“Amanda, why are there panties on the kitchen countertop?” Joe Johnston hollered to his 21-year-old daughter.

As single parent for the last 11 years, Joe had survived a constant volley of unpredictable, awkward situations that come with the territory when a father raises a daughter on his own. Puberty, periods, and proms. Bras, boyfriends, and breakups. However, after Amanda had gone off to college, Joe had settled back into a relatively ordinary life. It took all of two days since his daughter returned home from her junior year to throw him another curveball.

“There aren’t panties on the countertop, daddy. Because nobody’s called them panties since 1992,” Amanda replied entering the kitchen wearing a white sports bra and barely there black running shorts — their ultra-high cut exposed the curve of her butt. “Undies, underwear, drawers… or in this case, thong, would be more accurate.”

Joe saluted in return. “Got it. But the question remains. What are they doing on our counter?”

“They’re cute aren’t they?” Amanda said, never missing an opportunity to make her father squirm. Picking up the lavender lace thong, she unfolded it, and held it out in front of her dad.

Joe rolled his eyes but briefly admired the thong, noticing the delicate white satin ribbon in the middle waistband.

As Amanda refolded the undergarment neatly and placed it in her leather handbag, she replied, “But to answer your question, I borrowed it from a friend and I’m giving it back to her this morning.”

Joe wrinkled his brow. “Since when do girls share panties… undies, I mean?”

“They’re my friend Grace’s. I met her at school last semester. She actually grew up here but went to Jefferson High. We’ve gotten pretty close. We share everything.”

“And why on Earth did you need to borrow them?” Joe inquired.

“Dad, I really, really don’t think you want to go there,” smirked Amanda. “But since you’re so inquisitive, they’re too tight and pinched my cooter so I’m giving it back to her. She’s quite petite. Just your type.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Joe retorted, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh c’mon. Don’t deny it. ‘Petite blondes in their twenties.’ It’s all over your browser search history, daddy.”

Joe’s eyes bulged and his cheeks flushed. “I…umm…I thought I cleared my history.”

“Daddy, I’m a computer science major. Do you really think I can’t get past that? Anyway, there’s no need to be embarrassed. We’re both adults. Besides, mom was a petite blonde hottie back in the day so it’s no surprise you’re into that. It’s endearing actually.”

Sipping his piping hot cup of black dark roast, Joe reflected back on his wife Jennifer, who passed away 11 years earlier from a stroke. From the first time he saw her, he was enamored with her cute body, pert boobs and amazing ass.

Amanda on the other hand had gotten her genes from Joe’s side of the family. At 5’10”, the brunette bombshell had a stunning athletic physique. Toned arms. Washboard stomach. Deep brown eyes. Though her breasts were confined by her sports bra, her cleavage announced Amanda was blessed with a bountiful chest.

A scar on her left knee was the only flaw on an otherwise glorious set of legs. Reconstructive surgery to repair two ligaments had caused Amanda to lose a bit of her burst and ended her promising university tennis career two years ago. Rather than wallowing in sorrow, she committed herself to distance running.

“So anyway…” Joe said, desperate to change the subject to anything other than his internet search history. “What’s on your docket for today?”

Amanda ran through her schedule, which included a morning 10K run, followed by lunch with Grace, a trip to make some returns at the mall, and a movie with her boyfriend, Ethan.

“And at what point in there are you going to look for a job?” Joe asked.

“I know. I know. I just want to take this first week home from school to chill,” Amanda replied. “Besides, everyone is desperate for help with the pandemic. I can get a job anywhere, just like that.” Amanda snapped her fingers.

She has a point, Joe conceded. Not up for an argument with his daughter so soon after she had come back home.

Amanda gave her dad a peck on the cheek, put in her AirPods and headed out the front door for her run. “Have a great day at work, daddy. Love you.”

“Love you, too, honey.”

Joe turned and began tidying up the kitchen, wiping down the counter and putting a few stray dishes in the dishwasher. As he grabbed his worn leather laptop case, he noticed Amanda’s handbag sitting on the stool. A flash of lavender fabric caught his eye. He paused before reaching in and grabbing the thong.

Unfolding it, Joe grazed a thumb over the tiny white satin bow. He admired the intricately decorated waistband with violet lace, which subtly offset the luxurious, lacy lavender fabric. It didn’t seem like the type of undergarment you’d find at Target. Taking measure of its size, he agreed with his daughter’s depiction of Grace. She must be petite, indeed.

Joe folded the thong back up and placed it back in his daughter’s handbag. He grabbed the keys and headed to work.

Two Weeks Later

Having wrapped up his last conference call of the day with a sports drink client, Joe packed up his laptop case, flipped the switch and headed for the door. As head of account services for a major advertising firm in town, Joe and the rest of the executive team had implemented a half-day workday on Fridays during the summer.

Pulling onto the freeway, his navigation system alerted him to a car accident ahead. His time to arrival to home added another 45 minutes. “Crap,” he thought.

Seeing the exit for Pine Street less than 1/8th of a mile away, Joe veered off the freeway and took the exit. Five block later, a bright yellow and white canopy caught his eye. He deftly maneuvered across a lane of traffic and pulled his Acura to the curb. Kozak’s Bakery. When Amanda was a girl, Kozak’s was a frequent stop for the Johnston family. Amanda loved the lemon paczkis with powdered sugar. The Czech pastries were similar to jelly donuts. Kozak’s made them bigger than what’s traditional, requiring Amanda to use two of her hands.

Jennifer usually got a chocolate croissant. Joe didn’t have much of a sweet tooth but always ordered something to keep his ladies happy.

Five years after Jennifer died, the bakery closed its doors. The building had sat empty ever since but Joe read somewhere that a new owner was going to reopen the place.

A black and white sign hanging on the front door window indicated it was open for business. “Well, I’ll be damned,” Joe thought. Leaning forward, he took a moment to admire the building, which had a fresh coat of paint and a new canopy. It was almost exactly as it had been 15 years ago.

Turning off the car and unbuckling his seatbelt, Joe wondered if the new owners had gotten their hands on the old recipes. How fun would it be to surprise Amanda with her favorite treat? “Worth a shot,” he thought, opening the car door.

Joe strolled up to the bakery door and pulled it up. A jingle jangle of the bell hanging above jogged more fond memories. He looked around noticing the counter with stools and a handful of tables spread around the small bakery.

A young woman wearing a white apron pushed open the kitchen door. Observing Joe, she put him in his early-to-mid 40s. Grey slacks. Dark hair. Olive complexion. It looked like he kept himself in shape though there were signs of a developing dad bod. “Hi, welcome to Kozak’s, how can I help you?”

Joe stepped to the display case and observed the store worker, a cute blonde with upswept hair tied up in a blue handkerchief. In her 20s. He noted her name badge that read ‘Sam.’ “Hi, Sam, my family used to come here at least once a week back when it was open. My daughter used to get these pastries with powdered sugar. Any chance you make those?”

“Paczkis? Yes, actually, the new owner says he missed them so much, that’s one of the reasons he decided to reopen the bakery.” She stepped toward the case and leaned over. “We have raspberry, cream cheese and strawberry.”

Joe clucked. “No lemon?”

“Sorry, we’re out of lemon. It’s our most popular. I actually just sold the last two but if you can wait 20 minutes there’s a batch of lemon in the kitchen that’s almost done.”

“I guess that’ll be fine. I’m not in a rush,” answered Joe.

“Anything I can interest you in while you wait?”

“Sure, what do you recommend?” said Joe looking through the dessert window.

“My favorites are the chocolate and caramel petit fours,” Sam said with a French accent on the dessert name. They’re a little messy but if you like chocolate, they’re the bomb.”

Joe was indifferent toward chocolate but enjoyed the irony in being served a desert called “petit” by a stunning petite server. He told Sam that sounded delicious.

Sam placed four of the square deserts on a vintage patterned plate and set it in front of Joe on the counter, where he had taken a seat on a barstool.

“Here you are. Chocolate and caramel petit fours. Bon Appetit,” winked Sam.

Joe arched an eyebrow and thought, “Had this sassy vixen used the word “petit” twice in one sentence on purpose?”

Sam pirouetted and walked back toward the other side of the bakery. Joe caught his first real glimpse of her backside. Form fitting white jeans hugged an impossibly tight ass, accentuating the curve or her hips and thin waist. The straps of her apron hung just below her waistline. A cropped light blue shirt revealed her pale white skin with dimples on each side of her spine. The sway of her body mesmerized Joe. Sam peeked over her shoulder and Joe quickly averted his eyes from her butt.

“Busted,” Joe thought. He assessed the desserts. Gooey chocolate ganache drizzled over chocolate cake with a layer of caramel in the middle — topped with a dusting of powdered sugar.

With no forks in sight, Joe peered in Sam’s direction. She had gathered her iphone and was tapping away. It looked like an important text conversation. Not wanting to interrupt her, Joe decided he’d use his fingers.

Just as Sam had suggested, the cake squares were an ooey gooey mess to eat. He bit into one and was astonished by its lusciously rich texture. The sugar gave him an instant head rush.

Several minutes later, Sam returned to the counter, noting that all that remained of the desserts was a few globs of chocolate ganache.

“I think I need a napkin,” said Joe.

Sam brought her hand to her mouth, covering a giggle. Joe had chocolate both corners of his mouth, with smears on his chin and right cheek. The backs of his palms rested on the counter, displaying his fingers, which were covered in chocolate, caramel and powdered sugar on one hand. “You look like a 4-year-old who tried to lick the mixing bowl and whisk after his mom made a chocolate cake.” She lowered her hand, revealing a gorgeous smile.

“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“I don’t think there are enough napkins in this town to help you,” Sam quipped. “You need a bath.”

“Only if you wash my back,” Joe replied before measuring the words he had spoken.

“Naughty, naughty,” Sam flirted, twirling a few loose strands of her blonde hair. “I am studying to be a nurse. It might be good practice,” she winked. “But, seriously, we’re all out napkins.”

“You’re joking.”

Now in a full belly laugh, Sam responded. “I swear to God,” raising her right hand in testimony. “Soft opening. Supply chain issues. Pick your excuse.” Sam looked down at his chocolate covered fingers. “Let me find you a towel.”

She paced toward the kitchen and pushed the two-way swinging door in.

“Was she swaying her hips like that on purpose?”

A half-minute later the door swung back open. Sam walked to the counter and handed Joe the dry towel. “Here you go.”

After wringing his hands on the towel, Joe looked down and realized he wasn’t making much progress on the sticky caramel and chocolate. He tried a different tactic, wiping each finger one at a time. Looking again, most of the mess remained.

Noticing Joe’s predicament, Sam stepped toward him, gently took the towel and said, “Here, let me help.”

Sam leaned down, placing both elbows on the countertop and grabbed one of Joe’s hands.

He was struck by the softness of her palms, the delicate touch of her fingers and the perfection of her manicured nails.

Sam gracefully folded his pinky into his palm, followed by his ring finger. Then, as she did the same with his middle finger, Sam looked into Joe’s blue eyes, pausing a half second before bringing his pointer finger closer to her face.

“What is she doing?” Joe thought.

Sam parted her pink lips and guided Joe’s finger to her tongue. Closing her mouth, she suckled his finger. As she swirled her tongue around, she tasted the sticky, sweet chocolate and felt the intricate ridges of Joe’s fingerprint. Then she curled her tongue, placed his finger beneath it and moved her tongue side to side on top of Joe’s fingernail taking care to lick up the chocolate from his cuticle. Satisfied with her work, she slowly slid the finger from her mouth, keeping suction on the digit. After the fingertip exited with a pop, she dried it off with the towel and went to work on the next finger. Then the next. Until all five fingers were clean.

“There, all better,” Sam said, still holding Joe’s hands.

Joe sat speechless. It was the sexiest, most unexpected experience of his life. He became starkly aware of his erect cock. It pulsated, resting on his left upper thigh. “This girl is incredible,” Joe thought, sensing Sam’s mutual state of arousal.

Still leaning with both elbows on the counter, Sam’s flirty blue eyes flashed down to the counter then back up to Joe’s. She wet her lips. They stared at each other for a tense moment. Then both leaned a smidge closer, an almost imperceptible distance. Reading each other’s cues, they relented, urgently crashing into a furious embrace.

Sam’s lips were icy cool. Her tongue, an arrow, darting in and out of Joe’s mouth, grazing against his front teeth.

It was the type of make-out session Joe hadn’t experienced in years. Urgent. Hungry. Lustful. After what must’ve been a minute of tongue and lip play, Sam broke their kiss. Both of them were breathing hard.

Joe’s heart was racing. He looked at Sam in state of bewilderment. “Wow.”

Smiling, Sam lifted her elbows and walked from around the counter to the front door. Joe’s eyes followed her movement, spinning in his barstool. She flipped the black and white door sign to read “Closed” and locked the door. Turning off the light switch, she glided toward Joe. Now standing between his spread legs, she leaned down for another kiss. This time Sam’s lips were pillowy soft, the kiss slower, hungrier. Their tongue’s danced.

Joe’s hands, moved to Sam’s hips and around to back, grazing the two inches of skin beneath her midriff-bearing shirt. Her body responded, edging closer to the barstool, and leaning into the embrace. Joe scooted to the edge of the barstool, his groin making contact with her mound.

Sam felt his hardness pushing against her and grinded her hips forward. Once again breaking the kiss, she turned, grabbed Joe’s hand and led him around the counter in through the swinging door.

Joe assessed his new surroundings. The kitchen was a stainless-steel palace. The new owners apparently had spared no expense in refurbishing the bakery.

Sam pushed Joe up against a long steel prep table with powdered sugar, dough, mixing bowls and utensils strewn about. She reached around to her back and unfastened the apron knot. Joe pulled the strap over her head and discarded the apron on the floor.

Looking at her body for the first time was like a shot of nitroglycerin to his arousal. A tight blue shirt hugged her firm breasts. By most men’s standards, Grace had smallish boobs. She was petite but by no means flat-chested. Her half-coconut-sized tits looked perfect on her pixie-like body, Joe thought. He stole a quick peek at Sam’s hard nipples teasing through the fabric, suggesting she had opted for no bra.

Inching closer, Sam resumed the kiss. With both of them standing, Joe’s throbbing bulge was now pushing against her stomach, just below her navel. Placing her hand on his chest, she traced a line down his sternum, over his belly button and past his belt. As her hand contacted his erection, she gave it two strokes through his cotton slacks. Joe growled with pleasure. His hands drifted to her breasts, where he rubbed her nipples with the pads of his thumbs.

Sam grabbed her shirt and lifted it over her head. Joe was instantly spellbound by her breasts — two perfectly round orbs that had no sag whatsoever. Her pink areolas were dainty and nickel sized. Her nipples were half-inch daggers. Joe lowered his mouth to her chest, flicking one nipple with his tongue before grazing his teeth gently over it.

Sam felt a wave of pleasure shoot to her pussy. Sensing Joe’s own yearning, she let go of his dick. A quick flick of her wrist released his belt buckle. After unfastening the button of his pants, she gently opened his zipper. His pants dropped to the porcelain tile floor.

Slowly lowering herself into a crouch, Sam grabbed the waist of his boxer briefs and pulled them down to his ankles. His cock snapped to full attention, arching in a crooked crescent. Tenderly grasping it in her right hand she gave it a slow stroke from its base to its fat purple head. A few drops of pre-cum coated her hands, allowing her to stroke more firmly.

With Joe’s natural lubrication waning, she stopped her hand movement. She traced an angry blue vein that ran the length of his cock with her fingernail, admired cute mole near its base, and appreciated Joe’s neatly trimmed patch of dark brown pubic hair. As a student, she’d spent hours in human anatomy classes in her nursing program and the male form had always fascinated her.

Looking up at Joe, Sam licked the tip of his penis before taking four inches of his length into her mouth. Her lips, slick with saliva, slowly glided back. As she approached the head of his cock head, she instinctively firmed her mouth.

Joe felt her lips purse.

Erotically dragging her mouth over the sensitive purple rim, her taut lips pulled against it with enough tension to curl the ridge of his bell toward the tip of his cock. Joe found sensation incredible. This girl was a blow job maestro.

Feeling his knees getting wobbly, he steadied himself by leaning his bare ass against the cold stainless-steel table. She continued a consistent head bobbing motion, slowly taking him deeper and eventually bumping against the back of her throat. He watched Sam work his unit, her wolf-like, steely bluish grey eyes never breaking contact with his. Admiring her rhythmic technique and gentle caress of his balls, he felt himself edging closer to the brink.

Sam noticed Joe begin to slowly rock his hips, gently fucking her mouth. With one hand massaging his testicles, she felt the muscles at the base of his penis constrict. She knew he was asking, begging his body to withhold his ejaculation for a moment or two longer. Sam removed the shaft from her mouth, a string of saliva dribble from her mouth to the tip of his penis. Taking a deep breath, she went back for what she knew was the final act, bobbing up and down with more speed.

Joe rocked his hips and grunted, “I’m going to come… ugh, ugh.”

Sam took the first string of cum in the back of her throat and swallowed, the warm salty ejaculate filling her up. Then, quickly removing his cock from her mouth, she began to pump. Aiming the tip at her chest, a glob of milky white semen splashed the base of her neck. Then, a second, much larger rope hit her left boob. Continuing to pump a last burst of cum landed in the valley between her breasts.