Sarah’s Test

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I’d just finished making love to my beautiful wife Jennifer in our king-sized bed. Her head on my chest, she gently sucked at my right nipple as I stretched my arms and legs in relaxed bliss. ‘What’s wrong with this picture?’ I thought to myself. ‘Not a damned thing’, I answered. For the last four years at least, I had spent each and every week-end morning at the office. This day was the rare exception. Once again, my thoughts turned to the juicy personal injury settlement I’d concluded the day before, basking in the glory of a legal job- well-done, and the nearly three quarters of a million-dollar attorney fee I had earned. Between my latest legal triumph and my wife’s sexual attentions, I felt myself unusually energized.

My wife Jennifer and I had married while still in college. After law school, I had decided to risk it all and open my own practice. After years of contending with angry bill collectors, flaky paralegals, bitter clients, obnoxious judges, and tight-fisted insurance companies, I’d finally built my personal injury practice into a real winner; my multi-million-dollar pride and joy. Unlike many of my colleagues in the law biz, I didn’t drink, I didn’t chase my secretary, and I didn’t speculate on long-shot investments. I’d built my castle in the sky brick-by-heavy-brick and right now, naked in bed with my wife for the first Saturday morning in ages, I felt like the king himself.

“Honey?” “Honey,” Jennifer softly purred as she ran her wet, velvet tongue through my chest hair, bringing me from my private reverie into the one I shared this morning with her.

“Yeah, Jenny.”

“This is so wonderful. I hope it’s the start of a new you. You’ve been making so much money lately and it’s really about time you cut back.”

“But Jen, I do it all for you guys.” She was right. It was wonderful.

“I know. You’re a fabulous man,” she added, smooching my chest.

“I love you and Sarah and I want you to have everything you need. It’s important to me. My own needs come second. Family first,” I said.

“Family first, huh? You’re right, Daniel, it is important. But as hard as it is to believe, women don’t live by shopping alone. They eventually come home from the Mall and when they do, they like to share themselves with the man in their life. That means you, if you didn’t know.”

She ran her tongue straight down the center of my body, through my bellybutton, and beyond. At times like this, my wife brought to me the raw realization that I had in fact suppressed my own physical needs.

“I have to admit, Jenny, this is very, very nice.”

“So Counsel,” she gravely intoned, “for neglect of your family, the Court sentences you to spend the next three hours in bed making love to your beautiful wife, after which you will take her to an early dinner, followed by a moonlight walk.”

“But Jennifer, it’s cloudy outside. There’s no moon tonight.”

“Just for that, the Court finds you in contempt and orders you not to make love to your wife, but to fuck your wife; vigorously, Counsel.”

Jennifer slyly took my now-thickening penis into her mouth and started that wonderful friction of hers, just beneath the tip, making wet sounds with every tap of her tongue. My shapely wife had that dangerous combination of marvelous technical expertise in bed, coupled with an appetite for non-stop fornication. I’d frequently worried about how she’d managed to survive during my long hours at the office. I’d also given myself many pats on my lawyerly back for finding the mental discipline to spend those long hours away from her. Right now, however, she was taking me into her mouth and into her world of pleasure and the attorney in me suddenly turned over his control in favor of his penis.

We made love well into the afternoon, in virtually every room of the house, finally losing consciousness together in a tangle of sweaty, cum-smeared limbs. When I awoke, it was darker and I was in an unfamiliar place. The first thing that came into focus was the beautiful face of my eighteen-year old daughter Sarah, leaning against the doorway to the bedroom, arms folded across her chest.

“My, my,” she said, then turned abruptly, whipping her long wavy blonde hair as she disappeared from sight into the hallway.

I thought I was having an out-of-body experience. Then, as my wife stirred next to me, I suddenly realized that we’d made love in Sarah’s bed and had forgotten about the time.

“Jen, what are we doing here?” “What time is it?”

“Gosh, honey, I guess we got carried away.”

Jennifer called out to her daughter as she slid off the bed to her feet, “We’re sorry. We didn’t expect you back so soon.” Jennifer skipped into her daughter’s bathroom, turned on the light and wrapped herself in a blue bath towel. I watched her through the open door, as she checked her face in the mirror and straightened her shoulder-length blonde hair. Even after hours of love-making, my thirty-seven-year-old wife looked stunning.

I wrapped myself in the pink Maltepe Escort sheet from my daughter’s bed and followed Jennifer out into the hallway. My daughter Sarah walked stiffly past us, entering her room.

“You guys! Who’s going to clean up this mess?” she said from her bedroom.

“We’re sorry, Sarah,” said Jennifer. “I thought you were staying at Cathy’s house all day.”

I was still in a daze, wrapped in a bed sheet, leaning against the hallway and feeling like a giant spider had sucked out all of my previously abundant energy, right through my genitals.

“Yeah, well Mom have you checked the time? It’s 6:30 at night.”

Sarah emerged from her room and leaned against the hallway wall, arms folded, eyes straight ahead.

“We’re really sorry, Sarah. You sleep in the guest room tonight,” said her mother.

“Yeah, baby. We really blew it,” I chimed in, trying to say something that made logical sense to me. It was hard to come up with an argument a typical father would say at a time like this.

“Some example you guys are setting,” said my daughter, eyes to heaven as she whirled away down the hall. “I mean I almost never get to see you, Daddy, and when I do, I see all of you.”

My wife and I exchanged a shy grin and went back to our room.

The next morning, my wife pulled me out of bed, pushed me into the shower, and ordered me to put on a sport coat but no tie. She met me in the living room with my daughter Sarah. Both my wife and daughter were nicely dressed, made-up, and ready to go out.

“Sarah,” said my wife, “your father doesn’t realize it yet, but he is not going to the office today. I know that Sunday is a normal working day around here for the menfolk in our family. But today, and from now on, your father is going to spend every week-end with us.” My wife Jennifer turned to me with a big smile, “family first, right?” as she poked my ribs, prodding me toward the door.

“Where are we going,” I asked.

“Brunch,” said both of my beautiful womenfolk.

We went to an elegant champagne brunch in the most expensive place in town. After all, I could easily afford it. My wife looked exceptionally gracious in a long lavender silk print dress. Jennifer was carrying the burden of conversation and spoke about how we each should open ourselves to the other, as family members, now that we would be spending more time together. She said it would be hard at first, but we had to get into the habit of tuning-in to each other’s wave-length. I was half tuned-out, glancing repeatedly at my beautiful daughter. Rare were the times in the last four years that I’d had a chance to see her up close for more than a few fleeting seconds. She was wearing a filmy yellow sundress this morning and her long wavy blonde hair was parted in the middle and loosely tied in back. She was demurely nibbling at a piece of bacon in her slender fingers, with downcast eyes. I had always recognized the fact that she was beautiful, more so even than her mother. This morning, however, I came awake to the fact that she had blossomed into a heartbreakingly ravishing young woman.

Sarah and I had been very close throughout her childhood. Just as she had reached puberty, however, my law practice had begun to seriously flourish and I became caught up in the heady rush of professional success. I had barely seen her in years; usually on my way to and from the office, catching a glimpse of her as she was heading to some school activity, to see a boyfriend, or to go out with her best friend Cathy. Sarah knew she was beautiful, as I’m sure the dozens of boys who followed in her wake had made clear to her. At this precise moment, however, I awakened to such new discoveries as her flowing hair, her deep blue eyes, her smooth skin and its faint down, from which she radiated a soft, golden, vaporous beauty in the warm morning light. Sarah’s eyes flashed briefly as they met mine, then stared without expression outside toward the sunny deck of the restaurant. I realized the little girl I had held on my knee and tucked into bed was now barely on speaking terms with me. Sarah had always been my spoiled little princess. Now, with me and perhaps with every male, she had become an ice princess; aloof, reserved, proud of her unique feminine gifts of hopeless beauty. I had forgotten just how much sexual power could reside within the body of a beautiful eighteen-year-old girl. ‘This is my daughter,’ I reminded myself. It dawned on me that I didn’t quite know how I felt about her; nor how I ought to feel about myself in her presence: afraid, proud, excited, ashamed. Her eyes met mine again and bored into me without expression. This time, she held her moist gaze for at least five seconds.

“Well, are you two just going to look at each other all morning? Say something, you two. Talk to each other,” said my wife.

“Frank wants me to go sailing with him this afternoon,” said Sarah to her mother.

“Who’s Frank?” I asked Jennifer, almost in a whisper. Sarah looked Anadolu Yakası Escort skyward.

“Frank is her boyfriend, Daniel. Don’t you know anything about your own daughter anymore? You two really have to get reacquainted,” said Jennifer, nodding her head up and down.

After an awkward pause, I raised both my hands to eye level and gave them a stiff shake. “Can I say something?” I said, clearing my throat. Both women stared at me almost in surprise, giving me the floor. “I’ve been thinking about my life. Our lives. It’s hard for me to make apologies. What I mean is that the nature of my business is, well, to never be sorry, to never give excuses, never be weak. I never give an inch,” I said, slightly tapping the table with my index. “Anyway, I don’t want to bore you with my business. And it is frankly boring. I realize that now. Why am I working? We have plenty of money. Jeez, I could easily retire. Is it just for the sake of winning? For whom? Looking at both of you I realize what a lucky guy I am to have two such lovely ladies in my life. So, I’ve decided to cut back. Monday I’m looking to hire an associate, maybe a bright kid fresh out of law school, who can take over enough of my cases to give me some real free time. I want to get to know you two better. That is, if you’ll let me. Anyway, that’s it.”

It was an excellent closing argument to a receptive jury. I had to admit to myself; I was good. Did I really believe any of it? Could I even partially turn over to someone else the child of my sweat and toil, my law practice? What made me aver something I probably didn’t even feel inside? Guilt? Or was it the sudden inexplicable desire to give up anything in order to get back into my daughter’s life? My head was reeling from the champagne, the summer heat, and from the intoxication of my daughter’s presence. After a moment, eyes shining, Jennifer squeezed my hand in hers. “I know that wasn’t easy to say, Daniel. What do you have to say, Sarah?”

“Fine with me,” said my daughter, shrugging her lovely shoulders.

“I see that you and Sarah have your work cut out for you,” said my wife. “I have a great idea, though.” Looking to Sarah, she said, ” Cathy’s Dad takes his family camping every summer, right?”

“Mr. Turner? Yeah.”

“What if he took you and Cathy camping next weekend?”

“Is Daddy coming, too?” said my daughter, again favoring me with her inscrutable stare.

“Of course he’s going,” said my wife. “And he will enjoy it, won’t he?” said Jennifer, smiling at me broadly, jabbing her index at my nose. I smiled back, of course, my eyes at the same time catching the faint edge of a smile cross my daughter’s beautiful pouting lips.

By next week’s end, I had already decided not to hire a new law associate. The truth is, I liked making money and I liked the legal give and take. Much as I enjoyed my wife, she simply could not completely replace the thrill of winning that I felt in the courtroom. I wasn’t about to abdicate even part of my throne to some snot-nosed law school punk. You’re either in the game or you’re out. How could I break it to my wife? I had practically lied in her face. Anyway, I’d freed up my schedule enough to take off at least this week-end with my daughter. She was another matter. Lately, I simply couldn’t get her out of my mind.

I took off early on Friday afternoon and headed home, wondering how I felt about camping out over the week-end. John Turner, Cathy’s Dad was an accountant in my office building. We often spent an hour a day at lunchtime working out in the gym. It was hectic exercise but it was the only thing that helped me maintain the stamina to endure my marathon twelve-hour days in my office chair and in court. I have to admit that it also left me with not a little bit of self-pride, in my still youthful body, as well as in my self-discipline to maintain it. Mostly, though, on my drive home, I pondered how I would relate to my daughter. What would I have to say to her? Would she even talk to me? Would I get those feelings of sexual stimulation that I felt around her lately? What could I do to overcome those inappropriate thoughts? ‘They are extremely inappropriate, right?’ I wondered to myself, almost aloud.

When I arrived home, I showered and changed into jeans and a green lumberjack shirt. My wife handed me a suitcase in which she told me she had put some spare clothes, ‘just in case’. Within minutes, I went outside as Cathy’s Dad pulled up in his green Jeep Cherokee with the girls and the camping equipment. They got out and I shook hands with John. He was a trim athletic man in his late thirties, of Italian descent, with a great olive complexion. He had that ruggedly dark, craggy demeanor of a mafia hitman and I’d often noticed the women in the gym where we worked out, looking his way. The girls were simply unbelievable and my inner voice suddenly echoed a hollow ‘uh-oh’, as I felt myself instantly starting to feel unfatherly feelings toward both. I could barely get up the nerve İstanbul Escort to look at them, but they were dressed in very short cut-off jeans, with halter tops, and low-cut white sneakers without socks. Cathy had the long black hair and dark complexion consistent with her Mediterranean ancestry. Where Sarah was proudly distant, Cathy was exuberant. She greeted me with a big smile and a “Hi, Mr. Marks.” In every other respect, however, both girls were bookends of pure teenage sexual beauty: long creamy legs, firm grapefruit-sized breasts, slim waists that curved so appealingly into high, rounded buttocks. As I placed my suitcase into the rear end of the vehicle, Sarah and Cathy exited our house with other suitcases. As I was about to ask them why they needed all the baggage, Sarah cracked a fleeting smile at me, saying “Just in case, Daddy,” as I helped her and Cathy put them in the back end.

John Turner and I rode in front; the two girls shared the back seat. They talked incessantly, their voices often descending to a low, rich tone, barely audible to me in front. After several hours of highway, we drove for about an hour along an unpaved lumberjack road. We were in the high country, in the fresh-smelling piney forest. “You girls okay?” I asked, looking back. Both girls were by now asleep, their heads resting against each other. After another one or two miles of tire-rumbling off-road driving, we arrived at the campsite. “We’re here, sleepy heads” intoned John, evoking groans and yawns from the back seat.

Although it was mid-summer, it was a chilly night in the forest clearing among the tall timber. A light breeze whispered through the tree tops and polished the black sky, which was studded with hundreds of diamond-like stars. John quickly started a fire and we spread out the sleeping bags in the soft golden light. I intentionally slept in the bag as far away as possible from my daughter, Sarah. We were all quite tired, however, and I went fast asleep. After what seemed like only a few moments, I was awakened by the hollow sounds of the girls’ voices. They were apparently upset. I saw them get into Mr. Turner’s vehicle in a huff, slamming the door. At the same time, I found myself swatting the air, trying to escape the buzzing onslaught of a few mosquitoes. I then saw that John was already up and folding the sleeping bags, stowing them into the vehicle.

“I’m sorry, Daniel. Just a few mosquitoes. I guess it’s that new dam they built up-river. They don’t bother me and we have bug spray, but the girls really seem upset about ’em. We’ll have to find some other place,” he said, as he motioned me to come. I didn’t need too much encouragement as I truly detest bugs of any kind.

“Where do we go now?” I asked, folding my bag haphazardly as I tossed myself into the front seat of the Jeep.

“I know a place further up the road. We can try it, but I haven’t been there in a while,” said John.

“Daddy, we want to go here,” said Sarah, shoving a brochure at me from the rear seat. John turned on the light in the Jeep and I read from it. It was an advertisement for a local mountain resort called “Wilderness Chalet”. It offered the elegance of the city, with the restful beauty of the mountains, including swimming pools, hiking trails, horseback riding, tennis courts, and a spa and sauna, among other amenities.

“Where did you get this?” I asked her.

“Mom gave it to me, just in case.”

“Just in case,” I said, repeating her phrase.

“Daddy? Mr. Turner?” Sarah leaned over, placing her elbows on my seat back, her face nearly touching mine. Her voice was suddenly softer, gentler to me than usual. “The reason why mom, my mother, made me come here was to spend more of what she calls quality time with my Dad. With you, Daddy. The point is that she just wants us to spend some time together. It doesn’t really matter where. And this resort is more comfortable. I guess I’m really not the camping out type. Sorry, Mr. Turner; Daddy.” “Well, I don’t know,” said Cathy’s Dad. “It looks kind of expensive.”

“Daddy could take care of it, couldn’t you Daddy. This weekend is important, especially to Mom, right Daddy?” said my beautiful blonde daughter. I could feel her sweet breath on my neck.

“Well, I don’t think Mr. Marks can afford…

“That’s all right, John,” I said.

“Daddy can afford it. Can’t you?” Sarah said, almost with a touch of meekness.

“All of you, it will be my treat. Case closed,” I added, in my best lawyerly tone.

In the chilly dark of that mountain clearing, in the faint light inside the Jeep, I could almost feel the warmth of my little girl’s smile.

It was past 3:00 a.m. when we arrived at Wilderness Chalet. In the dim light of the quarter moon it appeared to be all they had advertised: modern, comfortable, with rustic charm. The night clerk regrettably informed me that they had only one room available. Further prodding and arguing on my part revealed that they had two luxury suites available on the top floor, but the cost, especially at this time of year, was rather high. I swallowed and gave my credit card. John and I accompanied the girls and our luggage up to the thick red-carpeted hallway of the top floor suites. We men entered one large and luxurious apartment, our daughters the other.

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