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His muscular core driving his cock into her virgin ass
#1
Her cell phone rang. 22 year-old college girl Amanda Day had no idea that by answering it, she would set in motion the chain of events by which she'd give up her anal cherry that very afternoon.

The phone. I don't have time to talk on the phone, I'm late for work, she thought. She didn't bother blow drying her hair, and her only concession to makeup was some lip gloss. She didn't need much more than that to look beautiful, anyway. She was one of those girls who just radiated beauty without trying, and she knew it.

The fourth ring. She glanced at the caller ID and saw that it was her father. Shit, I'd better answer it. He never calls me this early. I wonder what's up? Maybe mom had another one of her panic attacks?

"Daddy, hi. I'm late for work. Is everything ok? Is mom ok?" she said, rushed.

"Everything is more than ok, hon'. Mom is fine. Say, you remember my old college roommate Rich?" He spoke in an excited tone, like he couldn't wait to let her in on some secret.

"Yeah, whenever you guys get together you always cook up enough trouble to make mom roll her eyes. So what's going on? I need to get out of here in four minutes or I'll be late." She looked at the time on her cell phone. Shit, I'll be late if I don't leave in two. The Corolla still needs gas.

"Call in sick. Right now. Just do it. And meet me down at Hal's Boatyard in 30 minutes. We're going on an adventure."

"Dad, I'm not 12 anymore. I need to pay rent. I can't just not work." She looked down at her running shoes. They were getting worn out. She'd need to buy herself another pair soon. Another $75 that she didn't have. Not right now.

"I'll cover you this month, sweetie. Come on, just call in this once. You won't regret it."

"Promise?" she said.

"Double pinky swear promise," said her dad. She could tell by his voice that he was smiling on the other end of the line. I'm not twelve, but sometimes I sure as hell feel like it when he convinces me to do crazy spur of the moment things like this. Rich probably put him up to it.

"Ok dad. I'll see you at the dock in a half hour."

....

Hal's was a fifteen minute drive from her apartment on the Eastern Prom. She crossed the Route 1 bridge into Falmouth, leaving the city behind her, and looked at the small ripples stretching their fingers on the morning waters of Casco Bay. Another perfect Maine summer day. Just like I remember from growing up. What does dad have in store, though? Why'd he tell me to call in sick?

Thick oak branches arched over the narrow road leading down to Hal's Boatyard. She found a free parking spot in the upper lot and walked down the old wooden stairs next to the boathouse. The smell of the salt and seaweed and spilled diesel fuel just felt...right.

Whatever her father had in store for them, it had certainly started the right way. The ocean was a part of her that she didn't think she'd ever be able to leave behind. Maybe she hadn't thought of it at the time, but a big part of why she hadn't accepted the scholarship to UC Boulder was that she couldn't stand the thought of being that far from the ocean. The deep and endless and mercilessly beautiful ocean.

"Hey sport," said Rich. He was leaning against a red Porsche 911 that he'd parked in the cul-de-sac next to the boat launching area with its big blue crane.

"Hi Rich," she said. She was still wearing her sunglasses from the drive over. "What have you and dad got yourselves into this time?" Those guys only get into trouble. And mom seems to put up with it, even when they're both piss drunk and drinking whiskey straight from the bottle with a fire blazing in the back yard. The poor woman.

"Sweetie!" called out her dad. He was walking up from the dock to meet her. His arms and face were tan and he wore a faded Red Sox cap to keep the morning sun out of his eyes. "Wait'll you see what we've got tied up." He had the shit-eating grin of a teenager.

Amanda's eyes scanned the dock. There was the launch, with its scratched white bumpers, still tied up and waiting for its work day to begin, ferrying people to and from their moorings in the harbor. It was still too early for most of the Summer folk to head out on the water. Further down there was the fuel dock. Low-ethanol gas or diesel. Pick your poison. And then further still, there was a boat that could only be described with the 'Y' word, because it sure as well wasn't just a boat. It was the sort of classic motor yacht that looked as though it would have no trouble making the trip down to Florida and the Bahamas and probably further, under the hands of the right skipper. She still didn't know what her dad had planned. And who the hell owns that boat? It's beautiful, but it's huge. The guy who bought that must have a hell of an inferiority complex and deep pockets.

"What do you say, Rich? Do we let her in on it?" said her dad. He looked toward Rich, and the two of them exchanged a knowing glance.

"Now's as good a time as ever," said Rich. He spoke like the college boys Amanda knew from USM. Pretending he wasn't that interested in letting her in on the secret, even though she knew that with the college boys it was all an act. But with Rich she wasn't so sure. He was still leaning against his Porsche. You only saw cars like that in the summer, and even then, not that many people around these parts drove them because they made you stick out like a sore thumb.

Or a flaming red cock, she thought.

"See that beauty tied up there past the fuel island?" said her dad. "That there is Haven's End. Rich just brought her up from Connecticut, and we're taking her up to Vinalhaven for the weekend."

Amanda looked at Rich. "So the the guide business has been going pretty good, huh?" You didn't get money for boats like that by leading glorified hiking trips in New Hampshire, did you? You got it when you were still on the Street, didn't you? When you were figuring out how to rip off grandmothers and pension funds. You done good Rich. You done real good.

Rich had always both disgusted and fascinated her. He was so cocky, so full of himself, and yet, he was also her dad's best friend. There was no getting around the fact that, a few times a year, he and her dad would get together and act like complete foolish assholes and have the best times of their lives all over again. Like they'd never gotten old.

As Amanda got older herself and became a woman,

(say, I'm a woman now. Not daddy's little girl. A woman)

she found that she looked at Rich with a different set of eyes. She didn't really care about the red Porsche, except that it screamed 'I'm a rich ass!' when she saw him standing by it.

No, there was something else. Something she wasn't sure she was supposed to feel. A skip of a heartbeat when she saw that his arms were not just firm, but chiseled. Chiseled tan muscle. There were deep creases in his face from spending time outside in the mountains, scaling sharp walls of granite under sun and rain and snow. His hair was streaked with salt and pepper grey. And that smile. That knowing, mischievous smile. Like he knew something about her.

It's not possible. He can't know that I look at him that way. He can't read my mind. I'm just daddy's little girl to him. What would happen if he actually knew? I think I'd die. I'd have to make dad break up his bromance with him.

....

Rich was at the wheel, taking them out of the harbor and past the Casco Bay islands. The boat, no, the yacht, made a soothing rhythm as it moved through the waves, leaving the harbor behind, keeping the coastline to their left, bringing new islands into view.

Amanda was lying on the bow reading a book, every now and then stealing a glance at the far-off reflections of island house windows, or lobster boats motoring to check their traps. Every now and then she stole a glance at Rich through her sunglasses, although those glances were more discreet. She wasn't interested in him, she told herself. He just happened to be in her line of sight and talking to her dad.

Talking to her dad. Her dad was old. Rich was his college buddy. He was supposed to be old too. But there's something about Rich that makes me feel like I'm not quite in control. He's the one driving the boat. Guiding us North through the waves. And when the wind blows you can see his shirt get plastered to his chest, and that's when you see that his chest is as defined and sculpted as the rest of him. There's no beer gut there. Dad let himself get a little soft. Rich could probably outrun any of the college boys I went with last semester. What are you thinking about, Amanda? What is it that you want from this trip?

Rich waved to Amanda, gesturing for her to make her way back with him in the wheelhouse. Shit, maybe he saw me looking, she thought. She raised her eyebrows and mouthed the word 'ok.' Her cheeks felt hot from the sun.

Is it just the sun, Amanda? Are you feeling hot anywhere else? For a brief moment, Amanda felt herself get flustered, as though she were standing at a high school dance as a freshman waiting for Brad Denton (star of the 440, 220 high hurdles, and high jump) to ask her to dance. Rich is as old as your dad. Don't even go there.

She held onto the rich wooden railing as she walked back to the wheelhouse where Rich and her dad were standing and talking, no doubt, about the kinds of things old college friends talked about when there weren't any girls within earshot. And Amanda realized that she had no idea what those things might be. Not really.

"Hey hon', Rich says there's a great little cove at that island up there where we can drop anchor and take ourselves a little break. You game for that? We'll still make it to Vinalhaven before nightfall. We can test out our land legs for a few minutes. " Her dad pointed to a small island that didn't look too far away. Maybe 15 minutes at the speed they were moving now.

Sounds like they've already made up their minds. Might as well go along with it. The trip's been pretty nice so far. But she felt a knot inside her, something in the pit of her stomach that told her that there was another reason for stopping at that island. They were keeping something from her. But what?

....

After having skippered the big boat, Rich told Amanda's dad Bill that it was his turn to drive. The three of them just barely fit into the little zodiac inflatable, but they motored in from where they'd anchored in the deep water and Amanda could see the patches of seaweed and kelp growing on the jagged rocks under them.

"You don't ever want to cross over those rocks with anything bigger than one of these," said Rich. "Your hull would get holed up pretty quickly if you did." He looked toward the beach ahead, his eyes squinting a little in the glare. The sun was higher now.

Amanda was the first to step out. She had pulled off her shoes and stepped barefoot into the cold water. Maine water never seemed to get warm, even in the Summer. Rich followed behind her, and he and her dad pulled the zodiac up on the beach. She walked in front of them, up to a twisted grey old piece of driftwood that had been sitting in the sun for God knows how long.

This is when I'm supposed to go collecting shells or skipping rocks. Just daddy's girl with the two guys. But I can't help but think what would happen if Rich and I got a moment alone and then he asked me if he could--

"Hey Amanda, roast beef or turkey?" said Rich. "We got sandwich stuff. Figured we could make ourselves a bite to eat."

Forget it. Sounds like sandwiches and seashells it is, thought Amanda. Even if I wanted something to happen, and there's no chance in hell of that, we'd never get a moment alone. Dear old dad, always there when you want him.

The three of them ate, sitting on the smooth round rocks of the beach and not taking that much time to make small talk. It wasn't the sort of place where you talked much anyway, because if you stopped to listen you'd hear the waves trying to tell you something every time they came ashore. Like they had their secrets too.

" Hey you two, I almost forgot, we have a bottle of Jack back on board. Anyone care for a sip?" said her dad. He raised his eyebrows and looked at Amanda, as if that might convince her that she wanted to start drinking the hard stuff at one in the afternoon.

"I'm pretty good," said Amanda. I know this is an adventure and all, but do you have to start drinking now? Really?

"I'd take a sip or two," said Rich.

(Here they go again.)

"Great, be right back," said Bill. She watched him get to the slippery rocks near the inflatable and drag the boat into the water. He jumped in and started the engine on the first pull. In a moment he was on his way. And despite his assurances, he wouldn't be coming back to get them for another hour.

....

Amanda's father had been around boats all his life. He knew them inside and out. He was as home on the water as Amanda's mother was in the kitchen. It just seemed that he fit there. So it was perfectly natural to go on a trip up the coast, spur of the moment, all cares thrown to the wind. And it was perfectly natural, once they got underway and it was just him and Rich talking in the wheelhouse about old times, for Rich to bring up Amanda. Amanda, who was reading her book on the bow and had no idea what the hell they were talking about.

He thought about his conversation with Rich as he motored to the empty yacht anchored a few hundred yards away from the rocky shore of the little island. He didn't look back. Couldn't. He knew what was going to happen and a part of him felt sick to his stomach, but he'd gone through with it anyway.

Bill ran the painter of the inflatable to a cleat on Haven's End and made a quick figure-8 with a half hitch. He glanced at his watch. He'd promised Rich one hour. Just an hour, goddamnit, and already I feel that I've sold my soul and crossed a line where I can't ever go back.

Rich never said much with his eyes (he was a hell of a poker player), but if you'd known him for as long as Amanda's father Bill had, you could usually see where he was going with things. Had Rich been planning this all along? Had it started when he'd made that offhand comment as they were motoring out of the harbor? 'She sure is a fine looking woman now, Bill. Fine looking.' And for a second I was as proud as can be, until Rich opened his mouth again and brought up Emily Foster.

Emily was a memory Bill almost never revisited, if only out of respect for Amanda's mother. It had happened on the third floor of Moore Hall, freshman year. He and Rich had joked and teased and cajoled and charmed Emily Foster until, finally, she agreed that it just might be a very college thing to do to sleep with two cute boys.

Rich would have gone for the threesome, but I held back for some reason. I wanted her for myself, I guess. So we took turns. We flipped a coin and Rich got heads so I stood outside that flimsy door and listened while the two of them did their best to tear apart that old mattress. And when it was my turn, Emily just smiled and kissed me and it was a lot quieter, but she was still beautiful to me and I remember how she smelled when I kissed her neck.

But Rich was talking about Amanda. My Amanda. A fine woman, yes, but I'm her protector. Her father. Would I dare? For Rich?

And Bill suddenly found himself in a place that he knew he could never explain to his wife or to Amanda. His loyalty to Rich ran deep, he knew that. But Rich was about to get him to understand how deep.

"Being your friend, and all, I know this might sound a little strange, but I'm going to ask your permission, if she's willing, to have a turn with Amanda." Rich had just come out and said it, the way Bill might expect a young man to ask him for permission to have her hand in marriage. Except that there was nothing noble in Rich's request. He wanted to fuck Amanda, 'that fine looking woman.'

I should cold cock him right now, just hit him so hard he doesn't ever ask me a question like that again, But I can't. And I won't. Rich is my best friend. Why haven't I said 'no' yet? I can't fucking believe I haven't said 'hell no' yet. What the hell kind of a father am I, anyway? Just giving my daughter up like she was another girl for Rich to collect in his trophy case. I can't believe I'm saying this--

"Are you seriously asking me what I think you're asking?" said Bill.

"I wouldn't kid around with something like this Bill, I just thought that, she being your daughter and all, I'd at least do you the courtesy of asking for permission." Rich didn't betray the slightest bit of discomfort while he spoke. It was as though he already knew that he'd get his away, because bonds of friendship can become stronger than bonds of blood, if you're not careful.

I took his words and the father in me wanted to hit him with everything I had and throw him overboard. And the part of me that was his best friend just said, hey, she's a woman now. She can make her own decisions. And better Rich than some guy I don't even know at all, right? If I told him 'yes', I knew that I'd feel like dirt for the rest of my life for giving up my daughter so easily. And if I said 'no?' Well, I wasn't exactly sure, but it might...change things. And I wasn't ready for that either. Rich was my link to my pre-marriage and responsibility self. I couldn't just shut that door.

Bill had asked Rich how long he needed. Rich said that he figured an hour would be long enough if anything was going to happen. And then Amanda had walked back to the wheelhouse and they didn't mention anything about Rich's request.

....

"You should follow me, I know about a great spot on this little piece of rock." Rich grinned as if he already knew she'd say yes.

"What if dad gets back--"

"He's a big boy. He'll survive. Come on, you'll love it."

"This is the hiking guide in you, isn't it?" Amanda cast a skeptical look at him.

"You only wish, sweetheart. If I were doing this for money you'd already have bagged four peaks today. Now come on, I promise you'll love this. It's a little outcrop of rock called Tip Toe mountain."

Amanda followed Rich up a narrow forest path. The short trees next to them had the branches bent away from the prevailing winds as if they'd been frozen that way during a winter storm and never thawed out. It wasn't more than two hundred feet to the top of the rock. They climbed hand over hand, and for a moment Amanda felt fear. What if I were to lose my grip right now? Which of those rocks below would claim my life? Stop. You can't think like that. But if you did slip, if a loose piece of quartz broke off and your foot slipped right now--"

"Here, grab my hand." It was Rich. She looked up and saw his hand. "Climbing can give some folks a touch of vertigo." Amanda took his hand, and as he touched her, pulling her upward, she felt a brief shudder. Her nipples hardened.

"It's not much of a mountain, but just look at what you can take in," he said.

It was magnificent, she thought. On one side, you could look at the coastline the way an outsider might when seeing it for the first time, wondering where in all its jagged undulations you might find a safe harbor for the night. And on the other side, you had the wide open Atlantic. Vast and cold and endless from her vantage point.

Amanda shivered. The ocean's Summer wind wasn't cold, but it wasn't warm, either. She looked at her arms and saw the raised gooseflesh.
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#2
"Step down here," said Rich. "This little nook is right out of the wind."

She jumped off a large boulder to an area with soft matted grass. If this were a bed, I'd let him take me right here, fill me up and fuck me because now I'm a woman and his arms would grab my hips and hold me still while his cock explored deep into my tight pussy. But that can't happen. He's Rich. You don't sleep with your dad's best friend. It's wrong. So much of that would be wrong.

It's hard to say when exactly their eyes locked. But they did. And then, there was a moment of recognition. Of mutual attraction. Knowing that, for the first time today, they were alone where no one could hear or see them. Amanda thought she could feel his desire without laying a hand on his body (or looking at his crotch). She knew that he wanted her. She looked away.

"You don't need to hide from it, Amanda. You know you're beautiful. I know it." Rich's voice was comforting and deep.

She closed her eyes for a moment and felt a rising in her chest and a hot sensation between her legs. His hand reached for her hair and stroked it. Her eyes were still closed.

"Come here, Amanda."

She opened her eyes. Took tentative steps toward him. Rich admired her lithe runner's legs, toned and slim and defined by the miles she put into the pavement five days a week. As she moved toward him her thoughts raced. Losing control. I'm not the one driving now. He is. And I'm not stopping him. I'm not stopping him because...I want it too.

They kissed, and Amanda's hand moved to his face, already rough from the afternoon stubble. The moment started spinning in her head. I can't believe we're doing this. Rich, my dad's best friend! She felt intoxicated -- succumbing to him, his cocky charm, his power over her.

Just let go, Amanda. It's ok to let him take control. You like it. You like it very much.

She laid down on the matted grass and looked up at him. Her eyes said "I'm ready." Rich looked down at her auburn hair falling so casually to the side of the soft skin of her face and felt himself overwhelmed by the desire to be with her. To be inside her. He put both hands around her waist and gently, oh so very gently, pulled down her short shorts.

She wasn't wearing any panties. Her pussy was still empty, aching for him. She rubbed her legs together in anticipation and watched as he bent down on his knees between her legs. Then she turned her eyes away from him. Nerves maybe. She didn't usually let guys go down on her. Rich sensed her hesitation and kissed the insides of her thighs, treating all of her as the object of his desire. And it was true. He wasn't after just another pussy, just another cheap lay to get a release. No, he could get pussy whenever he wanted it. This was about more than pussy -- this was about Amanda. For just that one hour, he wanted all of her.

She moaned when his tongue found her delicate flesh. She felt the pleasure induce a shudder in her core as he found her labia, and then her clit, with his tongue. He took her in as though her pussy were a rare delicacy -- flick and flash, side to side, up and down and around, smoothness here, deep hot wetness there, and that deep musk (of which Amanda was embarrassed) which only served to harden his desire to possess her. His unfamiliar tongue brought her pleasure she'd never experienced before -- the closest she had come to it was masturbating with a vibrator that she'd gotten from her friend Tina as a gag gift for her birthday. Having Rich's mouth on her cunt was something else, something entirely removed from the world of mechanically induced, battery-driven robot pleasures.

She let out deep moans. Rich ran his rough hands over her breasts and pinched her nipples just hard enough to make her shiver from the sensation. He'd already taken off his pants, and she could see his hard-on, his well-proportioned prick. He'd fucked women as old as mom with that cock, thought Amanda. He had...experience. It made her crave him even more; she wanted him to enter her pussy and fuck her and lead her away from rational thought into bliss.

She watched as he took a small bottle of lube out of his pocket.

"Get on all fours Amanda," he said. His voice was calm. She didn't know what he had in mind, but now the only thought she had was to follow his voice, as though it were a flashlight guiding her through a dark room. She did as he said and it made her feel so --

exposed. My ass is up in the air and my pussy is aching for him. Can't he please just fuck me now? I need him to fuck me now.

Amanda looked toward the matted grass on the ground, waiting, every nerve ending in her body primed for that exquisite moment when the imagination and reality collide. She heard him squirting lube, plift, out of a small container (where did that come from?) and imagined it coating his cock. Then she felt --

fingers. He's massaging my ass. No, not just my ass, but around my asshole. Oh my god, no one's ever done that before. She let out a small whimper as she felt one finger push against her, and as she inhaled her body yielded. He's fingering my asshole. Amanda moaned.

"You're a beautiful woman now, Amanda," said Rich. "Not just daddy's little girl anymore. I'm going to ask you to keep your eyes closed and start touching your pussy. Touch it just the way you do when you're by yourself at night and no one is around to hear you come. Can you do that?"

"Y-y-yes. But, I'm, I-I'm afraid."

"I'll be gentle with you Amanda," he said. "If you need me to stop--"

"No," she said. "Please, don't stop."

I'm afraid, afraid I'll be torn right open if he fucks my ass with his cock, but I don't want him to stop. I must be fucking crazy right now. What the hell has come over me?

She kept touching herself, feeling his fingers gently probe and massage her body in a place she'd never dared explore. And as she did so, she felt herself...enjoying it. Maybe one finger isn't enough, she thought. Maybe I am an ass whore, just like the girls in those online porn movies all the college boys (and dad?) watch who fuck cocks, hell, fuck anything, for fame and money.

"More," whispered Amanda.

"What's that?" said Rich. "I'm not sure I hear you." He had a look on his face that was almost—smug. As though he knew that Amanda would beg for what he had to give her. "That's all right, baby doll. I have more where that came from."

She felt more pressure, then a slight pain as she widened to accept his offering. She found herself pushing her ass back around him as he pushed a second finger into her. Her control withered even further as she realized that this, this was one of those sexual acts she never thought she'd dare attempt because it was too--

taboo. I never tried this because good upstanding New England women don't allow themselves to be fucked in the ass. They don't fuck their daddy's best friends. And certainly they don't do both at the same time.

She heard the sound of the lube once again (pfft, pfft), and as she turned around she saw that he was greasing up his shaft. He was grinning at her, and that twinge of fear came back. It wasn't just the size of his cock that worried her. Maybe it was the slight darkening she saw in his eyes. As though he was finished playing nice and now, now they were going to get down to some nasty business. She was afraid of him and wanted him at the same time.

If only he were fucking my pussy. That would feel nice too, I'm sure. But now I want to know, what does it feel like to have a man, to have Rich, slide his cock up my ass? My virgin ass, no less?

"I'm not sure Rich, you're so big, and I don't know. Maybe this is too much. I mean--"

"I'm a man of my word, Amanda. If you want to stop we can stop right now. We'll hike right down this rock and walk onto that beach like nothing happened at all. Is that what you want?"

It's my choice. If I say yes, I'll be the one who invited him inside my back door. There's no deflecting this one. If I say yes, whatever happens next is at least 51% my fault. Is that something I'm ready to live with? Do I want this? She looked at Rich, his magnificent hard-on and finely sculpted rock climber's physique reminding her of a painting, something she might have seen back in school during her art classes, an image of the warrior ready for battle. And she didn't know whether she'd be his opponent or his lover. Maybe she'd be both. There was--

only one way to find out. Say yes and be the whore. Say yes and be the whore. Say yes and be the whore. Say yes.

Amanda didn't need to speak her reply to Rich. She gave her signal through a not so subtle demonstration of body language. In yoga they might call it the 'dirt star to the sky pose.' She presented her ass to him like a sacrificial offering. The desire to have him inside her, to strip her of that piece of her dignity, outweighed her fear of the unknown, her fear of the monster cock that could split her in two and send her screaming in pain. She wanted him more.

"That's good," said Rich. He was right behind her now. His calm voice had returned. She felt his cock press against her ass, and then, slowly, she felt him slide inside. She winced. But the pain lasted only for a brief second, and then she felt a sense of being full, of having given herself to him completely. And that was when she found herself rocking her hips, back and forth, feeling a pleasure build inside her that she didn't even know existed.

"Relax and touch that clit, baby," he said. He seemed to be measuring his thrusts, as though he knew just how long he could extend that moment before he, too, would no longer be able to hold himself back.

She put two fingers to her clit in that old practiced way that girls never tell their mothers and fathers they know. The first wave of orgasm came like a wave that you don't expect at the beach, a wave that doesn't rise up to consume you until it's almost too late to run out of the breaking surf. And as Amanda stared into the eye of that wave she asked it to take her. She was ready for it to wash over her, through her.

"Oh my god, oh--" said Amanda.

She wanted to speak, to tell Rich to keep fucking her ass because it was the hottest, dirtiest thing she'd ever felt, but she was incapable of doing so. It was all too much, too overwhelming for her to process. All she could do was follow him. Do what he asked.

"Oh god, oh oh oh oh --oh ahhh--" she said. Her back arched and stiffened, and Rich took a handful of her hair and held her chin up, exposing her neck to the wind, making her aware of her vulnerability. Rich was above her, his muscular core driving his cock into her ass. Her nipples were so hard that she could feel them rubbing raw against her t-shirt as he fucked her.

The tremors and convulsions brought her to that great dark, unknowing place of ecstasy. While she thought she'd approached the edges of that strange land before, she'd never felt so thoroughly consumed by it. It was like being thrust into the darkest night she'd ever seen.

....

She and Rich walked back to the beach together. Amanda wasn't sure how long they had been gone. Her father was back on shore, his back to them, sitting on the rocks watching the waves roll in.

Just then the words of the Otis Redding song came to her--

Sittin' on the dock of the bay,

Watchin' the tide roll away, ooh

But there was no dock here. The waves had gotten larger with the passing of the afternoon. Her father had pulled the inflatable further up the beach to keep it from getting swept away.

Amanda watched as her father took a long pull from the bottle of Jack that he'd retrieved from Haven's End. She was still daddy's little girl. That would never change. But now she and Rich had a--

secret. Dad can never find out. Not from me. Not from Rich. Not in a million years.
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