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Then she was gone, back in the changing rooms with Holly. They were gone a long time this next time and I was beginning to wonder what was keeping them. Finally Stacie came out again and looked pleased with herself and it wasn't until later I'd find out why,Holly came out looking hot and red faced and when I asked if everything was ok, said she'd been trying underwear on and that there was no way she'd be walking down the catwalk in that.Stacie whispered "that's a shame, hey Daddy" and it was then I knew Sarah must have said something. I sat red faced myself, not knowing what to say to that.The final outfit was evening wear. It was a black shear all in one jump suit, which left very little to the imagination. I could actually see my daughters tits clearly and as she walked down the catwalk, she looked defiantly at me as if daring me to look at them.She posed at the end of the catwalk and invited me to stand. Oh fuck, I wasn't prepared for that for obvious reasons and she said "come on. ” “I—oh, dear, I, yes, they do, but . . .” “But what?” “Mine don’t have a crotch.” Her voice a whisper, but loud in the darkened car. “You’re a very nasty girl, aren’t you?” A brief silence. “Yes.” “Yes, Master.” “I - I’m sorry. Yes, Master.” Her voice trembled slightly. Maybe fear, maybe lust, maybe both. “Don’t let it happen again. You’re very wet, aren’t you?” “Y-yes, Master, I’m—oh, I don’t believe I’m doing this. I’m so very wet.” Breathing ragged. “Open your legs.” The rustling of cloth. Inhaling, exhaling still ragged. Hers. I reached beneath the full green skirt. Absolutely a gooey mess. “Drive your car into the garage,” I said as I plunged two fingers into her flooded pussyhole, heard her whimper. By the time she pulled the car to a halt and turned it off, my cock was out, jutting straight up. “Give me your hand,” I said. Soft, warm and well manicured, her long fingers trembled as they touched my rigidness. Her touch was delicate and told me she would be a skilled.
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