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Chapter 158 – Lost now, after Covid. Separately, Mira and I had snuck around a bit, until we bumped into each other and, eventually a dialogue about Nguyet had broken the proverbial ice. Needless to say, we had ended up fucking, but – as long as we had known and as much as we trusted each other – the second time, Mira had even offered her cute little butthole for the very first time, which had gone exceedingly well.
Initially, the two of us had wanted to meet together with another two other young women, Emily and Sally, but Mira had felt a bit jealous and feared that I would dedicate myself again solely to Sally, and so she had sucked me into our adventure, just the two of us. And, yes, her efforts to keep my hands of our new, young bashful friend had been more than successful: I was positively enamored and besotted with my young Filipina colleague now. And Sally probably still needed some time to digest her first breast-bukkake and then also the intercrural sex we had had just before Christmas. Yes, Sally was juicy, wonderfully inexperienced and beautiful, but there was something about Mira that I absolutely couldn’t resist: her moxie, gumption, and – perhaps most importantly – humor.
As Vietnamese women were super-busy before the quickly approaching Tet holiday on January 22, which marked the New Lunar Year, I didn’t want to lure Emily and Sally into another sex adventure anyway, even though Emily and Mira had also clicked really well the day they had surprised us. The two young Vietnamese women had to clean and decorate their respective houses this week, and I told myself the obvious: that Sally’s young breasts and ass would still be fabulous in February, and I didn’t see any reason to doubt that her dense, large, pitch-black bush was going to wither in the meantime, either. No, to alleviate Mira’s jealousy, I asked her what we, the only two non-Vietnamese in our orgy posse, would come up with this week.
She didn’t reply for a three days, which was a tad unusual, but then she sent me a message from a new account on Facebook that truly knocked my socks off:
Dear Mr. Ben, or should I say ‘Ben’? Or perhaps even ‘Mr. Garland’?
Or simply ‘dad’? Daddy!
I don’t think you are aware that your former colleague at the German Embassy in Manila, Esperanza Ocampo Torres, was pregnant with me when you left the Philippines for good. Yes, Mr. Garland… Ben… dad, I’m your biological daughter, Mira Ocampo.
I have applied for various jobs in the real-estate industry in Vietnam and now, there are three interviews scheduled between January 9 and 18; one of which is in Da Nang, near the small town where you are living.
My mother met my step-father shortly after you left, and I have two younger half-brothers as a result. I also like my step-dad a lot but, naturally, I’m dying to meet my real dad. We could write to each other a bit more here on Messenger and then perhaps meet in person on Jan 11 th or 12 th?
I can’t wait.
Your girl, Mira
Oh, Good Lord! Holy mackerel! This was hot. And clever. Two weeks ago, I had tossed out the idea of a daughter-and-father roleplay among half-a-dozen others, but I had been semi-facetious, as I believed Mira would just view it as too outlandish. I didn’t know much about her family, apart from that her real mom was – like in so many other Asian families – stricter and less liberal than her dad. But apparently, she found the delicate, piquant idea of assuming the role of my daughter promising. Now I wondered, though, if that wouldn’t be too much, in the end?! Like too much of a good thing? Well, the two of us had pushed the limits of good taste – and others – quite a bit in the recent past; her newest shtick was that she wanted me to micturate inside her ass before, during, or after sex. Another of her quirks was that she had a long clit, which aroused her every time she peed, as it was in the way, so to speak.
To steer our beguiling story in the right direction, I confirmed that I had been madly in love with her mother, while working at the embassy in Manila back in 1996/97. Needless to say, I modeled Mira’s mother after Nguyet in my mind. Unfortunately, the latter was too young to play the former’s mom, however, as she was only about eight years older than Mira. I apologized to my daughter that I had left Manila in such a haste, as I had fallen out with my new boss at the embassy, and delineated what I had done since then here in Southeast Asia. Mira, in turn, assured me that her family wasn’t bitter, as her mother Esperanza had kept her pregnancy secret, until I left. Everyone understood that I hadn’t ‘cowardly abandoned’ her. The whole thing had just been rather unfortunate.
Of course, I was already thinking about where our story could develop best but quickly settled for the old hotel. rus escort I told her that I needed to check out the property before Tet to make an investment decision for our company, but she could tag along, before we would enjoy lunch and/or coffee together. I could also explain a few intricacies about the real estate market in Vietnam, which might come in handy during her impending job interviews. Naturally, my daughter agreed to such a wonderfully plausible and reasonable plan and added that her mother was, albeit petite, still very attractive. If Mira got the job, she was sure, her mom would come to visit. She announced that she was going to ask me ‘tons of questions’ about my relationship with her worthy mama, as she still seemed to love me but never divulged much about how we had actually met and what we had liked about each other.
The new Facebook profile that Mira had created for our role-play only showed a few old photos of her, but one of them immediately caught my attention. It looked like her student ID, but she had really short hair in it, almost like a boy, which looked super-hot and endearing. Jeez, Mira was quite something, but how in the world would she get us to break the incest taboo? And probably the first day? Well, as we were meeting as consenting adults, she could be frank about her attraction to me; but then, she was a proper young lady with staunch ethical principles, wasn’t she?! And how would she build up the tension between her wish to enjoy sex with me and the almost universally accepted societal norms that tried to prevent that? Well, perhaps I was overthinking things, as for Mira the quintessence of what she had thought up was to spice up our relationship and make it richer in variety.
What I liked about our new situation was that my long-lost daughter Mira wanted to keep the real-estate background, including our mutual friend and fuck-buddy Nguyet but, apparently, found that we could milk that context for much longer. Working here in town, perhaps together with Nguyet, would offer us a vast array of ideas for rousing mornings and lunch-breaks. One day, the two of them, clad in pantyhose, would meet me in my capacity of area manager at the old hotel, and we would – nicely embedded in a proper cultural context – completely let go, micturate upon each other, and then party hard.
Well, since we had had our first anal sex last week, would that be an option tomorrow? Perhaps not, as that might be too hasty and too contrived. And her little sphincter probably still needed a break. Although: the thought of fucking my daughter in the ass did arouse me, I had to admit. But no, tomorrow, we needed to show reluctance and restraint, but I was sure the whole thing would turn into something beguiling and beautiful. Of course. And then we had many more weeks to escalate things slowly. Perhaps even with her mother, although I wasn’t sure who that could be.
Yes, anal wasn’t going to happen this week, but the sheer thought of, eventually, micturating inside my daughter’s rectum got me damn high. In the end, Mira would accept the job here in Nguyet’s office, of course, and then the two of them together would arrange the most salacious situations and choreographies, but I wondered already who could play Mira’s mom next month: perhaps our mature friend Yen, Charlie’s aunt, who I hadn’t seen forever, though? But she wasn’t exactly petite. Thuy, who had deflowered Charlie? Although she was only ten years older than Mira in real life, she looked older, and her demeanor was more mature. That could work.
Since Mira, as a job applicant, who was in Vietnam for the very first time in her life, didn’t have a motorcycle, I offered to pick her up at her hotel, which she liked but then suggested to meet at the post office, which was purportedly nearby. Obviously, I couldn’t just pull into the yard at our private English school, where she actually lived. When I was rolling along the curb at the post office, though, I was startled and amazed that she did actually have short hair now. Perhaps six inches long, her newly-dyed bob cut really gave me the impression that I was meeting a new person. She looked decidedly different from last week, which was also the result of the clothes she was wearing: a red coat, as it was a bit nippy, under which she presented me a tight grey sweater and a spiffy black, pleated skirt, which ended just above her knees. This she had combined with dark-brown nylons and black ankle boots.
She smiled and waved at me excitedly: “Oh, Dad, Ben… daddy… I’m so thrilled to finally meet you,” she was beaming and clapping her hands.
I was still marveling at her appearance and the swiftness of her opening her coat, before we even had said ‘hi’, but then we shook hands warmly. I briefly thought about turning escort rus off the engine and getting off my Honda to hug or even kiss her, but there were too many people around. And, at 8’2” or so, I stuck out quite a bit already. And then Mira, in her red coat. And so, I just offered her a second helmet, looking at her relatively small grey chest, as it was just in front of me; the way we were positioned. When I caught her looking at my face, our eyes locked up for a few seconds. I praised her beauty, even though she looked quite different from what I had expected. Eventually, she swung her perfect nylon-clad leg over the back seat and put her helmet on. She didn’t ask but just wrapped her arms around my waist tightly, and we hadn’t even driven 200 yards, before she placed her cheek against my shoulder, soaking in the beauty of our reunion.
It was a gray, slightly breezy day but, of course, we had to go to a coffee shop, first, to get to know each other a bit. Needless to say, I picked the one where the two of us had amused ourselves several times already, as it had a secluded upstairs terrace. When we got there, she pretended to be checking out the place, looking at the sign and the surroundings. Unlike every other time, though, we sat down on the ground floor, as my daughter wasn’t aware of the upstairs section and probably didn’t want to escalade things too quickly, anyway. Upstairs, there was only one table, and the rickety spiral staircase announced ten seconds in advance if someone was coming. But she was right: if we were sitting by ourselves secluded, I would perhaps massage her thighs, and God knows what would happen. The weather wasn’t great, anyway.
Mira’s new hairdo was awesome; I had never seen her like that. Okay, her picture on her student ID card, which she had uploaded on Facebook, had looked somewhat similar, but that image was tiny, and so one couldn’t really make out any details. But yes, Mira was bisexual, and the way she had her hair cut a few days back embodied or symbolized her proclivities. Her hair was pretty much the same length all around, at something like five inches, parted kinda in the middle, covering her forehead more on the right than above her left eye. Together with her clothes, her haircut did look feminine, in the end, but then her cackling teenage-boy laugh and her voice in general also gave her a slight androgynous touch, which I loved.
But had she gotten the new haircut first and then decided to play my daughter, or had it been the other way ’round: Did she want to be the daughter first, and then had gotten a new haircut for her role? When our drinks arrived, we started to talk about her education at university, a bit about the family, and then, of course, her impending job interviews here in Vietnam. After I came back from a brief trip to the bathroom, though, she looked at me with a mixture of disbelief and something close to awe. She scrutinized me from my head all the way down to my thighs, took a deep breath, and quietly admitted that she was impressed by my appearance.
“Dad, you’re still quite a stud… you’re so tall… and I love your blue eyes…”
They were more grey than blue, but I didn’t object. Perhaps she was exaggerating a bit in our role-play, but we knew we were immensely attracted to each other. Role-play or not. Of course, I thanked her for her kind words and racked my brain what I could say now. Something about her new hairdo? Well, as her long-lost dad, I couldn’t know if she hadn’t already had her hair like this for a long time. But then she continued:
“No, dad, now I can totally understand mom… she sometimes still raves about you… when my stepdad isn’t around, of course… your nose, your broad shoulders… big, gentle hands… I actually really like your salt’n’pepper hair, too…” she chuckled, blushing. “And yeah, your eyes, again…”
As I didn’t want her to just keep praising me – or simply do the same to her – I tried to weave some more family lore, instead.
“You got two brothers, huh?”
“Half-brothers,” she corrected me and smiled, before she described their relationship a bit.
Mira was still wearing her red coat, as it was still a bit nippy. I ordered another coffee for myself, but she still had more than half of her milk tea. I lit a ciggy, of course, and caught myself looking at her fine figure, which was made easier after she had crossed her legs. Her nylons were stretching a bit more over her thighs, and her hip and ass were nicely protruding here close to me. Well, of course, now was the moment to pay back some of those compliments.
“But you’re very attractive, too, Miss Ocampo… Torres… even though you don’t look like your mother at all…”
“Well, good genes, I guess,” she smiled self-confidently, checking rus escort bayan me out once more.
“I also like your style…” I told her. “The colors match and suit you…” I moved our tale along.
“Red, black, and silver… or grey… just like your motorcycle,” she observed cleverly.
Well, her pantyhose looked more brown than black, but I didn’t want to be ridiculous and correct her now. Her skirt was black. Blacker than black; that was true. I marveled at her delightful thighs, of which I was able to see about eight inches at that point. Yeah, once, we would have to come here, to this coffee shop, on a warm day, sit upstairs, and then I would jerk off to the sight of her. Thighs.
As splendid as those were, Mira’s lower legs were just conical, though, like carrots. Similar to Tuyet’s or Anna’s. Nguyet certainly had the nicest calves, but her shins were hairy. Oh, well. Anyway, I didn’t want to divulge too much of my horniness yet – as her dad – and so I paid her a compliment about her skirt, instead, which was nicely thick and soft. I even leaned forward to touch and feel the material a bit, which elicited a cute smile from her. As she was watching me feeling the fabric between my thumb and index finger, she conceived an interesting, albeit natural request:
“Hey, dad, tell me how you actually meet mom! I mean, I know it was at work, but she never tells me much more…”
“Well, that wasn’t particularly special: Your mother was 19, working at the embassy as a secretary… I was like 27… we both were single, and I had to stay longer in the evenings because of the time difference to Germany… and so Anza developed a habit of staying longer, too, to get some more work done… it was nicely quiet after 6, after everyone else had left…”
“Anza?!” Mira laughed.
“Well, yes… ‘Esperanza’ is a beautiful name, of course, but a bit long… but ‘Espy’ was no option, as I loathe nicknames ending in ‘y’… and ‘Espe’ is a tree in German…”
“Which you had…” she cracked up and dexterously rose to go to the bathroom.
Ha! Awesome! Yeah, I had the tree between my legs that her mother – and soon the daughter – would love. I watched her sauntering away and getting smaller between all the tables; with both hands stuffed in her coat pockets, nonchalantly waving at the cute little waitress with the tattoo on her thigh. Which I still hadn’t seen. Just like Sally a few weeks back, Mira also reminded me of a flapper, experimenting with her hair and fashion style and I conceived the idea of offering her a cigarette.
Well, we couldn’t really party hard today, as we purportedly had just met, but I still tried to outline a strategy or stance for the next two hours – to kill the five minutes, while she was gone – but decided to let her lead. And after the intense last three sessions or so, I wouldn’t mind a more sensual, subtle early afternoon, myself. Her little ass probably still needed a break, anyway.
Mira hadn’t even sat back down when she asked: “Did you do it in the office with mom?”
“Oh, Good Lord, hell no…” I pretended to be almost offended. “Anza was 19 and Catholic… but yeah, we kissed for the first time standing next to her desk, true…” I admitted.
“Ha! Mom always sounded like I was conceived in your office… but yeah, she only gives out little hints…”
I shook my head again, waiting what she would come up with next. As she was going through her purse, though, I continued:
“Well, sure, when your mother and I kissed in the office in the evening, after everyone else was gone, I didn’t have my hands just on her hips… but then we started the habit of going to that small dainty restaurant around the corner… and, yes, one night, she came home with me and stayed till the morning… she got up at 5 to leave, though, as she wanted to take another shower and change at home before going to work that day… I guess we should have done it on a Saturday…” I chuckled.
“Well, this… all sounds really nice… and natural…” my daughter replied quietly, like she was imagining those beautiful six months.
“How old were you when Anza… when your mother told you that your step-dad wasn’t your biological father?” I asked Mira now to move away from the topic of sex and continue to weave our story nest as a family.
Mira was looking at her drink, stirring it absentmindedly, like she was really assuming the role of a long-lost daughter. She probably had a plan but perhaps it wasn’t time yet to implement it.
“Twelve… maybe 13…” she said eventually.
“Did that hurt?” I was genuinely curious.
“Well, actually… not really… I like my step-dad, and I believe he wanted me to know, too… I don’t like secretiveness in the family… that never really works…” she sighed, stirring her beverage once more.
I was kinda expecting that my daughter would now ask how the sex with her mother had been or if I had deflowered her. But she didn’t; she was a sensitive young woman. Instead, she brought up her half-brothers again, mentioning that she was closer to her mother than they were.
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32