Coming of Age - Illustrated

Chasseur

Tags: Incest, Father, Daughter, UK, British

A longstanding social club in Yorkshire has a ceremonial tradition that further the bonds of their members ....

    It was on their way back from London that Sunday that the matter was raised.

   Shirley spied the large building with ease as her father nodded in its direction. Even so, the Club Centre flashed past in a bare few seconds as the family car sped along the A1. Glimpsed at intervals through the intervening, sparse woodland, the centre glowed in its yellow-white stone cladding, reflecting the evening sunlight. It had been built only perhaps a decade before and was still very modern in its look. Shirley remembered being taken to children's Christmas parties there in her junior school days when it was quite new. There had been fun and games galore, expensively provided magicians and plenty of sticky, sticky cakes. Yes indeed, huge fun and all organised by Mum and Dad's social club which liked things done in a traditional way. Today's visit to Windsor and Hampton Court Palace had itself been one of the very popular events on the Club's annual agenda. They had been obliged to use the car as they were late getting tickets and the bus places had been sold out. 

   For Shirley, memories surfaced of family holidays spent at the British seaside - Scarborough, Weymouth, Llandudno - also organised by 'the Club', where sandcastles and donkey rides, fish and chips and boat trips formed part of the traditional tapestry. Always wonderful to have a seaside holiday for someone in landlocked West Yorkshire. But, not for their family those trips to soulless, bare and barren, building-site Mediterranean resorts where the "sangria Brits" huddled themselves away from contact with those nasty locals with their nasty, foreign lingo... no matter how sunny..

   Absolutely, those Club children's shows, day trips and holidays had all been greatly entertaining and she remembered them with fondness - unlike, she suddenly recalled, her upcoming Year 13 School Leaving Night. Yes, she would go along but with lukewarm interest. As a piece of 'imported tradition', she did not rate the idea and thought the whole event an artificial exercise more to do with ego trips by the school Head and staff than actually being anything of genuine value to the 'students'... or pupils, as she considered they should rightly be called. 

   But then Shirley was indeed a very traditional girl, conservative with a small "c", respecting authority and liking all the old-fashioned things: tea in teacups with saucers underneath, toast and marmalade, home baking (at which she was no slouch), chocolate box, roses-round-the-door cottages... and, needless to say, frilly dresses.

   'Yes, it'll be at the Centre, our Fathers-and-Daughters Night, remember, sweetheart? A couple of weeks from now. Looking forward to it?' asked dad, Andrew,  from behind the wheel.

   'Of course she is... and Jack and I will be there cheering you both on, won't we, Jack', her mother laughed from the front passenger seat, smiling pointedly back at Shirley's younger sitting brother next to her. The latter maintained his aloof detachment, immersed in the downloaded game on his tablet.

   The car rolled on its way for the last fifteen minutes towards home and its comforts.                                                                                        

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   A few days later found Shirley of an evening toying absent-mindedly with the few cards and gifts her birthday had produced from among her class mates. She was hardly the most popular girl in school. Considered over-quiet and snobbish by the mainstream, her distinct lack of interest in such things as boy bands and celebrity culture did not endear her to those whose horizons never ventured beyond these matters. To actually like learning and to be interested, for example, in mastering a musical instrument - these things put her beyond the pale. Having only a few friends made up, largely, of similarly studious types, did not bother her. Those she did have tended to be quietly loyal and this was all that counted with her. She was on "best friends" terms with her classmate, Laura, a tall, willowy girl who lived just down the road and whose parents were also members of the Club. The families had spent holidays together and the girls could often be found in each other's houses, sometimes discussing schoolwork and at others cooking or dressmaking.

   The Club was very popular in the Bradford area. There was a restricted membership and always a long waiting list to join its oversubscribed ranks.

   Right now she was waiting for Laura... together they would be putting the finishing touches to the oufits they were making for the School Leaving Night in three days' time... but much more important were the plans they were making for their Fathers-and-Daughters Night dresses, to be shown triumphantly to the world a week later. Sometimes she hoped that her envy of Laura did not show. In her company she felt rather plain and dumpy. For sure, Laura never seemed beset by the clouds of freckles which adorned her own face and neck. Such a glorious, creamy complexion. Her own fairly pale features did not respond well to the sun, generally.

   The door bell sounded... and Shirley heard the muffled sounds of her mother welcoming her friend in.

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   The event was taking place in a large conference room which had temporary, tiered seating facing a small stage. Used at other times for wedding receptions, dances and other special events, this room was the Centre's major selling point and the Club management put particular effort into having it "just so". Shirley was in her element. The venue and ambience were both in tune with her innermost instincts: elegance, refinement, a quiet but romantic melody coming from the speakers, men looking like men and being handsome, girls looking feminine and being decorative... generally, a total lack of odious, modern brashness. How she had hated the recent Leaving Night - blaring, raucous charts 'music' without a melody worth the name, blinding strobe effects alternating with impersonal semi-darkness and sweaty boys of her own age pawing at her, reekingly immersed in aftershave when shaving was generally still something foreign to them...

   Here by contrast, what "glitter" there was came in an understated way as the twelve couples, Shirley and her dad included, were called up on stage one by one and once again introduced to the audience. To the accompaniment of non-ear-splitting background music and an accomplished, professional commentary from the smartly dressed Compère, in their turn Shirley and her dad duly took their ceremonial walk around the stage. Her dress glowed with its reflection of the light. With her Mum's help, she had chosen the material wisely. Andrew, elegant in his formal evening suit and bow tie, held his daughter's hand high above her head and allowed her a pirouetting twirl every few steps. Applause throughout from the tiered audience consisting of friends and relatives. At the end of this, the Compère, microphone in hand, put some general, non-demanding questions to father and daughter about life, career, hobbies and ambitions and then they were bid join the others lining up at the rear of the stage, while the final couples took their turn behind them.

   The Compère himself, seemingly with a lifetime of experience in the verbal craft of putting people at their ease, addressed the multitude. His tone, at once formal and friendly, echoed out via the loudspeakers.

   'What a parade, Ladies and Gentlemen! We hope you enjoyed the meal earlier and that this "extra dessert" is going down well. This is a special evening, for sure. The couples' parade before dinner was just the start of things and now we hope you have got to know them somewhat better! Once per year we hold these occasions when the "débutantes" from our families are introduced to you. It is, after all, a family occasion within an organisation which itself is completely family-orientated. Our young ladies can be sure that this whole room, I think I may confidently say, is full of love for them and wishes them well both now and in their future lives and careers, whatever they may be.

   And now, Ladies and Gentlemen, our fathers and daughters will entertain you with their amazing dancing prowess! Yes, for weeks now they have all been training very hard, and we would like you to award your mark based on their style and grace in this.  You have now reached the third column and please, once again, just enter your mark from one to five for each couple. At the end of this round we'll be collecting everyone's score card. Please remember, this is just for fun - only the top three couples will be announced and there will be no "losers" here. This is an evening for fun and enjoyment! And so, ladies and gentlemen, please put your hands together as we give you... the Grand Waltz!!'

   He left the stage and the twelve couples began to whirl around its limited area in a blur of colour to the strains of Strauss's "Voices of Spring". Andrew had practised faithfully, having promised both wife and daughter that he would work on his two-left-feet syndrome. Genuinely, he did not want to let the side down. And this had paid off - he more than matched the average competence level amongst the fathers present, some of whom had clearly not put in the same effort. He felt at his ease, holding Shirley around the waist and leading her.

   For her part, Shirley was just melting - this was what life and society should be about - beauty, melody and enjoyment. With a little help from Mum, she herself had made her own, gorgeous, off-the-shoulder, strapless ball dress - of a flowing, gold satin - and had found gold high heels to match it. The Club had insisted on the strapless design and had offered to all girls involved a catalogue with off-the-peg, limited variations on the theme... but she had preferred to produce her own. At her mother's insistence, something which she had found perplexing, she was wearing a pair of thin material panties and stay-up sheer stockings - a style which she had scarcely ever used but which seemed unimportant as they could not be seen. In her hair, also at the club's request for this particular evening, she was wearing a lily flower in a vibrant yellow to match her dress - something echoed in the display of all the other girls.

   Almost literally, she glowed in her father's embrace, feeling safe, warm and protected. She wanted this never to end. From time to time, she and her father bumped into Laura and her father, also among the contestants, and the two girls exchanged smiles. Although she thought she recognised many of the other fathers and daughters, she had trouble putting names to them. There was one stunning couple - a coloured man and his daughter - who were definitely new to her. They had such balletic grace and style, scarcely ever bumping into others as she and her father did. Such elegance. Such poise. They would be getting the top marks from the audience.

   The music drew to its accelerating conclusion and the couples, out of breath and panting, came to a stop, lining up together again at the rear of the stage behind the Compère as he mounted the steps once more to take the mike..

   'So, Ladies and Gentlemen, I think you'll agree that our Fathers and Daughters look absolutely wonderful tonight and have given us a magnificent spectacle. Let's give them one final hand as they make their way off stage and proceed to the drinks room for some well-earned refreshments and the chance for each couple to get to know the others.'

   He was forced to pause while the applause abated.

   'They'll be joining us again in half an hour once the judges have put together the final scores - and you can also avail yourself of refreshments and snacks at the bar in the foyer after handing in your score cards. Time to make your minds up on the points now, Ladies and Gentlemen, if you haven't already done so, and give your cards in before leaving the room. We will invite you all back in to take your seats when the jury's decision is available.'

   To much cheering and clapping, the twelve couples processed in a line towards the stage exit, each father holding his daughter's hand high in the air. As they passed through and out into the adjoining corridor, a smiling member of staff on either side fastened a small, coloured plastic band on their wrists. Somewhat puzzled, Shirley noticed that hers was purple while her father's was green. Glancing around as they moved down the corridor, she saw that Laura and her father behind them had been given green and blue. The line of couples finally passed through another doorway and into the "drinks room".

   This new room was clearly some kind of dedicated ballroom or function room, smaller but expensively circular in shape and with purple velvet curtaining covering the high-set windows against the dark evening outside. The ceiling was a solid mass of mirrors, uninterrupted save for the ceiling lights themselves dotted at regular intervals. There was a low, round table in the very centre of the floorspace, piled high with food and drink and, pointing towards it but placed like the minute points of a clock against the outside wall, were twelve low-lying, small trolley beds - or were they massage couches? Shirley could not quite decide. Perhaps they had been left over from some previous function.

   A buzz of excited conversation filled the room as the couples broke up and arms were stretched out for the good things on the table, mostly the drinks. Enthusiastic discussion of how well things had gone was the main theme. The girls in particular coalesced into groups and chatted with bright eyes about dresses and dances, while their fathers looked on good-naturedly with indulgent smiles, talking amongst themselves in more subdued tones.

   After a few moments the Compère, his hands full of score cards, joined the assembled couples from outside and gestured towards the table. At this signal, the other assistants left the room, closing the door behind them. He turned to the twelve couples, many of whom had already availed themselves of the food and drink, and spoke in a friendly fashion although this time without the amplification of the mike.

   'Dads and daughters! What a show!'

   There was an appreciative response of mixed giggles and relief. Foreheads were mopped and bow ties were loosened.

   'Yes, what a show, indeed. And of course, yes, do have a drink and a snack or sandwich... but I would ask you not to over-indulge. We have one more item left on tonight's bill before we come to add up all of these.' Smiling, he waved the score cards above his head.

   There was a small ripple of laughter.

   'So now I must speak, really, with our daughters present tonight. Yes, our wonderful daughters who have given us so much colour and glamour. All of those dresses - and often made by the daughters themselves... amazing! All of them deserve to win first prize, am I right, dads?' He paused to allow the chorus of hearty, male affirmations to run its course.

   'Our dear daughters. How beautiful you look tonight! How young and vivacious... and yet how grown-up you look! Perfect young ladies. Dear, dear daughters, within our Club, as you know, we have always wanted our members to behave in a traditional, proper way. For example, we expect our parents to raise their children to behave respectfully. Any members who do not do so are asked to leave the Club. I look at you now and I notice, young ladies, that none of you are over loud or acting in a look-at-me, over-the-top way which, quite honestly, is so common these days and one of the curses of the modern world. Young ladies, I congratulate you not just on your elegance and beauty this evening but on your mature, thoughtful attitude... the gracious and demure way you behave in public... in short, your demeanour. You are a credit both to your parents and to our Club. I now ask you to maintain that attitude as we move into tonight's final, surprise activity.

   His voice now became quieter, somehow more serious, and he spoke in a slow, measured tone.

   If you will set down your drinks and snacks, please... your fathers will now lead you to your places where you will leave the world of childhood behind and become women. I shall say this once only... and, just like your fathers, I expect your complete obedience, without fail. Daughters, take your father's hand and let yourself be guided by him, as you always have done, but this time... into the world of adulthood. Do this... NOW.'

   He spoke the last word with a snap and was gratified as a result to see all twelve slim, female hands shoot up, unhesitatingly, to join the male ones waiting for them. Shirley herself felt a little mystified but in no way troubled. She felt at home, protected and among people who only wished her well. Her own response was as automatic as that of the other daughters around her. The Compère had spoken with male authority and her obedience was all but automatic. She felt her father's hand, strong and unfaltering, closing around hers as he led her towards one of the beds, as immensely reassuring as it had always been.

   The "beds" were perhaps set just below waist height and only four to five feet long - and Shirley's legs protruded for almost their whole length as she was brought to lie down. Shirley watched him as, very slowly, Andrew gathered up the flowing folds of his daughter's long dress, gradually revealing those same, long, slim legs, and raised her bottom so as to slip the garment fully up beneath her waist.

   'Remember, fathers... talk to your daughters,' came the calming voice of the Compère once again.

   Shirley could hear the other fathers murmuring and whispering... and now Andrew, too, bent low to talk quietly into her ear.

   'Don't be afraid, my love... tonight is your night. You're beautiful - and you're going to become a woman.' As he spoke, he firmly tugged downwards on her dress top. Shirley could see via the ceiling mirrors that this operation was being replicated all around the room, exposing each daughter's breasts to her father's gaze. 'Daddy wants this for you... and he won't let anything bad happen. Believe me, darling. Just do as Daddy says. Remember - I want this for you.'

   He reached down and, taking hold of those thin panties, firmly ripped them apart and pulled them away, finally jettisoning them to the floor. Again, the same sound echoed from everywhere in the room, as each daughter's most private area was revealed to her father. Gasps accompanied the sound as young eyes stared up into older ones. Every daughter was now bared apart from the ball gown around her middle and her stockings and shoes. In the ceiling mirrors, Shirley could easily see that she was now simply one of twelve identically-presented young ladies.

   Andrew murmured.

   'Part your legs now, darling. They can rest here.'

   Shirley had scarcely noticed the pair of small stirrup-type attachments at the end of the bed. Her father now swivelled these up until they clicked into a raised position... into which he then rested his daughter's stockinged legs such that they were splayed high and wide. He then removed Shirley's shoes and placed them on the floor. 

    The click was heard again and again from around the room as each girl was placed into the same position.  

   Two beds to her right, a thin, petite blonde girl was giving her father some trouble. There had been increasingly more vocal utterances of protest coming from her since the girls had been led to the beds. Now there were some quite plain yells and her father began receiving help from one of the other men. Soon, the sounds of a determined smacking were audible, with stifled gasps of pain - clearly, some type of gag had been applied - interspersed with the obvious sound of the smacks themselves. 

   In a detached, somewhat surreal way and despite the state of wonderment she herself was experiencing, Shirley thought the blonde's treatment very appropriate and, somehow,  just what was called for. In the ceiling mirror, Shirley could see the girl's rump rapidly reddening. The stupid girl was simply not behaving herself... and in public too, bringing shame upon her father... but presently the same click was heard from her direction indicating that she too had been "positioned"... voluntarily or otherwise...

   'Fathers, please prepare yourselves now... and daughters, you can raise yourselves on your elbows as your fathers would like you now to watch them. Please... there will be no talking,' came the Compère's familiar voice.

   As the daughters all raised themselves to watch, the fathers returned to the central table and each drew a chair out from underneath. Slowly, and in an unhurried, measured way, they began to undress. All of this was happening in something close to silence and little could be heard other than a vague shuffling sound as garments were removed. There was an occasional muffled sob from the direction of the little blonde - looking over, Shirley could see that a gag had indeed been placed in her mouth and fastened at the back of her head... and that her arms had been tied to the bed so that she was unable to raise herself at all.

   As to the fathers, there was no set pattern to their disrobing - some would remove shoes first, others their jackets and ties. At the end of a few minutes though, the process was finished and the chairs were heaped high with the men's clothing. They stood naked in a circle around the table, each facing outwards towards his daughter across the room. Shirley could see how different all the men were - some with thick mats of chest hair, some almost bare; some were tall and others much shorter; some were bald or balding. She could see each daughter, bared above and below the waist  and stockinged legs spread just as herself, watching her own father intently.

   'Each father and daughter are now to face and examine each other,' said the Compère, his voice now becoming deeper, slower and more authoritative. He was re-inforcing and stressing to each pair the fact of needing to absorb the difference between female and male.

   'Fathers, look at your wonderful, beautiful daughters - see how they are teetering on the brink of womanhood, just waiting for your touch, submissive, ripe and ready for you. Daughters, look at your proud fathers - see how manly and dominant they are - how different from those pathetic and scrawny, pimple-faced boys at your schools whose greatest talent is being able to click on plastic buttons. These are real men; they have actually achieved something in life... and they want you as a woman. Fathers... go to your daughters... and make women of them.'

   Shirley watched, shivering in anticipation as her father slowly approached her, his penis stiffly pointing towards her, and came to a stop between her spread legs. Andrew looked down at her with a mixture of pride and desire on his features. Gently, he caressed her two thighs above the tops of her stockings, as satiny as the dress which now rode atop Shirley's stomach. He rubbed her abdomen below the navel, gradually moving down until his hand topped the rise of her little, almost bare mound. He seemed to be waiting.

   'Fathers,' came the Compere's insistent tone once again, 'secure your daughters... do this NOW.' 

   Andrew then toook hold of Shirley's right hand and guided it above her head to the end of the bed where a short length of soft rope dangled from a cross rail. He tied her wrist to it firmly and then repeated the process with her left. Once again, with the aid of the ceiling mirrors, Shirley could see the ritual being repeated around the room.

   Like the rest of the girls, Shirley had now been "prepared", her arms tied back above her head, her legs up and splayed so as to display her most private parts for the appreciation of her father.

   For a short time all was still in the room. All was quiet. There was an air of anticipation - of "what next?"

   'Gentlemen, it is now time for your daughters to lose the flowers from their hair, after which, you will take your prizes,' came the Compère's voice yet again, in his lowest and most insistent tones yet. A click was heard and then once again, although more muted, came the familiar sound of 'Voices of Spring' to break what had become an over-quiet background to proceedings.

   Almost in time to the music, Andrew's fingers moved to Shirley's hair and loosened the yellow lily pinned there. In common with all the other fathers, he now positioned this between his daughter's parted thighs and in front of her still tightly closed slit. His hand then moved to her labia and parted them, to reveal to him her pink inner flower. In turn, these yielded to his probing and he positioned his member at her entrance. Slowly, very slowly, he pushed into his daughter, half-inch by half inch, reaching down and caressing her face as he did so. He saw her eyes grow wide and her mouth come open in a gasp.

   'Can you feel Daddy inside you, my love, moving slowly up and into you?

   'Oh yes, Daddy,' Shirley gasped, 'but... but... please go slowly - you're so big... it sort of...ah...ah...hurts...  OH!'

    She gave out a short, half-stifled squeal of hurt.

   'Yes, Andrew murmured, 'that's only natural... you'll be very dry to begin with... but any pain should go quite quickly and you'll soon start to enjoy it.'

   Still caressing his daughter's freckled face and holding her gaze with his own, Andrew continued his slow but remorseless push into her. Similar high, female gasps were coming from all around the room as vaginas were experiencing their first male penetration. He continued to look down, studying Shirley's face to see how each one of those half inches affected her. Her brow was bedewed with perspiration, her breathing ragged and she licked rapidly at her lips to moisten them. Her young eyes were like stars as her hands twisted in their restraints above her head. Finally, his shaft came to a rest, planted fully inside her and pushing at her vagina's dry elasticity. 

   At that moment, Andrew leaned down low and, cupping Shirley's chin in his hand, began to kiss her with a probing tongue. As he felt his daughter begin to respond, her little tongue feeling its way in exploration, he gradually started to withdraw from her. This though was only the beginning of what became a very slow pumping. He did not want to increase Shirley's discomfort... but his own desire was dictating the manoeuvre. After perhaps a minute, in which he was gratified to see her occasional grimaces of pain grow more infrequent, he also sensed that she was showing the first signs of lubrication... that his strokes were becoming easier for her and his foreskin was finding the friction less troublesome.

   'Fathers, desist and withdraw,' intoned the Compère.

   If unwelcome, the instruction was expected. Slowly and reluctantly, twelve male members, most of them bright red-slicked, were duly withdrawn from twelve vaginas, trailing over the positioned flowers. The men stepped back a few paces, waiting again. There was an atmosphere of disappointment and frustration. 

   The sound of a spinning coin was heard.

   'Fathers, you will step to your left.'

   Another sound was heard - that of a pair of rolling dice. 

   'Fathers, the number is seven. Move now, if you please, and restart.'

   The men slowly moved anti-clockwise around the room and each came to a halt in front of a "new" daughter. Each began to thrust between the pair of legs in front of him. Shirley recognised Laura's father very easily as he positioned himself and began his work inside her. Laura herself, she had noticed, seven beds away on the other side of the room, was now being serviced by the black father. She had thought the black couple extremely attractive during the evening and guessed they would be leading contenders for the first prize. She closed her eyes and concentrated on feeling the in and out slide of Laura's father. He was a little faster than her own dad had been. She had caught sight of Andrew getting to work between the thighs of a slightly chubby redhead... she did not really want to think about that. Only becoming a woman was now important. Only that. She had been told - instructed - that this was to happen and she felt it somehow to be her duty.  After a minute or two she felt Laura's dad catch his breath a little and start to accelerate. This was also happening elsewhere.

   'Fathers, desist and withdraw. You WILL maintain discipline....' the Compère was firm.

   Shirley felt vaguely cheated as Laura's father pulled slowly out of her and stepped back.

   '...  and yes, daughters, please be sure to note - your fathers are absolutely real, masculine men. See what self-restraint they can maintain. Boys of your age would have no control whatsoever over their bodies. Gentlemen, match your colours... do so... NOW!'

   Again the men changed position around the room and Shirley found herself confronted by a father she did not know. Sporting a moustache and small beard, he and his daughter had scarcely registered much during the evening. He was not tall but fairly broad chested and from his rounded pectorals Shirley had the impression he might be a body builder or perhaps a regular gym attender. The band around his wrist was purple, matching her own. As he in turn thrust into her, she again closed her eyes and tried to feel every movement. But after not very long, she realised dimly she was experiencing actual excitement... and that it might be wrong not to see what was happening.

   This excitement rose as she saw the bearded father above her holding her hips off the bed and thrusting mechanically deep inside her. She could see her own father now servicing her friend Laura, his buttocks pounding purposefully between those willowy, slender... but widespread thighs. Shirley could see how he was clenching his jaws as he tried to hold back and this mirrored the taut strain on the face of the man above her. Oh, how the feeling that she was beautiful and desirable now ran through her. This man wanted her, just as her own father wanted and needed Laura over there. As she stared up at him, watching the sweat begin to stand out on his forehead, she could feel the tingle begin at the apex of her little mound - the one she had started having alone in her bed on some nights over the last year, provoked by her own fingers and thoughts. Her vagina was now running with slickness, welcoming joyfully this man's intrusion.

   'Fathers, take... their... virginity. Do... so... ... NOW!' It was the Compère's loudest and most imperious command yet.

   All of the men were now pumping furiously into the daughters beneath them. Around the room, young hips were bucking in the ancient rhythm or young legs were now deserting the stirrups and clasping tightly around straining, older male torsos. Shirley could hear stertorous breathing from all round her, not least from the man whose chest rose and fell immediately above her. The daughters were beginning, as she herself was, to emit little gasps and high-pitched exclamations and squeals. She could even hear the same sounds coming from the little blonde who had been gagged for giving so much trouble.

   Oh, she could feel the tingle between her thighs building to a crescendo. The man was now slamming into her, forcing her thighs wide with each impact. He was not as rapid as some of the others, but rather more determined and hugely powerful with each stroke - she could feel his large testicles impacting her anus. He reached down to pull down the gold bust cups of her dress still holding her young breasts - and sucked voraciously on each pink nipple in turn. As he raised his head again, she lifted her own from the pillow slightly and looked down to see herself being penetrated, her young folds being forced apart by the man's insistent battering. She had seen her own father's member... and this one seemed markedly larger. Certainly, it was now filling and stretching her completely with each stroke.

   She could hold back no longer - whereas some of the daughters had long ago raised their legs from the stirrups to clasp the daddy above, it was now that Shirley "embraced" this daddy's body with her thighs, holding him tightly. The tense atmosphere which filled the room was affecting each couple and a kind of synchronisation was occurring, bringing matters to a head. The chorus of low male grunts and higher female cries grew ever louder above the background music. 

   The man strained and gave a ragged cry, stretching upwards from her as he ejaculated explosively and shudderingly into her, flooding young Shirley with his seed. From around the room she could dimly hear through her rising excitement each of the men baying similarly  -  just as their own daughters too, elsewhere in the room and beneath the attentions of other men, reached a collective, higher-pitched crescendo in concert with the final bars of the Strauss. 

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   The drive home in the car was one filled with small talk and speculation about the forthcoming summer holidays. Her younger brother nestled against Mum together on the back seat, his head lolling on her shoulder as he stared obliquely at his tablet, his finger flicking at the screen. Tonight was Shirley's night though, and she had pride of place sitting next to Dad at the front. She had been glowing throughout the dance and was still glowing now. 

   The drive allowed Shirley time to reflect on the night's events. Although the last father had some time ago orgasmed deep inside her, claiming her innocent little pussy with his seed, the young lady could still, even now, feel the thrusts of the older man. The voice of the Compère’s final instructions after the copulation had ended in the private ballroom echoed in her head.

   'Fathers, you have been granted the delight and wonder of taking the virginity of the young lady beneath you. You will now withdraw from her, take the flower which is placed between her thighs and enrich it with her scent. This is her gift to you and you are to treasure it as a memento. Do this now.'

   She recalled how, slowly and reluctantly, the bond between each pair of lovers was broken as the fathers' penises were removed, softening into flaccidity and trailing their sticky load over the flower between each daughter's thighs. 

   Shirley remembered 'her' father picking up the bruised lily, moist with his seed, and slowly wiping it up and down over her slit. She remembered the moistness of it - its velvety coolness. All around the room the same manoeuvre was done... a rose here, a dahlia there...

   And she remembered the Compère’s final words of the evening, intoned with a quiet gravity which insisted on obedience.

   'Daughters, you have had the wonderful gift of his seed from the man you see before you. You must treasure the thought that tonight you have left the child behind and become a woman, all thanks to the selfless action of both this man and, of course, your own wonderful father. In six months time, to confirm your womanhood, this man will visit you in your own home where your parents will have prepared the main family bedroom. You will spend the night there with your 'new father' and he will ensure that by morning you have become a fully mature woman, able to venture out into the world with complete confidence in herself.

   These are your instructions and you will obey them to the letter.'

   She grinned as she recalled all this. Her father took his eyes off the road for a moment and gave her a warm smile. Her freckled complexion all forgotten, she rested one hand on her lower tummy and the other possessively on her father's thigh as he drove... and Mum greeted this with a barely-concealed half-smile.

   'So, only another couple of years and it'll be the Mother-and-Son Night at the Club, right, darling?' said Andrew, half turning and peering into the mirror to stare at his wife knowingly and gauge her reaction. 

   A passion flower, slick with both his and Laura's juices, lay in the side pocket of the car door next to him.

   The response was not slow in coming.

   'Oh, Jack and I will make a great couple, won't we, Jack? And Jack's friend Luke was there last week at Hampton Court, remember, Andy? That tall, well set boy..? I'm sure he'll be taking part with his mum, too. I... er...had a word with her when we were in the gift shop at the end. She's very fond of Jack.'

   She looked into the distance as if dreaming, tousling her son's hair in automatic fashion, to which he reacted in typical teenage annoyance with an angry grunt and resumed game playing on his tablet. She persisted, knowing that his childhood years were now numbered and that this gesture would be replaced before long... with... others...

   'Well, it's still a way off. Jack's not sure right now of what's involved, but I'm sure I can... help him... and we'll both have a fantastic time, eh, Jack..?' as she lightly put her hand on his inner thigh.