[This story is a work of fiction and involves themes of incest and non-consensual sex. If you are in any way offended by this type of subject matter, please do not read further. All characters depicted in this story are over eighteen years of age. I do hope you enjoy this particular fantasy.]
*
I didn't say a word when I saw her outfit, if that term could even be applied to what she was wearing tonight. Charlie and John came into the kitchen behind me—I caught the quick smirk that passed over their faces when they saw her.
"Guys go in and get a seat. You know how to work the remote, right?"
They both nodded, and I watched them walk out towards the living room.
"I thought we talked about this?" I said, glaring at Amy from behind.
"What?' she answered smartly, not even turning around to face me.
"You know what I'm talkin' about," I said, my voice rising involuntarily.
Amy spun to face me. I could read the defiance in her stance, her legs set a little wide, hands thrust to her hips.
"I can't help it that you got hang-ups."
I got hang-ups, I thought. I got my little girl standing in front of me in a blouse that is maybe two sizes too small and a pair of jeans that were hitched down lower than gravity should allow. I had to break off my stare.
"You dress like this, you send the wrong message."
"What message?"
"Look just go change into something nicer," I said, opening the refrigerator and taking out three Coronas.
"I like what I'm wearing."
"I'm not here to argue. Just do what I said. That or you can go spend the night in your room."
With that I left the kitchen. I could hear the guys laughing at something and just got more pissed off. This deal with Amy and her outfits was going on for a while now, and it was getting into a particularly bad routine on Monday nights like this.
I guess I could put it succinctly by saying that I didn't think my daughter should be dressing like a slut, that sometimes I'd find myself getting a hard-on before I realized who it was I was ogling. It had been just her and me for going on ten years now, and these last couple months were a strain on me.
And it wasn't just the outfits either. It was the fact that Amy looked good in them, I'm talking real good. She had the same skinny build as her Mom did, the same blond hair with all the curls. And she was a genuinely beautiful girl, very cute, and she'd started filling out. Maybe that was what was bothering me the most. The breasts were still smallish, but she had the ass thing going, the long legs with the muscles so defined. There was that smooth, silky quality about her, that glow that younger girls and women had.
The pre-game was on when I came into the room, the TV was a big projector model, one of the first to come out on the market. That was why I'd started inviting the guys over last year. John and Charlie were employees of mine, young guys, early twenties. They'd helped me hook it up, and I'd started asking them over to watch a game, and then it became a routine.
And Amy, especially in the last few months, had started her thing. Every Monday night, like clockwork, we'd come in and there she'd be, decked in something too sexy, hanging out to watch the game when she wouldn't otherwise cross the street to see the Super Bowl. I'd gotten to harping on her about it over the last few weeks, telling her she couldn't dress like that around a bunch of guys. I was also getting that distinct vibe that these two guys were getting to like my daughter's company as much or more than the game. I knew they were probably talking about her like men do, but I still kept asking them over.
I handed out the beers and got a seat.
"Everything okay?" Charlie asked.
"No problem." The kickoff went down field and I felt the tension dissipate somewhat. I listened to the guys bitch on a stupid play-call, and let the beer take my edge off. I felt myself relaxing.
"Anybody want some chips?"
I turned as she spoke, the big bowl of potato chips held out in front of her, and felt my temper rise. She did change, couldn't fault her there.
"Anybody want another beer?"
I was looking at her ass, a pair of short-shorts with Ohio State emblazoned across her backside, like she'd earned them in the football team's locker room. And the blouse was traded in too. For a hot pink tee that was so tight I couldn't see how she'd gotten it over her bra.
"I'll have one," Charlie stammered.
"Me too," John said, a croak in his voice.
"You, Dad?"
I didn't answer, my fingers gripping into the upholstery. She didn't wait for me to decide, and skipped back towards the kitchen—her hair was done up in shaggy pigtails, bouncing off her shoulders as she left the room.
I looked at the boys, saw them quickly avert their eyes. I got up off after a minute and followed her out into the kitchen.
"I want you to go to your room," I said, watching her pivot to face me.
"No."
"You know what kind of message you're sending out dressed like that?"
She ignored me, and tried to edge around. I stepped in front of her, anger tightening my voice. We'd had a complicated relationship, Amy and I. Close, but still a man lurching about to raise a girl alone.
"You know what they call women who dress up like this. Girls who try to get men all worked up?"
"Cock tease," she blurted, the defiance suddenly etched across her features.
"Yes," I said after a moment, trying to keep things in check
"Well, maybe I want to tease 'em."
"Go to your room now."
"No!"
She tried to edge past me, but I blocked her in.
