The Bahamian island of Eleuthera is a saber-shaped spit of
glistening white coral sand in the crystalline waters of the Caribbean
Sea. One can get there by boat or by plane. It was on such a shuttle
flight from Nassau that Davie Knight sat and breathlessly looked out of
the narrow window on December 20th. The sixteen year old kept knotting
a silk scarf between her hands, a gesture which could not escape the
watchful notice of the striking older blonde woman who sat next to her.
The twin-engine plane was small and claustrophobic. There was nothing
but a sparkling expanse of transparent blue sea below them. Perhaps
she’s frightened, the woman was thinking to herself as she surveyed the
luscious fresh-faced teen, whose long, glossy sable brown hair hung past
her pert up-thrust young breasts that were demurely hidden behind a navy
blue cardigan sweater. An emblem sewn to tile sweater pocket identified
the girl as a student at one of the chic New York City parochial schools
for rich girls.
The young girl’s large hazel eyes had an apprehensive look, and
from time to time, she would bite her full, sensuous lower lip. Color
flushed the girl’s smooth cheeks, though she wore no makeup. Nor did
she need any. Hers were the vital and strikingly delineated features of
the natural beauty.
By contrast, the older blonde woman next to her had artfully used
the best cosmetics to embellish her sophisticated good looks. Subtle
blue eye shadow and contrasting deep blue liner, plus a generous
application of rich black mascara added depth and intensity to her
bright blue eyes. Blusher and bronzes augmented an unexplainable sun tan
in the middle of winter, a sun tan which was apparent on the woman’s
smooth thighs and arms when she removed her lightweight jacket. A
clinging beige knit mini-dress did little to hide her ample braless
breasts, whose firm nipples showed pointedly under the fabric.
The blonde studied the preoccupied teenager for a long moment,
looking intently at her face, and then up and down the length of her
body, almost the way a man would. Her eyes narrowed, and she
involuntarily flicked her tongue out to lick her coral lips
salaciously. Then the moment passed, and her expression became one of
friendly concern as she gently tugged at the teenager’s sleeve and said,
“Excuse me.”
She waited until the startled girl turned to her. She’s nervous as
hell, the blonde thought. With a warm and reassuring smile, the woman
asked, “I didn’t mean to startle you, but I was wondering if I could
answer any questions or just be of help. I’ve flown this hop so many
times.”
Davie’s eyes widened. She seemed reassured. “You have?” she asked
breathlessly.
“Oh yes. I’m a stewie. But this time I’m deadheading. This is my
vacation. Are you on a school holiday . . . all by yourself?” she
probed.
“Well, sort of. My father is meeting me though I’ll be staying
with him ”
The blonde concealed her momentary disappointment. “Oh, how nice.
Does he have a house on Eleuthera?”
Actually, it’s a resort. French Leave.”
The blonde brightened visibly. “What a coincidence! That’s where
I’ll be staying, too! So Peter Knight is your father!”
“You know Daddy?” the girl asked with surprise.
“Not personally, of course. But this is my third visit to French
Leave. I absolutely love it. There’s no place quite like it, don’t you
think? And your father is in a class by himself, too. He has to be one
of the most attractive men in the world. Matter of fact, you look a lot
like him. You certainly have his eyes, and his coloring, and the same
kind of mouth . . . full and well-shaped.” (She had almost said
“sensual” but thought better of it. Down girl, she had reminded
herself. Not yet. Not yet.)
Davie blushed, “Everyone says that Daddy and I look alike. It
makes my mother furious. You’d never know I was her daughter at all!”
Davie giggled mischievously. She was obviously delighted by the affront
to her mother which the blonde quickly picked up on. She pressed her
inquiry.
“It’s a good thing your mother isn’t here right now, isn’t it?” the
blonde said with a between-us-girls look on her face. She punctuated it
with a broad, sparkling smite, which put Davie further at ease.
“Wow! You can say that again!” Davie agreed, answering the smile
with eyes heavenward in an expression of relief. “It’s a good thing she
isn’t here for a lot of reasons!”
“But will she be meeting you, with your father?” the blonde
inquired casually.
“Good grief, no! She’s back in New York, in her precious little
world of tea parties, shopping sprees and charity balls. Yeeehhhck!”
Davie said emphatically. “My parents have been divorced for three
years.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, uh . . .
“Davie.”
“What a beautiful name. It suits you perfectly,” the blonde cooed.
“I’m Trish Byers, Davie.”
“Happy to meet you, Miss Byers. Everybody calls me Davie.
Everyone except my mother . . .
“Oh please–please call me Trish. You make me feel a hundred and
fifty years old when you say Miss Byers!”
“I’m sorry . . . Trish I didn’t mean that at all. You’re
beautiful. It’s just that at school they make us call everyone over
twenty Miss or Mister. Force of habit, you know,” Davie answered shyly.
“Well that’s one habit you can break right now–at least while
you’re on vacation. We’ll be in Paradise in about twenty minutes. Then
it’s off with the school clothes and into the bikini for you! You do
have a bikini, don’t you?”
“Yes! Mummy sent me off with some square one-piece suit I wouldn’t
be caught dead in. That’s typical of her. But the first thing I did
when I got off the plane at Nassau was run to the neatest shop and buy
myself a skimpy little hot pink number that’s just a lot of strings
crocheted together. Mummy would have a stroke if she knew!” Davie
giggled girlishly again.
Trish grinned back in a conspiratorial way. “Good for you, honey
it sounds as though ‘mummy’ is a little straight laced.”
Davie threw back her hands and brought them down on her thighs
emphatically. “Ohhh! You wouldn’t believe it! She is the most super
uptight, most hypocritical person in the whole world! She makes my life
so miserable.”
“But she is letting you come all the way to Eleuthera by yourself
for Christmas. That doesn’t seem like something an uptight mother would
do,” Trish ventured.
“Because she had to. The judge made her do it. She would never
have let me see my father otherwise. She didn’t want me to see him ever
again!” said Davie, and a look of distress crossed her lovely face.
“How long has it been, honey?”
“Three years! I was thirteen when Daddy left. I cried for a whole
month. Mummy hated me for that, and it made her hate him more. She
thought I’d forget about him and that he’d forget about me. But it
didn’t work that way. At least, I haven’t forgotten him.
Trish reached over and placed a warm hand on the teen’s knee and
patted it consolingly. Now she knew the reason for the scarf knotting
and the fidgeting at the window. It wasn’t the plane ride, it was Daddy
Davie she was worried about. Three years is a long time to be separated
from anyone.
“It’s going to be fine, just fine, Davie. After a few hours, it’ll
seem like your dad never went away. You’re going to love French Leave.
Everything is so beautiful, and everyone is so relaxed. You won’t want
to go back.”
“Do you really think so, Trish? I mean, about Dad and me? I know
I won’t want to go back I never want to go back to that . . . that
bitch!”
Trish raised a carefully plucked eyebrow. “That’s a pretty strong
word, Davie, Is it ready that bad?”
“I hate her,” Davie said levelly. “She’s made me go to that
horrible school all these years–that ghetto for nice girls from good
families, quote unquote. It’s a prison. And she won’t let me go out
with boys or have parties at home. Yet she has parties! I’m not
supposed to know what goes on. We have this huge place, a condominium.
Lots of rooms. My ‘quarters’ are off at one end, but I’ve seen a lot!
I know what goes on. Mummy and her arty little fag decorator friends
and swishy hairdressers. It makes me want to puke.”
“I can’t imagine any woman letting a man like your father go …”
offered Trish, hoping for more juicy details from the innocent girl.
“That’s just it–he’s a real man. Mummy doesn’t want a real man
around. She has to wear the pants in the family.”
“And your father obviously wants a real woman, doesn’t he?”
“Sure. That’s why he couldn’t take it any more. I think Mummy was
emasculating him, not treating him like a man; not giving him the love
and affection and . . . well, you know what I mean,” Davie added shyly.
“Sex?”
“Exactly. They had separate bedrooms. That went on for almost a
year. My father started coming home later and later from the office.
He and my mother rarely even talked to each other. Yet she insisted
that he had to go to all the stupid charity balls and parties, put on a
front for their friends. One day he came home and packed all his things
and left a long letter for me and a two word note for my mother. She
never got over that blow to her pride. Even though she got
everything–the apartment the beach house on Long island, the car–and
custody of me she has kept punishing him in every way she could. But
she’s punished me, too, by not letting me see him for three years.
She’s done everything she could to turn me against him, and it’s only
made me love him more and resent her.”
“That really wasn’t very smart of her, or fair at all, trying to
turn you against your father. But she’s obviously very bitter,” Trish
offered sympathetically.
“Really. But so am I. And I’m scared, too. I mean, what if Daddy
doesn’t want to be bothered with me? I know he’s very busy and I might
be in the way and . . .”
“Nonsense! Your father loves you very much, I know. This is
probably the best thing that’s happened to him in three years, Davie,”
Trish said in her most sincere, maternal manner as she once more placed
her haled on the lovely girl’s and squeezed it reassuringly. But
inwardly she was thinking about the lucky women Peter Knight must have
screwed to ecstasy with his beautiful cock. She envied the women who
had felt his fiery hot cum in their pussies; the women who had felt his
beautiful wet mouth and tongue in their cunts, licking and sucking them
to the heights of cunnilingual rapture. She felt her own cuntal juices
begin to ooze into her panties, and her clitoris throbbed with
excitement. But she forced herself to maintain a masque of sympathetic
and conciliatory interest. She wanted to be damned sure she didn’t blow
her game before she got a chance to blow Peter Knight’s hard cock! Then
there was his sweet, virginal and oh-so-appealing daughter. Trish had
plans for her, too. Big, juicy plans! “Everything is going to work out
just fine, Davie I know it will.”
“Do you really think so, Trish? Do you?” the girl asked anxiously.
“I know so. There’s not a thing to worry about. You and your
daddy will get along just great. And I’ll be there. You and I can do
fun things together when your dad’s working. And there’ll be someone
else who might be fun for you . . .”
“Someone else? Who?” the teenager asked, her clear hazel eyes
growing wider.
“My kid brother, Randy. He’s 19. He’s meeting me at the airport.
He works for the Pan Am radar installation on the island. He’s lots of
fun.
“Does Randy know my father?”
“A little. It’s a small island, you know. And there aren’t that
many whites. So everybody sort of knows everybody else. Randy lives at
the base on the other end of the island, with a bunch of other guys.
I’m based in Nassau, but I come to Eleuthera every chance I get.”
“That’s why you’ve got such a great tan, I guess. I’m so white and
yucky looking, I’ll have to hide out for a couple of days until I get
toasted!”
The pilot’s gravely voice interrupted on the intercom, “Ladies and
gentlemen, we are approaching the landing field. Please be sure your
seat belts are securely fastened and extinguish all smoking material
until you are outside the field gates. We hope you enjoy your stay in
Eleuthera. Thanks for being aboard.”
Davie peered out the plane window. Her hands gripped the arm
rests. Trish Byers patted tile pretty brunette’s arm gently. “Don’t
worry, honey. Everything’s going to work out fine just fine!”

* * *

Among the dozen or so spectators who watched the small aircraft
touch down on the strip was a man who stood out by virtue of his proud,
straight bearing, his aura of confidence and his devastating good
looks. Peter Knight was a man who would be noticed anywhere. His body
was firm and muscular, without an ounce of excess fat. His white slacks
were impeccably tailored and the navy blue polo shirt he wore
accentuated his broad chest and ample biceps. He was a youthful forty,
a man with the features of Paul Newman, except that his eyes were hazel
and his dark brown wavy hair was only slightly streaked with strands of
gray. He was deeply tanned, and had acquired little laugh lines around
his deep-set eyes. He smiled readily, showing strong and even white
teeth. How different was his expression now from the one Davie
remembered when she had seen him last three long years ago. In those
days, Peter Knight was a successful commodity broker with a seat on the
New York Stock Exchange. He was harried and depressed usually, the
sunny side of his nature occluded by a bad marriage and what he called
the “New York rat race’–both of which he wanted out of. He had always
dreamed of opening his own resort, but Davie’s mother wouldn’t hear of
it. She wanted the prestige,
the financial security, the social life that went with being a
successful broker’s wife, though she had plenty of family money of her
own and didn’t have to rely upon his income for the lavish and pointless
lifestyle that ensnared them. It took guts to make the break, but Peter
Knight felt that, except for Davie, leaving New York was the best think
he had ever done. The resort was an immediate success. He always had
tile Midas touch for financial ventures. But he was apprehensive about
his little girl. What would she be like now? Would he be able to
handle her? Had three years of her mother’s poison gotten to her after
all? Her letters were warm and loving. Still, he had to acknowledge
that they really didn’t know each other very well. They were both
living with fantasies and memories of the past. She was sixteen now; a
teenager. Christ, he didn’t know a damned thing about teenagers . . .
especially a sixteen year old girl!
Twelve passengers descended the metal stairs from the twin-engine
plane. Peter Knight’s heartbeat quickened as he spotted the shy and
stunning young girl who walked in the company of a flashy blonde he
recognized as a previous guest at the resort. She was a stewardess, a
hot number who had made overtures to him in the past. But he was very
cautious about getting involved with his paying clients. It was too
risky for a lot of reasons.
He went to the girls, a big appealing grin on his face. His manner
was smooth and straightforward but his palms were damp.
“Davie! How are you, sweetheart?” he said as he rushed to embrace
his daughter. Her sunny, angular little girl’s body had been
transformed into the soft, round curves of a young woman. He could feel
the warmth of her firm globular breasts against his chest as he hugged
her. Her glossy, sable hair was fragrant with a clean herb scent, like
wild grasses in a field. It was longer than before, framing her
beautiful young face whose clear, hazel eyes shone moistly from tears of
emotion.
“Oh Daddy, Daddy! I thought I’d never see you again!” Davie
cried. She was almost sobbing now.
Peter Knight held his daughter closely for another long moment, a
moment which was fraught with unvoiced emotion. Then he was conscious
of the smiling blonde who was observing them from just a few feet away.
She had the same faintly predatory look that had raised a red flag in
his mind when he had seen her before. But he had to admit that she was
a good-looking broad all right, with the best pair of legs he had ever
seen. And boobs that jutted out like ripe melons aching to be plucked.
She must have fucked a thousand guys, he thought to himself. I’ll bet
she’s one hellulva piece of ass.
He extended his hand to Trish, “I’m Peter Knight. I think we’ve
met at French Leave.”
Davie interjected excitedly. “Oh excuse me, Trish, Daddy, this is
my friend, Trish Byers. She’s stayed with you before. She’s a
stewardess with Pan Am.”
He overlooked the innocent faux pas. “Yes, I recognize Miss Byers
as one of our guests. Nice to see you again, Miss Byers.”
“Daddy don’t call her Miss Byers. That makes her feel old. She
wants to be called Trish.”
The blonde grinned with embarrassment, but she gave him a practiced
provocative look.
“Can we give you a ride, Trish?” Peter Knight offered.
“Thank you, but I’m being met by my brother.” She looked around
then and a glint of recognition crossed her face as she caught sight of
a shaggy haired youth who was leaning casually against a red MG
convertible. Trish waved at the boy, who made no move to approach.
When Knight turned around, he recognized the boy as a frequent visitor
to the resort bar. He thought it strange that the youth did not come
forward.
As though divining his thoughts, Trish quickly added, “Randy’s very
shy. But you’ll meet him. Well, Davie, I’ll see you later, OK?”
“Right, Trish. And thanks for everything.”
The blonde winked at the school girl. “There’s nothing to thank me
for. That’s what friends are all about.”

* * *

Once they were settled in the sleek silver Porsche and heading down
the road toward French Leave, Peter Knight and his daughter began to
relax in each other’s company a bit. There is something permissive and
seductive about a Caribbean Island, particularly one like Eleuthera,
where the brilliant semi-tropical sun and the absence of pressure invite
one to shed cares, clothing and convention. This was Peter Knight’s
home ground now, and he assumed the role of confident host and tour
guide–though the principal charm of Eleuthera is the absence of
commerce and people such commerce attracts. Indeed, French Leave is the
only tourist attraction. There isn’t much to “see” except the
coral-studded sea and several miles of pristine, white coral sand dotted
with lush tropical vegetation.
Davie couldn’t get over the contrast between Eleuthera, where the
temperature was 78 degrees and they passed only a few Bahamian natives
along the road and an occasional car, and New York City, where the
temperature had been a bone-chilling 27, and the thousands of faces that
passed her were all uniformly gray and cheerless. She pulled off her
sweater and slithered down in the black leather seat of her father’s
sports car, letting the warm island breeze blow her shining dark hair
away from her face. She closed her eyes and let the hot sun beat on her
smooth fair skin, feeling as though the weight of the world had been
lifted from her young shoulders. Peter Knight stole a glance at his
little girl, noting again how much of a woman she had become in three
years. Her full ripe breasts strained against her prim white blouse.
She had kicked off her shoes and socks and her bare legs were smooth and
slender beneath her pleated shirt. He had to remind himself that Davie
was no longer a child and he couldn’t treat her as one now. He also had
to remind himself that she was his daughter.
“Did you have a nice chat with Trish Byers?” he suddenly asked.
Davie opened her eyes and looked at her father, “Oh yes, Daddy. She’s
so understanding. Really a nice woman. And so pretty, too. She’s a
dish!”
“Yes, Miss Byers is quite attractive. But I’m sure she knows that.”
“She thinks you’re quite something yourself.”
“Ohhh?” Knight reacted with surprise, though he knew that the
stewardess seemed to have the hots for him. But he felt she probably
had the hots for most men; she seemed like the kind of woman who
couldn’t get enough cock. That’s what he didn’t like about her. He
liked a woman who was more selective, who was harder to get. There was
no challenge with a dame like Trish Byers–except to keep your pants
up! Still, she could probably give a guy the fuck of his life. She was
one hot cunt all right. As for her “brother,” Peter didn’t like tile
cut of the kid’s jib. He doubted that tile mop-haired youth really was
her brother, though he might he. He didn’t want his tender daughter
mixed up with either of them, though he didn’t know how to tell Davie
that without arousing suspicion in her mind. Besides, the kid had had
enough controls from her bitch mother. He wasn’t about to start putting
clamps on her the minute she arrived. He would see to it that every
moment would be beautiful and memorable for Davie. He knew now that he
wanted her with him always. He desperately hoped that she would want
that too.

* * *

About a mile behind, a red MG was cruising along the two-lane road
with its two blonde passengers. Randy Ferris sat behind the wheel of
the sports car, his faded skin-tight jeans showing a huge bulge in the
crotch where his rock-hard cock was straining to be free of its denim
prison. It had grown to gargantuan proportions under the skillful and
incessant manipulations of the blonde stewardess beside him. His brown
hand was under her beige miniskirt and he was massaging the wet slit of
her pussy with his middle finger.
“Geezus, baby, you’re hot as a pistol. You must not have been
gettin’ it more than six times a day lately,” he wisecracked.
“I’ve had a run of bummers, honey. Besides, you know how I feel
about your prick, lover. There’s just nobody who can do me like my li’l
ol’ baby brother.”
“Yeah. But you keep tryin’, don’tcha? I saw how you came on to
Knight–and his kid. You’d like a taste of that stuff, wouldn’t you?”
Randy said, looking at her with a cocksure smirk on his lean, handsome
face.
“You don’t miss a trick, do you sweetie? That’s why I feel so good
with you. No games. No pretense. Just good, clean dirty sex–lots of
sucking and fucking, the way I like it,” Trish answered, rubbing her
voluptuous breast against the youth’s muscled arm.
“So what about the Knight kid? Have you gotten into her pussy
yet?” Randy teased.
“Don’t be silly. It’s only a twenty minute flight!” the stewardess
teased back.
“Baby, I wouldn’t put anything past you–even on a twelve passenger
plane in broad daylight!”
“She’s going to take a little longer. She’s been shut up in a
convent school with a lot of dried up nuns and a faggot-balling mother
who’s out to make damned sure she doesn’t get her precious little cherry
popped. No wonder her old man took off. Who could live with a bitch
like that? I’ll bet he’s one helluva swordsman.”
“That hasn’t done you much good so far, baby ” Randy jibed. “You
might have to stand in line for that dude.”
“You wouldn’t want to lay money on that, would you, Covey?” Trish
purred, giving him a devilish look.
Randy searched her face. Her lips were curled in a confident
smirk. “G’wan,” he said, “you don’t think you’re going to nag Knight
and his sweet-assed daughter too!”
“That’s exactly what I intend to do,” Trish responded emphatically,
squeezing the lips of her pussy tighter around her brother’s finger. He
was her half-brother, actually, the product of a marriage between her
mother and step-father. She and Randy had been balling for three years,
and he was a straight-A student in the sex education courses she gave
him. They had a unique relationship. They both loved each other very
much, and yet there was no jealousy between them. She urged Randy to
get as much pussy as he could, knowing of course that she would always
be first with him. And she delighted in recounting every detail of her
encounters in bed with other men–and women. Trish was 29 (though she
looked a couple of years younger) and she really had no intention of
getting married. It would, unless she got a very exceptional man, put
an end to her affair with her kid brother, as well as various other men
and women of her acquaintance. She would never sacrifice that for a
home and a meal ticket.
“Not only am I going to nail that dynamic duo, but being the
generous and loving sister that I am, I’m going to see that you get a
crack at that virginal little pussy as well.
Would you like that, my love? Would you like to be first to split
her hot little cunt with your big hard prick?”
“Are you kidding? Christ, would l! But you’re out of your mind,
Trish. Knight would have my balls on a spit if he ever found out. My
balls–and yours, too!”
“Trust me, precious. Trust your sis. Have I ever let you down?”
The youth shook his head. “I won’t this time, either. Randy, I promise
you I won’t. Now finish me off, honey. Finger me off. I’m almost
ready to cum!” And Trish scooted down further in the bucket seat,
spread her smooth, sun-tanned legs further apart, opening the wet crack
of her slippery cunt wider to her brother’s skillful manipulations and
closed her eyes, while he fingered her to a thrilling orgasm in the
topless MG on the road to French Leave.