Of the many fantasy sites she would surf on her notebook until the early hours of the morning, www.sexstoriespost.com was now her unchallenged favorite. Why? Because in her eyes it was the best, offering as she saw it, a greater variance of topics and with the easiest of navigational software. She became familiar with specific authors, scanning the archives nightly, looking for their latest stories and her impending encounter with yet another pair of sopping-wet panties. Life was fun.

The more she read of girls receiving their sexual come-uppance at the hands of boyfriends, fathers, strangers, uncles, brothers, sisters, teachers….even mothers, and in one recent instance a colony of entrenchedly deviate gorillas, the more she fantasised as to her own devirginising and what form exactly it might take. One could reasonably speculate that at eighteen she had indeed left her run a tad late, but with the exception of this - her one little night-time electronic indulgence – she really had been a good Catholic girl!

That was however until she came across "Holly’s Story."

Penned by an author calling himself Tiger, the tale recounted the events leading up to a father’s intimate deflowering of his fourteen-year old daughter the night of her year-eight school dance. What exactly it was about the story so intrigued her was hard to define. Perhaps it was the image of so young a girl dressed-up to the nines, returning home early to find her father splayed out across the lounge, arm-wrestling his pecker as he drooled over a computerised slide-show of digital pictures, zoomed-in to highlight multiple features of his daughter’s youthful anatomy. She read on breathlessly as, sobbing with embarrassment and shock, Holly fled to the cloistered refuge of her bedroom, only moments later to be confronted by her father who, knowing she would inform her mother on his wife’s return, told his daughter "I may as well give you something to really tell her."

At the point he subsequently pulled her panties down as she stood there shivering and commenced upon a program of fully indecent exploitation of her virginal body, paying especial attention early on to her young breasts, Tiff was a lost cause and midway towards her second orgasm of the evening.

In the ensuing days, "Holly’s Story" was all Tiffany read. Having cut and pasted the article, she would sit cross-legged on her bed, in just her panties – the notebook between her slim legs, submerging herself more and more into the girl’s character as the self-made waves of ecstasy washed over her.

It wasn’t, she was sure, any reflection of her own paternal lusting, although, if one were honest, she had conjured up the odd wide-screen image of being forcibly taken by her father on more than one occasion. It was she decided, the skill of the author in painting such a vividly realistic picture of what could only be described as white-hot incestuous carnality.

Mornings now, she was beginning to wake-up with her hand in her knickers and her nipples in a fully aroused state. Tiff began wondering if in fact the story had any basis in truth. Was Tiger perhaps publicly cleansing his own conscience? Hell, she knew nothing about him – he might only be a teenager himself for all she knew. It was only a fantasy-site after all. She had to know more.

Figuring she might contact SSP’s site direct and make enquiry about the author, she emailed the webmaster there - with little expectation of hearing back from anyone. "Gonna look like just another author-groupie," she told herself.

Imagine then her wholehearted surprise, when she received a reply overnight from none other than SSP’s resident webmaster/administrator. The elusive "Tiger" himself.

Pleased that his story had been well received and especially by so young a girl of all people, he confided in Tiffany his earlier background as a long-time subscriber, writer, editor and later co-founder of a re-vamped SSP. Far from being a teenager he admitted diplomatically to being "considerably older." There was he assured her, no factual person upon which "Holly’s Story" was based. "If only", he was understandably thinking.

In the coming weeks, Tiffany exchanged many emails with Tiger, and if the truth be known, he began to find himself spending an inordinate amount of time dwelling upon the "cute little Aussie brunette" whose picture, down-loaded from one of her emails, smiled back at him from the east-face of the filing cabinet. She was very pretty he had to admit. Just five foot three as she had told him, she looked considerably younger than her years – almost a little beach girl he thought to himself. He traced the outline of her hips with his finger, studying her nicely tanned skin, contrasting as it did, with her neat school uniform. He looked again at the short summer skirt and her crisp white shirt and tie. What wondrous sights they alone hid? Such a beautiful and well featured little face, highlighted by deep blue eyes that sparkled with youth and tease. Her shoulder-length hair was neatly cut and styled. What he would have given to be able to run his fingers through it – just once! His gaze dropped to her small hands clasped neatly in front of her and knowing what activites they had obviously wrought in areas he only dared imagine, he was suddenly finding the room unusually warm for that time of year.

Propped-up near her pillow, Tiff hugged herself as she read Tiger’s latest email. She too had his picture and had often wondered what it must have been like growing up in the southern States. Could anything be further removed than a comfortable middle-class upbringing in suburban Sydney? Around six foot, he had obviously looked after himself physically and reminded her vaguely of Kevin Bacon during his Footloose days. When she had finished reading his words, she simply closed her eyes and wondered…..

In the run-down to her final exams that hopefully would see Tiffany graduate (like her sisters) at the end of the year, her father had informed them all that due to business commitments, he would by necessity, be travelling to the US mid September, which as it happened, was the traditional three-week school vacation before that last term. Tiffany took this information on board with but polite indifference, until she heard the words. "For most of the time Tiff, I’ll be holed-up in Kansas City."

KC of all places she thought, and Tiger she knew, spent so much time at Springfield, barely a couple of hours drive south-east of Kansas City so he’d told her.

How she ever convinced her father to take her, would make for interesting reading, but is surely evidence of his youngest daughter’s powers of persuasion or perhaps of his own inability to deny his sexy eighteen-ear old anything when she gets the "I love you daddy" and the "I’m sooo cute you got no choice" eye-flutters in full swing.

She emailed Tiger with the news of her impending itinerary of course, but this achieved little besides their jointly increased peristaltic rates. She knew that for the week they’d be there, they were booked into the Marriott on West 12^th Street, but what latitude that would give her for any sort of freedom she couldn’t say. Asking her father if she could spend some quality time with the webmaster of an erotic-story site might not be the way to go.

not without his own social restrictions, merely wrote back, telling her that there was no way he wasn’t going to see her and that "something would be arranged – whatever it took." The clandestine intimacy of it all appealed somehow to Tiffany’s sense of the romantic. At heart, she really was a wild child.

Tiger,

Even as the cab pulled up at 200 West 12^th Tiff gazed up at the huge edifice. Boasting just shy of a thousand guest suites, this was a seriously large hotel. That probably translated as seriously efficient room-service too, she thought. Could her father’s Amex stay the distance?

Their suite was palatial. Two double beds, a bathroom big enough for a decent size fashion show and cupboard space for the most committed serial shopper. Being alone that night for the first time with a man…her father notwithstanding, had Tiff all at sixes and sevens. For his part, watching his daughter emerge from the bathroom in her unavoidably revealing nightdress and then climbing into the bed the far side of the room, breezily calling-out "Goodnight daddy," stirred things beneath his own covers that might in other circumstances have led Tiffany to be reminded of Holly’s fascinating learning curve.

The next morning, Tiffany was still snuggled-up three-quarters asleep when her father called out to her. "Tiff, I’ll be gone probably three or four hours – What are you going to do this morning?" She’d love to have told him.

"Ummm, well, if I ever get up dad" she purred, "I’m gonna walk around town for a while and go shopping."

"Ok sweetheart," he said, "Well you be careful and hey, I’ve left some money for you here on the dresser." He came over and kissed her on the cheek.

"Thanks dad, I’ll be fine," she replied…."I’m eighteen, I think I can look after myself."

"I’m sure you can too love," he smiled at her, before closing the door and heading off to the express lifts.

"Three hours?" she thought. She had to call Tiger. He would know they were in KC by now.

Fascinated by her Australian twang, he took down the details of her residency.

"You real positive your dad won’t be back until after two Tiff?" he asked. "I sure would hate for you to get in any trouble with him." She assured him all was cool.

"Well I figure I can make it by noon if I leave now," he told her. She smiled at the sound of his own drawl.

After they both hung-up, she opened up her suitcase and selected a pretty blue dress she had bought just before leaving Australia. Fairly short with a scalloped neck, she wriggled into it, smoothing the material over her hips. The lightest application of make-up and a little lip-gloss and you can well understand why the bell-boy near the upper landing did a double-take. He wasn’t going to be on his game for the rest of the morning.

Even as she strolled around the near one hundred and fifty year old City Markets at Twenty, East Fifth, she was imagining Tiger and the reality of actually meeting him in an hour or so. Would she be embarrassed? Would he? After all, running a sex-site might be considered a slight handicap when meeting an eighteen year old girl for the first time and especially given the cradle-snatching age difference.

Tiff headed back to the Marriott, arriving there shortly before 11.45. Tossing the same bell-boy a killer smile, the poor kid fell over himself securing her a lift. She was glad it was empty as she wanted to get back to the room well ahead of her expected guest.

She only made it in fact with seven or eight minutes to spare. She heard the knock at the door while she was still in the bathroom. Likely their combined harnessed pulse-rate at that moment could have emptied Lake Michigan in thirty minutes.

Opening the door, neither moved for a moment. It took Tiger’s "Well hello there young lady," to partially thaw the impasse. She was sure she blushed but seeing as she wasn’t on her own in that department, she felt marginally better. Tiff recalled later that her very first impression was that he didn’t seem like the kind of guy to be running a sex-site. Tiger on the other hand, could barely credit that this dream of an import was still a schoolgirl. Having only seen the one pic of her in uniform, what stood in front of him right that second, appeared several years more worldly. He hadn’t felt such an inept dickwad for the best part of a decade.

"Can I get you a drink Tiger?" she asked quietly, indicating a rather comfortable looking chair to the left of the glass-topped table. For some reason she was quite content to use that term and never thought to ask his real name. His own thoughts, momentarily swinging wildly between the need to balance some southern hospitality with sudden irrepressible images of himself unzipping that hot little dress, stymied his attempts to answer her.

"Oh, y..yes please Tiffany…a beer if you have one there," he finally got out.

She found a Budweiser in the mini-bar and held it up for him.

"Great," he said smiling at her. "God, was she ever a step-up from the girls round Springfield?" he thought to himself. "Make that most girls south of the North Pole," he mused.

Finding herself a ‘cruiser,’ Tiff sat down opposite her guest, providing both with the opportunity to assess the situation and each other. For her part, Tiffany was fascinated by Tiger’s presence. With no experience of Americans much beyond the big screen, his mannerisms and innate politeness were in sharp contrast to that of Australian males. She felt just a little intimidated being alone with a man so much older than herself but at the same time, it was not without its inherent arousal factor.

For Tiger, being in the close proximity of what represented in essence, a living photograph, brought its own re-awakening. As she spoke so animatedly about home, her school and some of the highlights of her brief eighteen years tenure on the planet, he knew he could so easily fall in love with this girl. Her freshness, exuberance, youth, accent…even her very inexperience, all conspired to stir his yearning and his desire to know her better. Way better.

Inevitably, alcohol stifles the inhibitions and by the demise of their second bottle, the body language of each, suggested a relaxation of their earlier enforced formality. Tiffany in fact not so much broke the ice, as signalled the onset of a new playing field, when she asked him quite off the cuff.

"How long have you been writing those stories Tiger?"

came forth her own tongue, more than willing to play the game. Moving his hand upwards, he encircled her right breast now and commenced squeezing and caressing that softest of little mounds. No girl had ever aroused him to this level so quickly.