Chapter 3
"Daddy!" Caroline called merrily over the thick throng of people who crowded the arrival gate at the Los Angeles airport.
But her father did not recognize her at first. There were so many passengers crawling out of the plane, exhausted from the long flight, or barely awakened from their slumber.
Then she caught her father's eye, and she saw his face break into an enormous smile.
They fought through the crowd, Caroline slinking between turgid, slow-moving bodies, her father impatiently moving them aside like a bovine herd or a mass of insensate obstacles.
"My angel," he said, taking her in his strong embrace.
"Daddy, I'm so glad to see you," she said, almost weeping for joy.
"You're a good sight for tired eyes, sweetheart," he said.
Caroline hugged her father tightly, unable to get enough of him.
Reluctantly, they broke their embrace and walked together along the endless length of the concourse.
Caroline was euphoric. She babbled happily about her semester, about papers she had written, exams she had taken.
It was not until they were in the baggage-claim area that she noticed the absence of Carl, the brother she adored madly.
"That's mine," she said, pointing to an enormous scarlet suitcase that had already gone twice around the carrousel, "and that, too," she said, indicating a smaller, matching overnight case.
She had been too excited to notice that all four of her suitcases, which were filled with clothes and books, had been almost the first pieces of luggage off the plane.
"Daddy, where's Carl?" she asked, as she helped her father remove the suitcases from the carrousel.
"He's sorry he couldn't come. He's up in San Francisco seeing your mother." Her father said.
Caroline found herself looking at her father's crotch, mesmerized.
She did not say anything.
"Caroline," her father said, "are you alright. You don't seem quite all here."
He looked at his daughter's face and could plainly see that she was staring between his legs. It was natural for a seventeen-year-old girl to glance at a man's crotch.
Simon Carlisle felt his cock flex like a muscle inside his charcoal trousers. It was tantalizing to think of Caroline, his little girl, becoming a full-fledged woman; it was almost impossible to believe that his angelic daughter was blossoming into a card-carrying cunt.
He found himself wondering what kind of pussy his little girl had.
"Caroline," her father repeated.
"What," she said, bestirred from her reverie, "I was just admiring your pants. They're nice. What were you saying?"
"Carl is in San Francisco," her father told her again.
"Right," she said, "I heard you. With mother. How is mother?" Caroline asked, not giving a damn.
Simon thought he detected hostility in his daughter's voice. Not toward himself, but toward her mother. He could not blame her; Muriel, his ex-wife and Carl and Caroline's absentee mother, was a real card-carrying cunt. She was a cunt who did everything short of charge admission and a cover charge. Simon had unloaded her all too happily, and without alimony, when he caught her with another man. It had taken him a long time to collect the evidence, although he had known for years that Muriel was the biggest tramp to be found anyway. She was the best-known cocksucker of Wilshire Boulevard, the dirtiest cunt on the street whose gutters were endless, the slimiest twat on one of the longest streets in the world.
Or she had been, until she began to suffocate in the contamination of her life and all the seething bacteria of her overly public cunt. Muriel had wisely gotten out of Los Angeles, where she was too well known. Her reputation had begun to smell too strong even for her. She had taken her twat to San Francisco. Simon knew she would rot there, too. She would contaminate everything she touched. She would not last in San Francisco. It was too small a town; she would go through it too quickly. Reputations, good and bad, grow faster than weeds in San Francisco. If she lasted there, she would burn out, sizzle to death in the tawdry heat of her foul odors.
"She's all right, I suppose. We don't keep in touch, really," Simon said.
"I know, and just as well, too. She's bad news. I don't know why Carl went to see her. I don't care if I never see her again."
"Well, for better or for worse, Caroline, she is your mother." her father said.
"Who cares?" Caroline said, "she's a bitch."
Simon shrugged, "No, she isn't a bitch," he said, "she's a cunt."
Caroline laughed, "You know more about that than I do."
Simon smiled despite himself, "I shouldn't have said that," he said, "after all, she is your mother."
"Yes, the cunt is my mother. To my eternal chagrin. But don't feel badly about what you said. Sometimes if you speak no evil, you speak no truth."
"Do they teach you how to spout epigrams in college?" Her father asked, "in my day they taught nothing but football and figures,"
"They taught you that because you were destined to become an athletic hustler," Caroline chided.
"Agent, Caroline. I am an agent, not a hustler," her father said.
"Same difference," Caroline said.
"Maybe," her father said.
Simon directed the porter to the car.
Caroline looked at the jade-green convertible sports car. She had not seen it before. She liked it, and it looked wickedly expensive.
"Nifty," she said.
"Do you like it?" her father asked.
"Of course, it's boffo, as they say. When did you get it.
Simon tipped the porter and slammed the trunk. "Today," he said.
"Perfect timing," Caroline said.
"Do you want to drive?" he asked.
"No, no. Your car, you drive. I don't know if I can drive here anymore. I might have lost my knack with the freeways." She said.
"You never had one," he father smiled, "but I thought you might like to learn. Actually, I bought this for you."
"This?" she said, surprised.
"Yes," he said.
"You mean it's mine?" She asked.
"Sure, if you want it."
"Of course I do," Caroline said, "Daddy it's so sweet of you. Thank you." Caroline put her hands around her father's neck and planted a kiss on his lips.
Simon felt his daughter's lips on his own, and was surprised to feel her mouth opening to receive his tongue. He put his arms around her and they french kissed for a long minute in the parking lot.
Caroline broke this kiss, only slightly embarrassed.
"Are you certain that you don't want to drive? There isn't that much traffic at three in the morning."
"No, not yet. I want you to drive us home, Daddy." Caroline said.
Her father opened the door for her gallantly, closed it and walked around the front of the car. Caroline watched his masculine, leonine grace. At thirty-seven her father was in better shape than many of the college boys she knew. He had kept his body strong and fit through years of constant swimming and tennis. She loved the sight of her father's fine body in his white tennis shorts. She loved the way his legs moved swiftly over the court, and the lines his body made when he hit the ball over the net. She never tired of watching her father play tennis, and he would always be her favorite opponent, although she was often too dazed by the spectacular lines of his body, the definition of his muscular chest and powerful arms, to play her best game.
As Simon climbed over the door of the open convertible, Caroline could smell her father's male scent. She watched the way his legs moved athletically, and she caught herself focusing again on his charcoal crotch, even though she knew she shouldn't. She imagined the crotch as being the source of the powerful, musky fragrance of his animal virility, and she felt, despite herself, a tingle in her cunt, that had been so well fucked only a few hours ago in the locked lavatory. She realized now that she had been so hugely attracted to Joshua primarily because he bore such an uncanny resemblance to her beloved father.
She breathed deeply, filling her body with the scent of her father. It was stronger than the leather upholstery of the car, and stronger than the curious fragrance of the warm Los Angeles smog.
Caroline was glad that her father had not pressed her to drive. He understood that she was excited to be home and that she wanted to enjoy her first moments without the distraction of driving. It was a long drive from the airport to their house on Wilshire Boulevard and the fringe of Beverly Hills, and Caroline wanted to talk to her father, to look at him, and to indulge in her private, secret thoughts.
They made their exit from the enormous parking lot and her father made a fast turn onto the freeway.
Caroline felt the warm air racing through her hair. Her long blonde tresses flew high, fanned out in the air they raced through together.
"Business is good, I assume. It must be if you can buy such a nice welcome home present for me," Caroline said.
"Not bad," her father said.
"Any interesting new clients?" she asked, wanting to give her father a chance to talk about herself.
"Well, I handle Carlotta Craig now," her father said, a tone of caution in his voice.
Caroline was silent for a moment. "So I read. I do look at the trades sometimes, you know."
Simon knew that his daughter was referring to the story in one of the big industry papers two or three weeks ago. It had been a gossipy story, alleging that Simon Carlisle was devoting all his professional time to Carlotta Craig at the expense of his other clients. It had also suggested that Simon was investing a significant amount of non-professional time. It even went so far as to imply that the relationship between Simon and Carlotta was unprofessional in more than one sense, and that the agent was handling his client in just about every way known to man. Snidely, the article had given Simon's age, 37, and Carlotta's, 22.
"She's an important client, Caroline. Her last film made a fortune and this week her new single is number three with a bullet." Simon said defensively.
"An important client isn't so unusual. Whoever wrote that story wasn't talking about revenues," Caroline said.
"Frankly, Caroline, I need a big client. I've had a lot of has-beens and two bit character actors on my hands for years. You know that I take a talent on the basis of some kind of belief, some kind of instinct that they'll turn out to be something. But my instincts have been leading me astray for a while. I need a big client. Some of the people I've got are hopeless. I can't even get them a part in a porno film. Carlotta's hot now; she's on top, and is going to stay there for a long time. She's a phenomenal talent, and she has a fabulous career in front of her." Simon said.
"If anyone can work with her. I've read that she castrates actors, infuriates directors, tells the cinematographer what to do. Half the crew walked out on her last picture; it's a miracle it was ever finished. I don't care what you say, no one is talented or successful enough to get away with that kind of arrogant shit."
Simon listened to his daughter. He had heard it all before. "Carlotta is. She can get away with almost anything. She's only difficult to work with because she's a perfectionist. She doesn't just care about the reproduction of her voice or the way she looks; she cares about the entire film."
"God, it must be true. That article must be right. You're so defensive about the little tramp. I guess you must be infatuated with her."
"She is not a tramp, Caroline. Compared to most of the trash in this town she's pure snow."
"If a dog is shitting in it," Caroline said, "I'm sure you could cast Carlotta in all the pornos you wanted. I bet she made a few when she was starting out," Caroline said.
"She has legitimate theatre experience. You know that." Simon said.
"Sure, sure," Caroline laughed, a little jealous of her father's involvement with the famous singer and actress, but not terribly emotional about it one way or the other. As long as he could spend plenty of time with her this summer Caroline didn't mind if he had a few meaningless fucks with Carlotta.
"Anyway, why are we talking about her. I haven't seen you in months and we waste all out time talking about some client you happen to be fucking."
"I want to talk about her, Caroline," her father said seriously.
Caroline heard the tone in her father's voice. It was the tone she had heard many times before, the tone he always used when he was about to tell her something important. It was the tone he had used when he first told her that he was divorcing her mother, the tone she had heard in his voice when he told her that he wanted her to go to college back east, to experience a new world, to live something other than the tawdry film-world life.
Caroline knew that her father was about to tell her something, and she knew that she did not want to hear it.
She made light of her dread. "So tell me, is it serious?"
Her father heard her struggling to accept the news she knew he was going to give her. In a way he hated to tell her. It was inevitable that she would be jealous. She had been the only woman in his life for four years.
Simon dead-panned, "Let's just say we're good fucks."
Caroline laughed weakly at her father's joke. Ordinarily she would have appreciated the twist on the hackneyed Hollywood line, but to be actually confronted by the knowledge of her father's cock in another woman's cunt made her miserable. She wanted to cry, to be comforted, and she wanted to kill him for betraying her.
"Tell me," she said, almost in a whisper, "tell me the truth. Be straight with me."
"All right, we're living together." Her father said.
"Where?" Caroline asked, astonished. She had no idea it had come to that.
"At the house," Simon said. Caroline could barely absorb her father's words. The idea of another woman in their house was unacceptable to her. It was altogether appalling. Jesus, it would be worse than having Muriel around.
"I don't want to see her," Caroline said, "not yet."
"You are going to have to see her. You won't have to tonight. She's due at the sound stage tomorrow at seven in the morning and she's sleeping now. But we are all having dinner tomorrow. Carl will be back tomorrow. We'll all go to that French place you like. The one on Sunset. What's the name of it?"
"I don't remember," Caroline said dejectedly, "La Ennui," I think, or something else like that."
They were almost home, but now Caroline was crushed. She hated the idea of Carlotta Craig sleeping in her father's bed, sucking her father's cock. She almost wished she were still on the plane, getting fucked brutally by Joshua. She wished this moment had not happened. She wished she were still happy, still looking forward to the reunion with her father, rather than disappointed, pissed off and dumped into despair.
She slouched back in the seat of the car her father had bought for her. It gave her no pleasure. He had bought it as a token, a compensation. He had bought it out of guilt, knowing that his news would hurt her. What a fool he was to think that a scrap of metal could appease the ache she felt over his betrayal.
"Are you going to marry her?" Caroline asked, thinking that at least marriage was out of the question, and that some things were still alright with the world. She would outlive Carlotta in her father's heart.
"Yes," Simon said.
"Oh, shit!" she hissed, feeling a tear flooding in her eye and stinging her cheeks.
She wanted to drive this car into the swimming pool and drown.
She did not say anything. The father and daughter drove in silence.
The house on Wilshire Boulevard looked the same. The lawn looked the same, and the front door. But the moment she entered Caroline could discern a difference.
There was a different smell. It smelled of a woman's perfume. Specifically, it smelled of the french perfume that Carlotta wore. It was impossible to open a magazine without seeing the full page advertisement of Carlotta's face, her neck, her earrings and her fingertips. In the advertisement she was supposedly dabbing the perfume on her neck, looking unbelievably gorgeous in a typically glamorous sort of way.
Caroline could hardly breathe. The patchouli was everywhere. It pervaded the foyer, the living room, the dining room. She could smell it in the stairwell as she went up to her room. The beautiful fragrance of the fresh flowers her father had purchased for her arrival was completely drowned out. Caroline wanted to get out of the house, to take a swim and breathe the fresh, smoggy air. But she was certain that Carlotta had filled the pool with the perfume. There was no escape from it.
She was not in the mood to unpack. She was too tired and too distressed. She wanted to go to bed, forget for a while that this had happened, and awaken refreshed in the morning. When she was fresh she would be able to think about this situation, what to do about it, how to remedy it and get her father back. She stripped off her clothes, pealing the shirt and blouse from her body. She examined her nakedness in the full length mirror, inspecting her budding breasts and her soft blonde jungle of pubic hair. She admired her body for a minute, remembering the pleasure it had given her on the plane, thinking of all the pleasure it was going to give her this summer. She wished that she could get Simon back with her body. She had no doubt that she was more beautiful than Carlotta, who could not be seen without her false eye lashes, her cheekbones exaggerated by shadow, her artificial coiffures.
Her body was beautiful. She felt herself becoming aroused by her own mirrored image. She could not take her eyes off her beautiful blonde beaver. As she watched herself, she felt a tremble in her pussy. She was beginning to get gloriously wet, and her nipples stiffened as her tits flushed with rapidly flowing blood, excited by an electrical sex current.
But this was nonsense. She had been fucked on the airplane and she thought that such a fuck should suffice for one day. It was nearing four in the morning California time, and by her accustomed eastern schedule it was almost seven. She had not slept and it was technically time to get up already. She had to go to bed.
Caroline turned to her familiar closet to fetch her favorite nightgown. It was a lovely pink sheath of satin and lace that her father had given her for her sixteenth birthday. She had never taken to school because she felt it belonged at home, in her closet, awaiting her return.
When she opened her closet Caroline was appalled. Dozens of unseen evening clothes, dresses and furs hung in her closet, crowded among the clothes she had not taken to school.
This made her angry. It was the ultimate in poor taste. How dare Carlotta use her closet for the overflow of her wardrobe!! It was unconscionably vulgar. It was bad enough that the slut had moved into the house, but to start scattering her clothes in other people's closets was the end! Caroline would not accept it.
She wanted to confront Carlotta this minute. She would have if she had been fresh and alert herself,, but she wanted to wait until she was in her best fighting form before facing the woman who was stealing her father's affections.
It occurred to her to take all the clothes in her arms, open the sliding glass doors and throw them over the terrace. She could scatter them in the swimming pool the way Carlotta had scattered them in Caroline's closet. It would be no more an outrage.
Caroline could almost smile at the thought of Carlotta awakening in the morning, with the cold cream on her face, having her frugal breakfast in bed, and then going to the window to see dozens of her most expensive garments spread out on the pools surface, ruined forever by water and chlorine. The pool would swallow them up and they would be another part of the starlet's sordid past.
But Caroline would not do it tonight. She would think of a better way to get even with Carlotta.
She could not possibly sleep. She was too insulted, too bitter and resentful to sleep.
She almost tore the pink negligee from the hanger, wrapped it sulkily around her naked body and loosed at herself again in the mirror.
There was no doubt about it. She was a beautiful young woman.
But at the moment she was a wretchedly unhappy little girl.
Caroline lit a cigarette, opened the glass doors and walked out onto the terrace, wanting to breathe.
The terrace ran the length of the house. There were stairs to the garden and pool below, but tonight Caroline did not want to swim or walk in the garden. Not yet. She was happy on the terrace.
Three bedrooms faced the garden, her father's, Carl's and her own. All the rooms had access to the terrace. Whenever she wanted to be alone or have privacy, when she wanted to masturbate, Caroline had to draw the shades and drapes over the glass doors of her room, as her father or Carl were apt to walk past on their way from their bedrooms to the pool. She always resented it a little, because she liked to jerk herself off with the daylight streaming through the trees and the glass, flooding her room. But she had been caught once, years ago, by Carl, when the sheets were kicked to the foot of the bed, her legs spread in abandon and her fingers dancing on her clit.
Now she was more cautious.
Carl had simply smiled on his way down the stairs to the pool, but Caroline had been almost mortified with embarrassment. She had been glad that Carl, not her father, had caught her in the act of herself love.
It was warm tonight. Caroline felt revived on the terrace. Away from the cloying odors of the perfume that had pervaded the house, Caroline realized that she could handle the situation. She could handle Carlotta.
Her mind began to clear and she inhaled on her cigarette. The tar, the nicotine, all the things that had been determined as dangerous, forbidden and no-no, soothed her. She gleaned a strength from the cigarette and from the unhealthy Los Angeles air on which she thrived.
It was warm in the wonderful way that is peculiar to southern California. The heat was not like the heat of the east coast, which can instill a kind of frenzy or madness. The Los Angeles heat instilled only a lazy sense of peace; it convinced one that everything in the world could go wrong but that none of it would matter. The air could be filled with a million warning signals, even an invitation to panic, but Caroline felt arrogantly certain that everything would turn out for the best and that life would be perennially lovely.
She heard sounds on the terrace. At first she could not trace their origin or identify their quality. Then she realized that they were human sounds. They came from her father's bedroom. They were the human sounds of animal sex.
Her father and Carlotta were fucking.
Quietly, Caroline walked along the terrace toward the glass door of her father's bedroom.
The curtains were closed, but the glass doors were half-open. Caroline could see that the room was dark except for a stream of light pouring from the dressing room adjacent to the bedroom.
Cautiously, Caroline slipped her hand through the curtain, creating a small space through which to view the scene.
The light from the dressing room served almost as a spotlight. It beamed directly on the bed, and Caroline could see the famous coiffure bouncing up and down between her father's legs.
Carlotta was giving her father a blow job.
Caroline could not see Carlotta's face, only the hair and a speck of cold cream on the famous nose. It was inevitable that Carlotta, even when sucking a cock, would perform in profile. It was as though Caroline's voyeuristic eyes were the movie cameras spinning quietly to capture Carlotta's virtuoso performance.
Caroline wished that Carlotta would move her boring photogenic face from her father's cock. Caroline wanted to see what her daddy looked like.
She could see Simon's face, or part of it, half visible, half obscured in the bizarre chiaroscuro lighting. She could see his eyes shut tight, as though he too wanted to block out the sight of the famous woman sucking his cock.
She could see his mouth, twisted in a baffling expression that Caroline could not read. It was part smile, part scowl, expressing both beatitude and chagrin.
"Umm," Caroline heard Carlotta's well known voice. Even when she was sucking cock the bitch seemed to be twirping in the style of Los Vegas showrooms.
"Suck it, cunt," she heard her father growl, "suck my cock."
Caroline saw her father sit up in the bed. She watched his hard stomach muscles rippled as he reached for Carlotta's head, messing her immaculate coiffure.
"God damn you, cunt! You better suck better than that," He grabbed the star's head and pushed it down on his cock.
"Ugh!" Caroline heard Carlotta choking and gagging on Simon's huge man stick.
Caroline saw her father raise a heavy hand in the air and lower it suddenly on Carlotta's bouncing tits.
Carlotta gasped in pain, her mouth too full of cock to utter a truly lyrical scream.
"Suck it," Simon roared, his voice loud, angry and sinister.
"Please, Simon, hurry and come. I have to get some sleep." Carlotta whispered through her cock filled mouth.
"You'll sleep when I feel like letting you sleep, and not before," Simon said, pushing her face further down the length of his cock.
Caroline could see the root of her father's great fuck muscle forcing its way into Carlotta's mouth. It was astounding, the size of her father's cock. She had not seen it all, because much of it was hidden in Carlotta's sucking mouth. But from the huge swollen base of it, and from the amount that she estimated to be hidden in the sucking mouth, Caroline knew that her father's fuck rod was even bigger than Joshua's.
"Keep on sucking, cunt," her father growled again, and Caroline was reminded of the way Joshua had commanded her to take his prick in the airplane lavatory.
Caroline wished that she were in bed with her father. She wished that just for this moment she could be Carlotta, naked and writhing between her father's powerful legs, gulping his big fuck rod in hungry, greedy loving mouthfuls.
Simon grabbed Carlotta's head and pulled her completely off his cock. Caroline saw the entire swollen enormity of her father's cock, standing tall and proudly between his legs.
The sight of her father's huge, blood-bloated cock sent shudders of excitement from her heart to her mind and from her mind to her cunt. She felt her nipples stiffen inside the pink negligee, and, instinctively, she groped inside to feel her own body. Her pussy began to manufacture sweet syrup of excitement. She felt a tropical breeze whisper between her thighs, and she felt hot rains oozing from the angelic cloud of her soft blonde bush, flooded by the warm honey dews of her simmering cunt.
She watched her father's thigh muscles as her moved on the bed, marveling at the animal grace of his movements. She saw his heavy balls swinging between his sturdy, hair-covered thighs. Their size and strong masculine appearance amazed her.
She saw Carlotta turn her head slightly, exposing her three-quarters profile to the camera of Caroline's prurient eyes.
There was no doubt about it: Carlotta's face, in a mysterious way of its own, was as gorgeous as it was famous.
"Sit on my cock," She heard her father command the famous and powerful celebrity.
"Simon, please! If I don't get some sleep I'll be a wreck. I'll be unphotographable. Please, I only have two hours left." Carlotta begged.
"I don't give a shit," her father growled. "I'm going to fuck you in the asshole."
"No, Simon! Jesus! You know I don't do that." Carlotta declared.
"Frankly, cunt, I don't give a shit what you do or don't do. You are going to do what I want you to do." Simon said vindictively.
Caroline watched from the terrace as her father seized Carlotta's hips, lifting her struggling body off the bed.
Caroline saw Carlotta's cunt, her thick pubic jungle, her big well-known tits and her thrashing white thighs. Caroline felt volts of electric excitement tingle explosively in her cunt, knowing that her big stud father was going to sodomize the big ass star.
She saw her father stretch Carlotta out on the bed. Carlotta's lay face down on the satin sheets, her face hanging over the foot of the bed.
Simon pressed Carlotta's body down, pushing her hard against the mattress with his masterful hands.
Caroline watched her father mount Carlotta's milky white body. She saw his massive cock sticking out magnificently from his hairy groin as his powerful thighs straddled Carlotta's pinned body.
Simon arched his body, took his cock in his hands and aimed it ruthlessly as the target of Carlotta's asshole.
"I'm going to fuck the literal shit out of you," Simon said, preparing to stab his cock into the woman's shitbox.
Caroline watched in awe, shock and wild envy. She felt her galvanized cunt burn and boil between her lust-trembling thighs. She reached inside her negligee to soothe her clit with her hands. She felt its hot pink flesh button against her inquisitive fingertip, and she bore down on it for the sake of her life. Her finger felt so good on her clit that the pleasure of watching her father shove his cock into Carlotta's ass was doubled.
"Ouch! Oh, Jesus," Carlotta screamed in agony.
And that was only the beginning, Caroline thought to herself, as she watched her father pressing his cock into the woman's shithole.
She could see that her father had managed to insert only the huge swollen head of his tumescent organ. He had many more inches of hard brutal fuck flesh to stab into her tight wounded hole.
"For God's sake, Simon, use some lubricant at least! You're killing me," Carlotta shrieked in pain.
Caroline could see Carlotta grimace, and the sight of the woman's obvious pain made Caroline's blood boil. She felt hot torrents of excitement rush to her cunt, flooding her hole as it flushed her entire body and made her nipples stiffen unbearably inside her pink negligee.
"I don't give a shit if I'm killing you, cunt! Maybe that's what I want. Maybe I want to fuck you to death. Spread you goddam fucking legs!" Simon barked angrily.
Caroline could see clearly through the open door and the parted curtain. She watched her father's enormous cock dig deeper into Carlotta's hot resisting shit box.
Simon pushed his hard rod farther into Carlotta's asshole, and Caroline watched the big beautiful column of hard male flesh disappear. Her father kept ramming into the writhing woman, who was in unbearable agony, but apparently some pleasure as well. Caroline heard Carlotta's moaning voice. It rose and fell in volume, as though she were performing a ballad, a lullaby and a torch number all at once.
"Please, Simon," Caroline heard Carlotta moan over and over, begging him to stop, begging him never to stop.
Caroline watched her father's huge balls rubbing against the prone woman's soft white asscheeks. He had his cock buried all the way in her butt, and Caroline could see him beginning to fuck the helpless woman.
She watched her father's powerful body humping the prostrate woman. His hard hairy buttocks made hammering motions against Carlotta's body, pounding his thick prick into her hot hole.
Her father looked like a beautiful fucking beast, humping the holy hell out of Carlotta's hole. She watched his body, hammering, humping, thrusting the big stiff dick in and out of the warm gooey embrace of Carlotta's fucked ass.
Caroline could hear Carlotta moaning in pain and sighing in shameless pleasure. Obviously the bitch liked it rough and dirty, but was too hypocritical to admit it. Why deny that you like sex messy and shameful, Caroline wondered, why bother to deny the instincts that would win out in the end?
The sounds of her fastly fucking father made Caroline melt in the fires of her desire. She wanted to be Carlotta, just for this blissful minute in time.
She wanted to be giving her father the kind of ecstasy he was enjoying at this minute by the woman who only half wanted to give it to him.
She wanted to be the body, the cunt, the asshole, the mouth, to receive her father's masterful cock. She wanted to be the hole that he humped and filled with his big virile cock. She wanted to be the pair of soft undulant buns that he rubbed his heavy sperm-filled balls against, and she wanted to absorb the hot jets of his cum, the scorching virile seed that had given her life. She wanted to drink her father's sperm from the source of her paternity.
Caroline heard her humping father's loud bestial growls. He was fucking Carlotta hard, pounding his hard meat into her wounded ass, banging her savagely, screwing her hole without love or mercy.
Simon was giving Carlotta's ass a brutal, lossless fuck.
She stroked her clit wildly as she watched her father accelerate the speed of his forceful humping.
She ground her fingers against her needing flesh, stabbing her clit and digging into her juicy, flooding cunt.
She frigged herself quickly, frantically, in utter desperation. She wanted to come at the very moment her father blasted his hot cum load into Carlotta's asshole.
She was close, excruciatingly near. She felt her loins melt like creamy, salty butter, oozing deliriously in the bowl of her cunt. She felt the hot sweet syrup of her pussy dripping from the gash between her legs, Coating her thighs with its simmering honey, glistening on her blonde muff of angel pubis.
Delirious with pleasure, Caroline let the pink negligee fall from her body to the tiles of the terrace.
She stood naked outside her father's bedroom, watching the animalistic movements of her father's savage fucking.
Caroline flicked frantically at her cunt and clit as she watched Simon bang his cock in and out of Carlotta's ass. His balls slapped against her buttocks and thighs as he bucked his body on the bed, pounding the shit of the woman with his huge hard dick.
"AH, FUCK!" she heard her father growl obscenely with ferocious fucking pleasure.
He held his body stiffly by the arms above Carlotta's body, doing pushups as he forced his cock all the way into her hot hole, drew the long length of it out, and then pounded it ferociously back in.
Caroline watched him slam his cock back and forth, in and out, in, in, deep into the dark smelly depths of Carlotta's asshole.
She pressed hard on her young clit, making herself swoon with female joy. She wanted to close her eyes and imagine that she was helpless under her father's thrashing body, that her ass, her cunt, her mouth, her flesh were all receiving his hard huge cock. She wanted to be fucked by her father's great big cock.
But she could not close her eyes. She could take her eyes off the wonderful sight of her father meanly fucking Carlotta, making the bitch suffer the indignity of being savagely sodomized.
"Ah, you cunt! I'm going to shoot in your asshole!" Simon roared, feeling the storm of his orgasm rising to explosive peaks in his huge balls, racing up the hard iron of his cock, thrilling his massive fuck muscle, spreading masculine lust through his body.
Caroline rammed her fingers into her cunt, stabbed her slit, and smashed her body against the wall of the house, grinding her tits against the stucco, feeling the hard rough texture press against her soft breasts and rigid nipples.
Orgasm soared through her boiling blood, burning her coming tissues.
Millions of pleasure volts exploded in her body, killing her with ecstasy.
"AH, FUCK!" She heard her father grown, "I came in your asshole. Jesus!"
Her father was speaking for her too. They had come together. Wonderfully. Simon had splashed his hot cum in Carlotta's ass, and Caroline had exploded on the terrace, getting off incredibly on the sight of her father's hard fucking body.
Caroline heard Carlotta moaning, probably coming herself, Caroline thought grudgingly. Carlotta did not deserve to share pleasure with Caroline and her father.
But let the bitch come, Caroline thought, deciding that Carlotta's fucks with her father were numbered.
Caroline picked up her pink negligee from the terrace, carried it in her hands to her room. She was too lazy to put it on, and too tired.
She fell naked into her bed, utterly exhausted from her sex-filled evening and morning.
She slept like a baby.