greatest effect.
This part wasn't part of our plan — at least, not yet. My guess is that Shane's had been turned on so much by her own performance that she just couldn't wait anymore. Well, that was OK with me, but I wasn't sure if that's how she wanted this night of role-playing to go.
I think she caught herself, because she let go of me and put her feet on the floor, and she backed off just a little.
"I'm sorry, Da…" and caught herself , realizing that she had almost "broken character." "I'm sorry, Ted. I hadn't planned on doing that, but I guess our little talk back at the bar got me more turned on than I knew," she recovered nicely. "What say we have a couple of those beers and calm down a bit, huh?"
"Sounds good." Then, "Wouldja like to take your jacket off … get more comfortable?" She thought that sounded good, too. While I fumbled to free a single hanger from the tangled nest on the rod in the closet, Shane walked around, exploring the room, seeing what kinds of cable channels were available on the TV, checking out the bathroom, examining the basket of toiletries. By the time I finished fighting with the hangers, I'd forgotten what I originally set out to do, and my "guest" had to remind me.
"So, how about one of those beers you told me about. That wasn't a lie you told me, just to get in my pants, was it?" I'm still not believing the things my daughter is coming up with.
Feeling like an idiot again, and like the beers had just been a ploy to get this way-too-young girl to come to my room, I dumbly responded, "Yeah," and then realizing how that might sound in light of her question, I stammered, "Uh, no, uhh — I had some trouble with the hangers …" (how lame can this sound!) "I got the beers right here. I mean, I'll get them now." I was being such an incredible doofus. I could see Shane as she tried to stifle a smile at my awkwardness.
"While you're doin' that, I need to use your bathroom, OK?" She went into the bathroom and closed the door — completely. She was in there longer than I would have expected, but on the other hand, how should I know what she was doing, or how long it should take for her to do it. Or maybe she was talking to herself, trying to decide if she really wanted to do this. Or maybe she was just playing with me, giving me time for my anticipation to build.
While I was waiting, I got two Michs out of the fridge. I twisted off the caps and waited for her to come out of the bathroom. When she finally walked out, I handed her one of the bottles. We clinked bottle necks.
"So,… do you have to be back home anytime in particular…?"
"Nah. My prick father is away on a 'business trip,' if you know what I mean." She decided to make herself comfortable by plopping down in the one armchair that was in the room. And the way she was sitting — sideways, with one leg thrown over the chair arm — revealed that while her cutoff jeans were very tight in the butt, the leg holes were large and loose. So large, in fact, that a person sitting across from her — like I was — could look right up that leg hole, and from where I sat, I could see so much skin that I wasn't even sure if she was wearing underwear or not.
She took a drink and continued with her story. "My Ma's 'out with the girls' from work — which probably means at a bar trying to get some guy or two to pick her up. Like, one night she'd been out with her girlfriends, I heard a car in the driveway, and I look out, and the moon's real bright that night and I could see right in the windshield, and she and this guy are making out like crazy. Some other nights she comes in so drunk she doesn't even realize that there's cum running down her leg. God, I sometimes wonder how many guys it took to make that much cum."
Where is my daughter getting all this — this shit?
And then I had another thought: do you think tonight — or tomorrow morning − it'll be her who's coming home with cum running down her leg?

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