Thank you for all of the kind words and encouragement, not to mention the constructive criticism. I'm glad so many of you enjoyed my foray in to erotic literature (Gee, using fancy words and EVERYTHING). To answer your most asked question before starting my next story, nothing ever happened between Daddy and me after that afternoon. That doesn't mean I haven't had a lifetime of inappropriate fantasies since then, in all of which I was 18 years or older. Such as...
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It was a hot sultry Carolina night. Daddy was sitting at the kitchen table doing his budget and bills for the coming month. All my life, I've been able to describe him as organized and responsible and this was the epitome of who he was. Yes, I still love him and idolize him very much to this day. And I still call him Daddy.
He was in decent shape for his age (45). He took care of himself: ate right, ran a couple times a week, went down to the Y twice a week to play pick-up basketball, those sorts of things. Yeah, he had a little bit of a gut, but not much. Overall he was fit, 6ft-1, brown eyes, black hair with some "salt" mixed in and grey wings at the temples (which I still find very attractive in men).
He was sitting in a pair of khaki shorts and plain white tee. The kitchen got stuffy even with the windows open so his clothes were starting to stick to his body which only served to accentuate his form.
Now it was getting to be that time of the month that I was hornier than normal and seeing him like that got me to thinking about "that afternoon" which in turn started me thinking more inappropriate things about him. The logical response, of course, was to go up and get changed for bed.
I went to my room on a mission. Yes, I DID close my door this time. I immediately started undressing. For those that haven't read my first story, allow me to recap. I'm 5'-10 with shoulder length red hair, brown eyes and freckles. I'm a competitive swimmer so I have a lean fit body. I wear a 36C bra (plus or minus) which I believe is a big reason I'm only an "average" swimmer—streamlining and all that.
My door had no sooner shut than my shirt was off and tossed in the corner with my other dirty laundry. I was so aroused by what I was thinking and what I was about to do that I could see my nipples pushing through my bra as I unhooked it and slipped it off my shoulders. I miss being 18 sometimes. Especially when I think of how firm and perky I was then compared to now. Gravity: it IS a bitch.
I have the classic eraser sized nipples and slightly larger than quarter sized areola. As I always did, and still do, I lifted my boobs up to let some air to the underside and caressed them after freeing them. This time however, I followed that by pinching and twisting my left nipple. The sharp twinge of pain felt wonderful.
Standing in front of my dresser, I hooked my fingers over my panties and shorts and pulled them to the floor before kicking them to the corner. Naturally, I was aware of just how wet I was, but I still reached down and traced my finger the length of my swollen lips. I whimpered and my body shuddered from just that fleeting caress. It took all the self-control I could muster not to keep stroking myself and more, but instead I opened up my underwear drawer and started digging through to the back.
Like many girls, my drawer wasn't so much organized as much as it was just a pile of underwear on one side and my bras on the other with the newer and more often worn pairs on top. Making a mental note to organize and toss out the things I don't wear anymore (now-a-days I'd probably sell them on Craigslist or something but it didn't exist back then), I found an old pair that I probably hadn't worn in a couple years that would work.
It was a pair of white cotton bikini style with little pink flowers on it that was a little thinner than they were when they were new. I pulled them on and up my legs on to my hips. They were definitely a size or two too small and a little tighter on me than was comfortable. Which is exactly what I wanted.
I repeated this process through my t-shirt drawer, finding an old threadbare t-shirt with some boy band or another that I used to like (don't judge!) and pulled it over my head. This was once an oversized shirt that was still long enough to cover my ass (admittedly by only a couple inches) but show my hard nipples through it. Then, just for good measure, I grabbed my brush off my dresser, calmed my hair a bit and put pigtails on the sides of my head. After a quick look in the mirror and a deep breath, I went back downstairs.
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"Aaaand that takes care of THIS month. Might even be able to put a little bit extra away. With luck."
Closing my eyes, I rubbed them through my eyelids. "I hate to admit it, but it might be to the point that I need glasses now," I thought to myself. Still rubbing my fatigued eyes, I hear April come down the stairs and in to the Kitchen, her bare feet slapping on the linoleum.
I am so lucky to have such a wonderful daughter. Some people at work complain about how much trouble their teenagers give them and I just smile with sympathy; not because I empathize with them but because she's never given me a reason to.
"I'm done doing bills, Sweetie. You wanna' watch a movie or something?" I asked as I opened my eyes. If I had something else to say, it disappeared as soon as my eyes focused on my beautiful offspring.
I saw her standing next to the refrigerator up on her tip toes reaching up in to the cabinet over it grabbing the microwave popcorn. Her t-shirt was riding well up her back showing long toned legs leading up to her young ass. An ass that was "covered" by a pair of white panties that was too small for it. The lower third of her cheeks were visible below the elastic in the legs.
The way the elastic was barely cutting in to her only served to accentuate how firm that ass was. Another effect of the too-small panties was how low the waistband sat on her hips. I hadn't realized just how firm her abs were as she seldom wore anything that bared her midsection.
"That sounds fun, Daddy." She said with a sudden smile as she looked over her shoulder at me. I immediately felt guilty for staring at her.
How many daughters would be so happy to sit and watch a movie with their father? And there I was looking at her half naked form and remembering what her fully naked body looked like with her fingers... No! I'm not going to go there. I waited for her to turn back to the cabinet before standing up to go to the living room. The last thing I needed was her to see my shorts tented because of her.
I turned on the TV and put it on the History Channel to get my mind thinking about something else. A show about the Vietnam War was just what the doctor (sex therapist?) ordered. By the time I heard the microwave beep, everything was settled down and good to go.
