"John Morgan," young miss Amy Greene thought to herself as she hung up the phone. Somehow it was OK for her now to think of her life long best friend's father, who'd practically been a part time stand in father for her as well since she'd spent so much time over at the Morgan home over the years, as 'John' instead of 'Mr. Morgan', since she'd just had him inside her, and since at that moment he was upstairs in the arms of his own daughter.

She'd been transfixed by the sight of it when the clanging of the old fashioned phones the Morgans still had around the house went off, like firehouse alarm bells in the middle of a five alarm fire. A man fucking his own daughter. A girl being fucked by her own dad. And all as she sat aglow from within from having at last made love to the only man she'd ever really wanted, at long, long last. The ringing phone was a clarion call back to reality from the dream world she'd been living in. They were all terrible sinners, and going to hell. And the devil was calling long distance.

Quickly she ran to the phone on the bedside table, but stopped herself. What if it was Mrs. Morgan on the phone? Couldn't have her hear the heady, out of tune symphony of sex in the background in that room! What sort of a soundtrack would that make for telling a man's wife that he's "indisposed" at the moment? So she ran for the door and padded barefoot, well, in truth bare everything, into the kitchen to get the phone that hung on the wall by the refrigerator, the yellow one with the long twisted cord. Standing there reaching for it she suddenly thought how silly it would be if this were not Mrs. Morgan on the phone but perhaps her own parents - and what, then, if Mrs. Morgan came walking through the door and found the teen girl naked in her kitchen, her makeup smeared, her hair all askew, her skin sheened with sweat and her body emitting the odor of sex?

Fortunately, it was Mrs. Morgan on the phone. "Oh, hello Amy," the woman said, her tone sounding only mildly surprised, "isn't it late for you to be over?"

"I suppose, Mrs. Morgan," Amy said dispassionately, being an old hand by then at lying to parents over the phone, "we're just hanging out up in her room", though actually that wasn't really a lie. They were hanging out up there alright, the teen thought, supressing a giggle, they were letting it all hang out!

"Hmm," was all the older woman had to say about that, not sounding truly interested. After all, the girl had been a fixture in their house now for years and years. "Is John there," she asked the girl, "I need to talk to him."

"Umm, yeah he's around here somewhere," the girl said smoothly, as though she had no idea that where he was, was upstairs in his daughter's room, in his daughter's bed, in his daughter! "Hold on a minute and I'll find him."

"Ok," said the career woman, and a moment later she heard the phone set down on the countertop. In the background she heard the opening and closing of a door. Probably her husband's study, she thought.

"Mr. Morgan? Mr. Morgan," she heard the girl say in a muted, distant tone in the background, as the girl called into the empty study. Then she went to the bathroom door and knocked on it, the sound being barely picked up by the mouthpiece in the phone in the kitchen. "Mr. Morgan," the girl could be heard saying softly, "are you in there?" There was a pause, and then the girl said, "it's your wife. She's on the phone. Will you be long?" Then another pause.

Mrs. Morgan had, of course, already figured out what the girl wanted her to. Then there was the loud sound of the phone being picked up and jostled to the girl's ear. "I'm sorry, Missus M," the girl said, smiling wickedly, "he's, ummm, indisposed at the moment. Can he call you back?"

"Just tell him I'm not sure what time I'll be home, but it's gonna be several hours.

There's just so much data to input into these spreadsheets! I'm gonna be at it half the night... Tell him not to wait up, OK?"

"Will do, Mrs. M.," the girl said, even faking a salute as she stood there, a hot, naked mess in the other woman's kitchen, "sure thing. Sorry to hear you've gotta work so hard."

"Ahhh, well," Mrs. Morgan replied with a hint of mirth in her voice, "you gotta do what the boss wants to keep him happy."

"Hmm," the girl said, "I bet. Well, goodnight Mrs. Morgan. I should be heading home now."

"OK, Amy. Goodnight. And say goodnight to Kelly for me too."

"K," the girl said, "bye", and she hung up the phone in it's yellow cradle.

Opening the door to her friend's room she could see that the main event was already over. Father and daughter lay naked and entwined together, a mass of limbs and long red hair, hard flesh and soft flesh, all beaded with sweat, lying together on the disheveled bed, normally covered in pink throws and pillows, and now with only half a pink fitted sheet covering the mattress.

She walked most of the way there before dropping to her knees and knee walking the last few steps, and laying across the broad, strong back of her new lover, who lay enmeshed with her long time lover. Idly, she brushed the sweat soaked hair of her best friend from the girl's father's face. She kissed along his strong arm and across his chiseled shoulder and leaned to whisper in his ear, and tell him about the call with his wife.

He nodded when she was through, then twisted to kiss her deeply. Volumes could be written and never would they encompass all the communication that flowed like heavy bandwidth between the two. And then they broke apart, and the man pulled free of the confines that held him in, drawing a groan from his little girl, who rolled onto her back and pouted at him, before closing her eyes and snuggling into bed. Exhausted, all she could do now, was sleep.

Tenderly he spread the blankets over his little girl. He opened the window enough to cool it off in there a little, but not so much that she would catch a chill. Ever the doting daddy at bedtime, he leaned over and gave her a kiss on the forehead, as usual. Oddly, the gesture felt as full and meaningful as ever, not at all cheapened by the whole new world of kissing the two had now known together. As he stepped out, young Kelly gathered up the last of her clothes, and on her way out, flipped out the light, and closed the door.

She stood naked in the hallway, her clothes in a ball in her arms, John's burning eyes upon her. Probably, she thought, they had time to go again. And from the way he was looking at her, he was as ready for it as she was. But she still had an overprotective set of parents of her own to get home to. So she leaned over and gave him only the barest of kisses, and then turned and went into the bathroom. "I'm going to take a quick shower, and then head home," she said, "I don't want my Dad to freak out."

"No, no," he replied. "That's OK. Just don't use all the hot water, OK?"

"Sure," she said, realizing he would have to shower as well, before his wife got home. She tossed a nervous smile over her shoulder at him like a gypsy throws spilled salt, and quickly scurried into the room, and closed the door.

"That's right, girl," she told herself as she looked herself in the vanity mirror a moment later, "don't do anything stupid. He's married. It's still the same as ever before."

Shaking her head, she turned on the water, and stepped into the stall, drawing the curtain, and stepped beneath the hot stream of water, wishing it could wash away her fears as easily as it did the sweat of their passions...

To be continued in part 6.