CHAPTER SIX
Lily's shock over seeing Sonny fucking his mother on the living room couch had lasted the night.
This morning rage had filled the vacuum of her incomprehension. She had the answer.
Kit was a hateful, shitty, unadulterated bitch and a selfish pig. She had guessed or somehow learned that Lily and Sonny were lovers, and jealousy had made her drag Sonny off yesterday and seduce him..
Two could play that game. Today, Sunday, Kit could probably keep him nailed down. But what about tomorrow, when she had to go to work?
From the kitchen window Lily saw Sonny mowing the lawn and Kit setting up the chaise lounge. Then Kit went to him, unknotting her bra neck cord so he would see her big tits lurch around. And smiling at him, dimpling, simpering, batting her eyes. The whore! Any woman could read the wiggling of her body, the way her hand rose up her curves to languorously brush hair from her eyes- Lily was making a cup of coffee for Daddy. She poured it, sugared it heavily the way he liked, and started out the door into the greenhouse.
She stopped. He had paused in his work and was staring at Kit. He stood in profile and Lily did not miss the tent pole lifting his shorts leg.
Bitter tears started from her eyes. Even Daddy!
She retreated to the kitchen. The coffee cup burned her hands. She thrust it down angrily on the drain board. Let him make his own coffee! She had already worked two hours in the greenhouse.
Her t-shirt was marked with dirt smudges on her titties. Sweat staked her skirt on the line of her ass cleft. Her hair was soggy. And Daddy was gazing at Kit, his cock stiff as a brick. Lily flicked a glance out the window. Kit was returning to her lounge chair, swaying, tits wobbling, a hand patting the hair back from her face. She looked fresh and clean and beautiful, and Sonny and Daddy were eye-eating her.
Oh, the fucking bitch!
Lily's impulse was to march out into the greenhouse and tell Daddy everything, at least to tell him Kit was a whoring bitch he should not waste time on.
No good. He would just turn sullen.
Then, beat Kit at her own game.
Lily's eyes grew wide at the thought. She moved again to the kitchen door and studied her father. He was still staring out at Kit, his eyes hot, heavy-lidded, his cock rigid. He stood as though rooted to the spot.
Nor would he get closer to her. She knew his attitude. He could not afford a woman like Kit. If she remained in view he would probably go indoors and take a cold shower, maybe read the Sunday paper until she was gone, then return to work.
Lily would fuss over him, make him a nice lunch, bring beer. He would forget Kit and their day would return to normal.
He hitched up his shorts, easing the material squeezing his erection, drew on his cigar, and continued staring across the hedge at the voluptuous redhead, who had just rolled her bikini bra down an inch.
Lily had to break the spell. She returned for the coffee, and as she entered the greenhouse called out, 'I had to let it cool, it burned my hands.'
He started at the sound of her voice. He twisted his torso away to hide the tent in his pants, and began moving the plant flat on the bench before him. She saw his cheek redden.
He was like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
And Lily began to appreciate her own relationship with her father. He did not want her to be aware of his lust. That meant he realized she was a person, not a child, that she might resent his hunger for the woman next door, might be jealous- Lily heard the whir, of the lawnmower but did not glance toward the sound. She had no desire to watch Sonny. Her attention was on her father's broad, bare back, the muscles rolling as he shoved the plant flat across the bench. She scanned his rocky buttocks. The shorts material was drawn into his ass cleft by the pull of the material stretched out in front. His legs bulged with muscle under curly black hair. He was forty but hard labor kept his body that of a young athlete.
She felt a damp squirminess in her crotch.
She thought of last night, peeping at Sonny and Kit fucking in their living room.
And why not? she thought. Why in hell not? Why let that bitch torment her father?
The remaining work was a tidying up after yesterday's transplanting, clumps of weak plants to be thinned and thriftily given a second chance, leftover soil to be sifted. Lily worked alongside her father, rubbing elbows, hips, accidentally touching his hands. She blocked the view of Kit. She tucked her t-shirt into her skirt, shoving, it way down to stretch the dirty cotton on her titties and show not only her nipple bumps but the aureole shadows. Coyly she picked up her father's cigar and dragged on it. He laughed.
There was a half-hour's work left when she brought him a beer. The breeze had died and they began sweating. She could smell herself, the heat of her body, maybe her pussy. She did not know if he would catch the odor. Close to him she smelled his sweat and beer and cigar, felt her nostrils flare and a seething begin in her crotch. Her lust seemed perfectly natural. She loved her father, thought him the handsomest and strongest and truest of men, and war with Kit had burned away her last scruples. It was for his own good.
And for hers. Sonny had kindled fires in her cunt and she needed a man to sate them. Why not the man she loved best in all the world?
In a narrow aisle she found occasion to brush her tits across his back. She dropped a trowel. As he bent to pick it up she squatted, skirt hiked up, pussy exposed, and their hands met on the tool.
Then she went indoors to bathe.
The doors to their bedrooms faced on the short bathroom hall, and in her room there was a closet, backed by a full-length dressmakers mirror. Lily opened this, and placed a chair facing it, to represent herself, and stepped back to the hall. She wanted Daddy to see both her naked back and the image of her front, accidentally caught in the mirror.
She shifted the chair, angled the door-mirror just right. She dropped her skirt where the chair was, to mark where she should stand, and wedged a sandal between the door and jamb to keep it firm.
She showered then. Returning, toweling herself dry, she set her hall door halfway open and went to her post on the dirty blue denim skirt marking where the chair had been She waited for the soft, heavy tread of her father's bare feet.
Bill Folsom's forty-cent cigar was down to thumb length. Across the hedge Kit lay sprawled on the lounge chair, auburn hair blowing across the mounds of her breasts, a gorgeous leg cocked up and wagging to the beat of music from a transistor radio. But Kit's beauty was beyond his concerns.
He was reflecting on how much he loved his daughter, and wondering why his cock was bone stiff even though he had stopped ogling Kit.
Shoving the last flat into neat alignment, he turned to the house, gulping his beer can dry, tossing it in the garbage can, entering the kitchen and taking the whiskey bottle down from the shelf His mood was to drink from the bottle. He took a long gulp that burned all the way down and made him cough but did not clear his mind of thoughts about Lily that he had always kept separated by a wall of impossibility. He replaced the bottle and padded silently toward the bathroom. Realizing that Lily might be undressed and not hear him coming, he called, 'Bathroom empty?'
'Uhhhh.' She spoke from her bedroom.
In the hall his gaze followed the line of her half-open door. He saw her bare back, a towel sheathing her head as she vigorously dried her hair. She was standing on her dirty blue denim skirt, naked, her limbs brown and her back lightly tanned, her buttocks white and her thighs white shading to pale gold.
Then he saw the mirror, her head a mass of towel, her red-tipped milky breasts dipping and jiggling as her arms moved, her dark-tufted pussy exposed in its bracket of white hips.
He sucked in his breath.
He stood transfixed, gazing at the loveliness of his daughter's body, front and rear, at the slim, limber waist, the perky buttocks, the sleek legs shading from alabaster to pale gold to brown. Then again at her bulbous titties, at the plump protrusion of her bushy mound, at the dark furrowing of hair on her cunt lips.
