(Inspired by Fredrick)
I suppose I was a bit naïve to think that when my 23 year old daughter, Sara, moved out and into her own small house, that it would mean a reduction in the support that she got from her Mom and me. Not so much financially, as she has a good job and earns more than I, but almost every week since she moved in I've had to go around and do some work on the place.
About a month ago, I came to the end of a three week stint, during which time I had wallpapered her two bedrooms and painted the living room ceiling. I would go around Sara's place every night after work, and not get back home until past ten. As I was about to leave on that last night, Sara called me into the kitchen. She wrapped her arms around me and gave me a big squeeze, saying how much she loved me, and what a great job I'd done. I told her it was my pleasure. And that was the truth. Sara had always been a good girl, and had never given either me or her Mom any reason to chastise her the way most other parents had had to do with their kids.
Sara said that as a thank-you she would like to have me round the next night as her dinner guest. Now Sara is a great cook, and I told her that her Mom and I would be delighted to attend. At that point, my daughter said that she would love to have both of us over some time next week, but that tomorrow would be a special evening just for me, by way of gratitude for all the work I had done; and still to do, she joked. She made me promise that I would be there for seven the following night, and told me positively that there would be no work involved. I told her that I would be honoured to come, and gave her a goodnight peck on the cheek before setting off for home.
Next day, I finished at the insurance office where I work at about five, went home, showered, and changed into some comfortable slacks and a shirt. Then I set off for Sara's at about six-thirty, having said goodbye to my wife, who was extremely jealous that she hadn't been invited and was going to miss out on a good meal.
I arrived at Sara's bang on seven. I opened the front door with my own key and entered the living room. Sara was not there so I shouted to let her know that I was here. Her voice rang out from the kitchen. She told me to sit on the couch and said that she would be in to join me very soon.
It was a beautifully warm night, and as I made myself comfortable on the plush sofa, I found myself nodding off. I was awoken with a start by Sara's voice behind me. As I sat up suddenly, I turned to my right and saw my daughter leaning over the back of the couch, her right hand outstretched holding a tray on which were balanced two drinks.
'Just as you like it, sir', she said, in a mock trolley dolly voice, 'white rum and coke on the rocks'.
I hesitated for what seemed like an eternity, but in reality was only a few seconds. It was not because I didn't want the drink; in fact, it was just what I wanted on such a hot night. No, I wavered because of the vision of my daughter before me. Her normally long, wavy, chestnut hair was piled high up on her head. She was wearing going-out make-up around her eyes and cheek bones, and her full lips were a violent slash of red. My gaze went down her long, aquiline neck and onto her square, flawless shoulders. From them hung two slender straps. My eyes automatically followed them down to the slivers of black velvet that barely covered her well proportioned breasts. It was a male's normal animal reaction that made me crane my neck in an effort to see beyond the flimsy material. As her right aureole came into view, I felt a little twitch in my groin. It was brown and large; about the diameter of a coffee saucer. Sara gave a discrete cough, which brought me to my senses, and I reached up and took the proffered drink.
I thought I sensed the hint of a smug smile as she moved around from the back of the couch to sit on the chair opposite. She put the tray and her glass on a small table beside the chair and turned around to sit down. It was only then that I realised that her floor-length dress was slit down the right side. I don't mean a slit from ankle to knee, nor even from ankle to mid-thigh. No, her dress was split right the way up to her the hip.
Sara sat down on the chair slowly. I tried to fight it, but my eyes were glued to her long legs as she slowly crossed right over left. The material to the lower side of the slit fell to the floor, whilst that to the left almost fell off Sara's legs completely. My daughter picked up a piece of the material that still clung to her legs. I thought that she was going to pull it so that she showed only a modest amount of thigh. But no. Instead, she threw it to the floor, leaving both of her long, shapely legs entirely exposed to her father's gaze.
Now I know that it was wrong of me to become aroused, but how many guys reading this can honestly say that they would have averted their eyes? I can tell you the answer; not too many!! All fathers look at their daughters when they are dressed provocatively. The male instinct to procreate is much stronger than the modern taboo which says that a female relative is out of bounds.
I tried to look at my drink, at the wall, the floor, the ceiling. Anywhere but at the body of my little girl sitting opposite me. But it was no good. Every piece of skin that was exposed shone as though she had covered herself in a thin veil of perspiration. I just wanted to go over to her and fondle those long, lithe limbs. And then, as if to tease me even further, as though she were even doing this on purpose, Sara asked me if I liked the dress, stating very clearly that she had bought it especially for tonight. I coughed a little as I realised that she had caught me staring at her, and commented that it was very pretty. She then informed me that the high heeled black ankle strap sandals that she wore were also part of the ensemble. As if my gaze needed to be drawn to them, Sara started to swing her raised foot, suggestively.
She engaged me in small talk, but much to my disgust the swelling in my pants refused to go away. I made a clumsy and obvious attempt to cover my shame, but this just seemed to make Sara want to tease me even more. She leaned over to her left to put her glass on the floor beside the chair, knowing full well that the table to her right was much nearer. The whole purpose of which it appeared was to allow the split in her dress to expose almost all of her right hip. I took a sip of the rum and coke to whet my mouth; it had suddenly become bone dry. With her eyes momentarily off mine, I took the opportunity to stare hard at her. Man she was beautiful. And no way could she be wearing any underwear with that dress, I remember thinking.
Then, within the blink of an eye, my daughter had uncrossed her legs and was rising from the chair. She sauntered over to me, and took my empty glass. I noticed that her long fingernails were painted the same shade of red as her lips.
'Take your seat at the table, monsieur,' this time as a French trolley dolly, 'dinner is served.'
As she walked into the kitchen, I saw that her dress was backless almost down to the crack of her ass. She must have paid a fortune for it. Outfits like that don't come cheap.
Dinner was absolutely wonderful. I tried as hard as I could not to stare at her breasts, as the bodice of her dress defied gravity and refused to expose them. But I realised that most of the time I was unconsciously trying to lean to one side or the other to get a better view.
After the entrée was finished, I remarked to Sara that it was a pity that such a lovely meal was prepared for her dad and not for a boyfriend. At that, Sara rose from the table, walked around to my side, and plonked herself in my lap. As my daughter put her arms around my shoulders, it was only natural for me to put my left hand around her waist.
'Dad, you are the most important man in the world to me,' she began, ' and you always will be.'
As she slowly moved her mouth to my right ear, I allowed my hand to drop slightly towards her exposed hip. Just as my little finger touched the bare, soft, smooth skin that covered her hips, and the swelling in my groin reappeared – probably to her notice- my daughter whispered:
