Tom was home late, but that was okay with him. TGIF, baby.
As he pulled into the garage, he was annoyed to see his wife's BMW absent from her stall. With a curse, Tom remembered belatedly that she had left for a business trip to Boston late that morning. She wouldn't be back until Monday evening, which meant that once again, he would have to come up with meals for himself and his daughter Daisy. It also meant no poker night this Saturday with the guys.
Fucking hell.
He wondered briefly where his daughter was. It was already 7:00 and her car wasn't in the driveway. Neither were there any lights on in the house that Tom could see, as he made his way to the kitchen door, briefcase in hand. She was probably at cheerleading practice, or her after-school yoga class, or even fucking the neighbor boy, for all Tom knew. Not that she was a particularly precocious girl, that he had noticed, but teens were growing up faster and faster these days, and he certainly wouldn't put it past her.
For the moment, all he really cared about was cracking a beer, taking a long, hot shower, and catching the second half of the Brewers game. It was still early enough in the season for Tom to feel optimistic about their chances of a post-season. Beer and baseball--what more could a guy want?
Tossing his briefcase onto a chair by the door, he made his way up the stairs to his bedroom. He passed his son Kurt's bedroom on his left, mostly empty now that Kurt had gone off to college. His daughter Daisy's room was on the right, across from the bathroom. Glancing at the door, embellished with sickening quantities of pink and purple, Tom frowned. It was unlike his daughter to leave her door open. In fact, he wasn't sure he had ever seen it unlocked since she had turned 16. But now it stood open a crack.
He tried the doorknob. Sure enough, it was locked, as though she had meant to close it behind her. His wife usually drove their daughter to school, but in a rush to make her flight that morning, she would have told Daisy to drive herself. Perhaps their daughter had been in such a hurry to get to school on time that she hadn't checked to make sure her door was properly closed behind her.
Tom's curiosity was piqued, and besides, his hand was already on the knob. He peeked in.
At 7:00, the room was ablaze with the red and orange light of the setting sun streaming in through two large windows. Damn near everything in the room was pink and purple. Here and there she had hung posters on the wall, but Tom was so naive to the pop culture scene that he neither knew nor cared who they featured.
He was more concerned with the condition of her room. Her mother was adament that Daisy kept her bed made and her floor picked up, but she had clearly been slacking off on the whole parenting thing lately. The room was littered with books and magazines and arts and craft paraphenilia. Her bed was an untidy heap of blankets and pillows, strewn with a number of toiletries and beauty products one might expect an 18-year-old girl to have. Tom wandered over to her bed, glancing idly at a bottle of perfume, a hairbrush, a February edition of Teen magazine.
Then something else caught his eye.
Reaching down, he slid the magazine over a few inches. And at that moment, Tom thought he might have an actual heart attack and drop dead right there on his daughter's bedroom floor.
But he didn't. Instead, his heart pounding, he picked up the magazine that lay under the copy of Teen and stared at it. The model on the cover wasn't the typical burgeoning teen actress or sexed-up supermodel featured in Daisy's other magazines. This woman was an actual porn star. In fact, but for a few bright yellow clip-art sunbursts covering strategic parts of her well-endowed body, she was virtually naked.
Tom hadn't looked at porn in a while. His cock twitched in his trousers. Before he knew what he was doing, he had flipped the magazine open and found himself looking at the same woman, in the same position, but without the clip-art.
She was unbelievable. Long blond hair was pulled into messy pigtails and spilled down over her shoulders. Her makeup was done in soft pinks, shimmering eyeshadow and lipgloss the color of bubblegum. She held pom-poms, thrust out to either side, but seemed to have lost the matching cheerleading outfit. Her large, well-augmented breasts sat high on her chest. Nipples the same color of her full lips thrust out at the camera. They were full and stiff, the sort of nipples that made Tom salivate. Around her neck hung a whistle on a long string. It had somehow become caught on one of those stiff nipples so that one string hung from the large nub while the other was lost deep in her cleavage. The whistle dangled carelessly just above her perfect navel, pierced with a baby pink stone.
She was balancing atop two bar stools, her legs spread in an outrageously sexy version of the splits. And there, hanging between her thighs, was the sexiest pussy Tom had ever laid eyes on.
Her lips were long and fleshy, and looked like they might wrap around his cock the way her mouth would. He was imagining thrusting up into her taut opening while she balanced like that, his access completely unencumbered, when he heard a noise behind him.
He glanced over his shoulder, startled, his heart in his mouth.
His daughter Daisy stood there, eyes wide and mouth open, gaping at him. For a moment, Tom was so startled by this beautiful 18-year-old woman in front of him, that he completely forgot about the porn star he was fucking in his daydream, as well as any excuse he might have had for why had entered his daughter's room in the first place. All he could do was stare.
His daughter was short, but very slight, slim from her narrow throat down through her flat belly to her tiny thighs. She stood with them slightly parted, hips cocked to one side. It was a rather precocious pose, but Daisy seemed unaware of it; possibly it was a natural mannerism she had assumed, a sexy pose practiced in front of Victoria's Secret dressing room mirrors so many times she did it now without thinking about it. Or perhaps it was the stance of a dancer or a gymnast which, he supposed, she was. He wondered suddenly why he had never gone to any of her performances.
His eye slipped unwittingly from the curve of her hip down to the gap between her thighs. What ought to have been a perfect V was impeded by a rather significant bulge in the crotch of the tiny booty shorts she wore. Tom swallowed hard. Those shorts were too tight, too short, and they rode up too high, tucking themselves into folds and creases he had no business knowing about.
He jerked his head up, forcing his eyes to meet hers. This was a difficult task, not only because he wanted to continue to examine the protrusion between his daughter's thighs, but because on his way up to her face, his vision was forced to travel, albeit very quickly, up her bare belly and over her chest.
Anger replaced his inital embarrassment and shame, and he turned to fully face her.
"Daisy!" he barked. "What in God's name are you wearing?"
Surprised by his anger, she looked down at herself, then back up at him. Her brows knitted just a little--she seemed confused. "What, Dad? It's just my cheerleading outfit."
"I've never seen you wear that outfit at home," he said sternly, taking a step towards her. "Those shorts are definitely not part of the school dress code. They look like underwear to me. Don't you think that's a little inappropriate?"
Daisy had caught him in her room, and had clearly been nervous about it. That he was concerned with such a silly little thing as her attire made her seemed relieved--relieved enough to be annoyed. She rolled her green eyes. "Well, the shorts are mine, but this is the top they make us wear. It's not my fault it's suck-tight."
