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***This story is partly inspired by real events. I did indeed arrive in New York, just as Donald Trump announced a ban on flights from Europe. I then spent the next few days watching as the pandemic crisis began to take hold across the city. Unfortunately, I was not accompanied by a nubile teenage girl who was prepared to cater to my depraved sexual needs. That bit is all made up. As always, anyone involved in any sexual activity is at least eighteen years old.***
The shit started hitting the fan pretty much from the first moment we arrived. We touched down at Newark just after seven in the evening. The flight had been mostly empty, so what few passengers there were, could spread out. Both Sadie and I had a row of seats to ourselves. She slept most of the way, while I watched a couple of films.
We got through passport control and customs in no time at all. Then, a quick train ride to Penn Station and soon enough we were checking into our hotel. It was only as we settled down for something to eat at a diner nearby, that we began to discover the gravity of the situation.
“Jesus! Look at this!” Sadie said, as she stared intently at the screen on her phone.
“What?” I said, between spoonfuls of chicken noodle soup.
“The President has barred all flights from Europe!” She replied, offering me her phone.
“He’s done what?”
“He’s introduced a thirty-day ban on all flights from Europe. The UK and Ireland are exempt, but still…”
“This is because of the Coronavirus?”
“Shit. They must be taking it pretty seriously.”
God, that sounds so idiotic now, so naive. Of course they were taking it seriously. It was serious. Very serious. We just didn’t know it yet. We were all so innocent, it was a different world back then. Everything was different. Not just the virus, other things too, as I was soon to discover.
It was a somewhat unsettling welcome to the United States, but we dismissed it soon enough. Like many people from the UK, we had a kind of default contempt for this particular occupant of the White House. So it was perfectly easy to write this off as a typically hysterical overreaction.
If I’m being honest, I supposed we tended to tar most Americans with a similar brush. They all seemed a bit crazy, with their guns and their flags and their peculiarly overt brand of Christianity. Of course they would overreact, that’s what Americans did. Not likes us Brits, who were levelheaded and sober in deed and action. We kept calm and carried on.
Well, it turns out we could be a bit crazy too. And I’m not just talking about the pandemic. We just didn’t know it yet.
So, we carried on with our meal and returned to the hotel, although not before taking a quick stroll round Times Square. This was Sadie’s first trip to New York, so I wanted to make sure she saw all the sights and sounds. Arm in arm, we wandered; heading to the Disney Store, then the M&Ms store, stopping to take photos and trying to avoid being hassled by the guys dressed up as Spider-Man or Captain America.
This had all been my ex-wife’s idea. She thought it would be good for me and my daughter to spend some quality time together.
“You don’t see enough of her.” She had said, over the phone, when she first suggested the trip.
Well, whose fault is that, I thought to myself, you were the one who left me for another guy and moved two-hundred miles away.
“She’s heading to university in the autumn.” She continued. “Neither of us will see much of her after that.”
University was where I had met Lara. She had thrown up all over me in a dingy nightclub called the Razzmatazz. It was pretty much love at first sight. Well, lust maybe. Lara was essentially my idea of a perfect woman. Barely five foot tall, with long red hair, a pretty face and ginormous tits. She could never take her booze, and she’d only had a couple of vodkas and Coke before projectile vomiting all over my shirt. She was so apologetic, as I cleaned myself up in the disabled loos.
She was sat on the counter, next to the hand basin, with her legs crossed. I could see her stocking tops and a glimpse of white creamy flesh under her short skirt. She caught me looking, but she didn’t seem to mind. She just smiled at me.
By the end of the night, we were back at my halls of residence, and she was wanking me off. The two of us were sat on my bed, my boxers and jeans round my ankles, and she had her hand wrapped tightly round my cock, squeezing and tugging and rubbing. I wasn’t a virgin, but I was hardly last of the famous international playboys either. Lara was a lot more experienced than me, and I was happy to let her take me in hand, both metaphorically and literally.
“Do you want to play with my tits?” She asked, and I responded by groaning and vigorously nodding my head.
With a giggle, she took her top off and soon enough rip her up porno I was fondling her huge, perfect boobs.
“You’ve been looking at these puppies all night, haven’t you, you dirty little sod?” She’d said to me, as I chewed on her nipples, the same way a mongrel tries to devour its favourite toy.
“I didn’t see you complaining.” I said to her, temporarily pulling my mouth free of her breasts.
“No, I suppose not. It’s only fair I make it up to you, after what I did to your shirt.”
And make it up to me she surely did. I was never that heavy a drinker, not then and not now, so I was pretty much sober that night. Therefore, I remember almost every moment. The way she sank down to her knees in front of me, to give me a blowjob. They way she spread her legs wide apart, revealing a small patch of fiery red pubic hair. The way it felt to slide my unprotected cock inside her. The way she gasped, as she came. The tenderness and warmth I felt, as I held her naked body in my arms.
We were young and we were horny; one night stands with people you’d just met was part of the reason you went to university. You broadened the mind, you furthered you’re intellectual horizons, but you also became a grownup. Casual sex was something students were allowed to indulge in. I was not the first guy Lara had copped off with, I wouldn’t be the last. She liked sex, she liked to shag around. I don’t think she envisaged any long term relationship between us. Some time in the early hours of the morning, she slipped away, without saying a word.
That might have been that, but a couple of weeks later, we bumped into each other in a local supermarket. I was with a friend, so was she. We were a little embarrassed to see each other, and the conversation was a tad awkward. We’d slept together, but we hardly knew each other. Slightly to my own surprise, perhaps because I’d run out of things to say, I asked her if she wanted to go for a drink, and she said yes.
“I promise not to be sick on you this time.” She said with a shy smile.
Before too long, we were dating. Well, we were shagging. The number of actual dates, where we went out and did things together, was relatively small. Lara was a dirty little thing, and more often than not we’d find ourselves in a pile of clothes, fucking on the floor.
Truth be told, I was actually rather tiring of the relationship, when she got pregnant. Britain is such a class-bound place, where tiny degrees of societal distinction can make a vast difference. I was basically lower middle class, someone from a nice background. My parents were happily married, or they were as far as I was aware, and lived out a comfortable existence in the leafy suburbs.
Lara was very much from what you would patronisingly call, the working classes. She had been brought up on a council estate and her parents had never even tied the knot, let alone got divorced. I’m embarrassed by this now, but I rather looked down on her. She was bright, she had managed to reach university after all, but she was uncouth. She was a bit rough. The sex was fantastic – eye-opening for a relative innocent like me – but a man cannot live on bread alone.
I wasn’t quite on the verge of splitting up with her, but I was building up to it, when she confessed to me she was late. At first, I didn’t understand what she meant – I told you I was relatively innocent – but soon enough the penny dropped. Neither of us were yet twenty years old, and suddenly we were going to be parents.
There was never any talk of getting rid of it, a decision I’m infinitely grateful for now. Lara’s family was Catholic, so abortion was an absolute no-no. My mum and dad were more than a little horrified, especially when they met my future in-laws. As far as they were concerned, their precious little boy had gone off to university and been entrapped by a busty, slatternly Jezebel. In a way, they weren’t entirely wrong.
The marriage lasted about five years. It was pretty tempestuous, we were fundamentally very different characters, but the sex was always amazing. Well, it was for me. Perhaps not amazing enough for her. Eventually, she started sleeping with a guy she’d met at work, and I was out on my ear.
The real tragedy was losing daily access to my daughter. Sadie was just about old enough to understand what was happening. I remember sitting with her in the back garden, explaining to her that she was still our number one priority and we both loved her. Thinking about that moment, when she was this tiny, innocent child having to cope with the harsh realities of an adult world, breaks my heart to this day.
There was nothing tiny and childlike about her now. Oh boy, no. She was all grown up, these days. Sadie was a little bit taller than her mother and wasn’t quite as cartoonishly pneumatic, but you could certainly see the similarities. She shared Lara’s voluptuous tendencies.
I rus porno was probably more conscious of it because I only got to see her a few times a year. Not long after her mother remarried, Lara announced she and her new husband were moving back up north. I wasn’t happy about it, but I couldn’t see much chance of stopping her. So, when she was about six years old, Sadie was taken away from me once more.
Since I only saw her every so often, the physical changes seemed more pronounced, more stark. From my perspective, the process of her becoming a young woman happened with alarming speed and suddenness. One day she was my little girl, the next she was something very different.
That was certainly true when I picked her up from the train station, the night before our flight. She was waiting for me outside the ticket office, a big grin on her face, as she saw me drive up to meet her. She was wearing tight jeans and a sweatshirt, her jacket folded up in her arms, and I was immediately conscious of her shape, her curves. I got out of the car and gave her a hug. I could feel her ample breasts pressed against my chest.
“Hey Dad! How are you?” She asked.
“I’m fine, sweetheart. How about you?”
“Excited. I can’t believe we’re going to be in New York City this time tomorrow.”
“You bet. The Big Apple, here we come.”
It was a similar story on the plane. We found our seats and I placed our bags in the overhead bins. I sat down and buckled up, browsing through the inflight magazine, but then Sadie suddenly realised she’d forgotten something. She had a book she wanted to read. Before I knew it, she was clambering over me to get to the aisle.
She was wearing leggings and a t-shirt; hardly very provocative or overtly sexy. But leggings are of course skin tight, and I was very much aware of her shapely legs and buttocks, only inches away from my face. It occurred to me I couldn’t see any sign of her underwear. Either she was wearing a thong or she was wearing no knickers at all.
Then, as she reached into the overhead bin to get her bag, her t-shirt rose up, revealing her flat, tanned stomach. The leggings were low-riding, so plenty of skin was on display. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, my dick beginning to harden. Soon enough she was finished and she climbed back into her seat. I could smell her fresh aroma; I could feel the heat of her body.
God, she really is a sexy young woman, I thought to myself, some guy’s going to be in for a real treat with her.
After our little trip round Times Square, we headed back to the hotel. It was, according to our body clocks, the early hours of the morning, so we both needed some sleep. We were staying in a pretty smart place only a few blocks south of Central Park. We had adjoining rooms, linked by a connecting doorway.
I was getting undressed, when there was a knock on the door, and Sadie marched in, without waiting for an invitation. I was bare-chested, wearing only my trousers and boxer shorts. She paused for a second, not overly concerned by my near-naked presence. She almost seemed to be eyeing me up for a second or two, before she smiled warmly and sat on the bed.
She was wearing a t-shirt and I was conscious of the fact it was rather short. She had crossed her shapely legs, so it was hard to tell one way or the other, but I strongly suspected she was wearing not a stitch of clothing underneath. There was obviously no sign of a bra, her breasts had been jiggling away unencumbered as she moved through the room.
“Are you okay, darling?” I inquired.
“Yes, thanks Dad.” She replied. “I just wanted to say thank you for bringing me here. I still can’t believe I’m in New York. It’s so amazing.”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying it. Now, get to bed.”
She stood up and wrapped her arms round me, pressing herself against my naked chest. She reached up on tiptoes and kissed me on the lips. This wasn’t unusual or peculiar, I had always kissed her this way and had felt no reason to do otherwise, but she held the kiss longer than usual. Then she stepped back, bringing her hands to my chest. I could feel her nails delicately tickling my skin.
“I love you, Daddy.”
“I love you too, princess.”
I kissed her on the forehead, and then she spun round and walked back towards the door leading to her room. Her t-shirt had ridden up, revealing her entirely naked buttocks. She wasn’t wearing any knickers. I watched her disappear, standing there alone, my dick like a bar of solid pig iron in my trousers.
The next day we both got up early – jet lag is a real bitch – and went out for breakfast at a nearby diner, different from the one we had used the night before. Someone rather grand and pompous once said that if you wanted to eat well in England, you should eat breakfast three times a day. I was never sure the sert porno same could be said about the United States of America. US breakfasts, while enjoyable in their own hugely-calorific way, have always struck me as a bit bizarre. I could never comprehend the way they would mix savoury and sweet together on the same plate. Pancakes and bacon? And how many different ways to cook an egg can there be?
Afterwards we headed to Central Park and then, following some relentless nagging from Sadie, we did some shopping. Why come to America, and especially New York, if you’re not going to indulge in some retail therapy? We spent at least a couple of hours in Macy’s and I ended up buying my daughter all kinds of stuff, including a killer pair of high-heeled shoes that cost me a small fortune.
That evening we were supposed to be going to see a new version of West Side Story. Sadie had always loved the film. I remembered when she was a child, she used to perform her own versions of I Feel Pretty and America in front of the television, whenever it was on. I would – after some initial reluctance – get up and dance with her, and we would both end up laughing and singing together. My own rendition of Gee, Officer Krupke! had achieved its own unique and elevated place in family history.
So, when I saw there was this new production on Broadway, I was determined to get tickets. We were back at the hotel, getting ready, when I saw the announcement of a local state of emergency on the TV. The state governor had declared that all theatres were to be closed with immediate effect. A little more shit had just hit the fan.
I knocked on the connecting door, and Sadie called me in. I opened up and was greeted with the sight of my daughter, wearing nothing but a pair of black stockings and a thong.
“Jesus!” I exclaimed, as I retreated behind the door. “I’m sorry. You should’ve told me you weren’t dressed.”
“Don’t be silly, Dad. Since when were you bothered by a little nudity?”
Since you sprouted out a huge pair of fat tits, I thought to myself.
“Well, I’ve got some bad news. The show’s off.”
She sat down on the bed, completely lacking in any self consciousness about her state of undress, and I explained the situation regarding our frustrated plans for the evening. It was another one of those moments where the gravity of what was happening sank in that little bit deeper. I mean the pandemic, of course, and other things.
She took it all in, looking a little disappointed, holding her bra in her hands. I kept trying to look elsewhere, desperately hoping not to eye up this luscious little creature, who happened to be my daughter. God, she was amazing. Her curvaceous body was simply obscene. I’d guessed as much, seeing her prowl around fully dressed. But now I could see her in a whole new light.
“We’re still going to go out, though?” She asked, looking up at me.
“Sure, we can go for a meal, although restaurants are only operating at fifty percent capacity.”
“Okay, well I wanted to dress up, so I’m going to do exactly that.”
She sprang up from the bed, her tits bouncing as she did so, then she pulled on her bra. She turned round, looking back over her shoulder.
“Can you help button me up?” She asked.
I walked up to her, desperately close to her near-naked frame. Her buttocks were on display, round and succulent, a thin strap of glossy black material running between them. Her naked back stretched out before me, soft and shining. She was holding her hair up, so I could get an unobstructed view. I clasped together the straps of her bra, and she turned round to face me once more.
“Thank you, Daddy.”
“We’ll leave in a few minutes?”
I left her room and returned to mine, once more conscious of the fact my dick was rock hard. A few minutes later she walked in. She was dressed now, in a short blue dress. She looked stunning, and I told her so. Then we walked out of the room and headed downstairs.
We ate at a nearby grill. The food was pleasant enough, the company more so. Sadie looked so mature, dressed up to the nines, in her sexy dress and her new shoes. It always feels great to take a pretty woman out on the town, even if she’s your daughter. The conversation turned to her plans for the autumn, as university loomed large on the horizon.
“Do you know where you want to go?” I asked her.
“I’m not sure. I’ve rounded it down to a few places.” She replied. “Actually, I might choose somewhere near you.”
“Yeah. You’re just outside London, and there are loads of universities I could go to. I could even live with you.”
“Is that what you want? Wouldn’t you want to live in halls of residence? Experience the whole uni thing?”
“You don’t want me to stay with you then?”
“No, of course I do. I’d love it if you lived with me. I just don’t want you missing out.”
“On what? The hedonistic lifestyle? Drugs and booze and boyfriends?”
“Well yeah, I suppose so. Maybe not the drugs.”
“Have you got a boyfriend? You tend to keep that sort of stuff to yourself.”
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