Hello! I wrote this story several years ago, it was posted it on another, now defunct site. I came across it recently in a backup folder. It was my first story and reading through it, I cringed at how poorly I'd written it! It's been a few years since I've written anything, and decided to see if I could improve upon it. I hope that you like it.
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Warning: The following story contains a fantasy regarding a father and adult daughters budding sexual relationship. If you are offended by this, it's probably best if you return to the home page and check out another story.
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How did it happen? Part 1
Before you read this, I just want you to know, that I never intended for any of this to happen. I never wanted this. My therapist says that it's best to confront it however, so here's how it happened.
Abby was 18 when I first noticed it. I'd never even thought about my daughter in a sexual way before then. Yes, I'd seen her wearing shorter and shorter skirts as she became older, even telling her to get changed on a few occasions, the way most fathers will.
But things change. Abby ceased to be that little girl playing with dolls and watching Disney. She gradually turned from a tomboy with scuffed knees and dirty clothes to a carefully presented young woman. She blossomed into a beautiful woman. A stunning creature. The sort of woman that makes your breath catch in your throat. I became more and more aware of her developing sexuality, more aware of how she watched boys and men, how she acted around them and how she dressed. Never slutty, but always alluring. She had a flair for clothing. Rarely would she wear anything that didn't discreetly showcase her body. During the winter, she'd opt for tightly fitting denim, pencil skirts, opaque tights, boots and fitted sweaters. Spring and summer brought above the knee skirts, short summer dresses, halter tops, tubes and bikinis.
What didn't seem to change though, was our relationship. We'd been close, then inevitably further distanced during her early teenage years, as she wrestled with puberty, hormones and self-identity. Before becoming close again.
We'd always been playful with each other; it was one of the strengths of our relationship. We could go from career advice to pillow fight in a heartbeat. But there was one particular incident that summer, which really seemed to sow the seed of change between us. I forget how it started, a sarcastic comment perhaps or a nudge in the ribs, but we quickly descended into a tickle war. We were both very ticklish, so speed was of the essence. The first one to get the tickle in would claim victory, as the other would dissolve into fits of laughter. That time, I was the winner, and I pressed my victory, mercilessly working my fingers tips into the side of her neck and her ribs. Abby howled and gasped for breath sliding to the floor, I went down with her taking advantage of her weaken state, trying to stay clear of her thrashing legs. My mistake was stopping for a brief moment, I didn't want her to wet herself! With a shocking turn of speed however, Abby managed to wrap her long legs around my waist.
Her bare thighs were strong after long hours of swimming and running, and she clamped me like a vice before virtually throwing me to her side and onto the floor. Untangling her legs from my dead weight, she sprang up placing both of her knees on my outstretched arms, trapping me on my back. With her knees pressed into my biceps, I couldn't move. Every time I strained to escape, she rocked forward sending jolts of pain through my arms down to my fingertips. I moaned in pain and frustration. The battle lost and my triumph crushed, along with my arms. I squeezed my eyes closed and flicked them open, ready to cry uncle and accept the humiliation of defeat. But the sight that greeted me took my breath away. Abby's skirt had ridden up in the struggle. Tightly stretched between her shoulder width thighs, I had a clear view up her smooth thighs. The pale triangle of her panties hovered no more than 6 inches from my face.
She was breathing deeply from the exertion, her breath still ragged from the tickle assault and she looked down on me, pleased that she had turned the tables on her old dad with a little smirk on her face. I was starting to feel uncomfortable, I tried not to stare, I really did. But I couldn't tear my eyes away.
"I surrender" I croaked, squeezing my eyes shut, trying not to gaze at her thinly covered treasures.
"Not so easy" she laughed and pushed her knees forward, a calculated spasm of agony coursed through my trapped limbs and my eyes flew open in shock. Again, there were her panties, closer this time, as she leaned forward. All I could do was stare. Her thighs glistened with perspiration, and through my discomfort I marvelled at her strength as I watched the muscles flex.
Abby was obviously getting off on the power she had over her Dad, as she grinned down at me wickedly, her fragrant blonde hair hanging and framing her smirking face. Glancing up her skirt again, I could have sworn a damp patch began to form in her knickers.
It was too much for me;
"Abby Stop. NOW" I called sternly.
"Aww sorry Daddy, can't take it?!" Abby said, wiggling her hips slightly.
"Enough Abby" I growled, feeling more and more uncomfortable.
Abby knew where to draw the line and sprang up, but she laughed lightly again and play punched me on the arm, as I struggled to my feet.
"You're getting old Dad!" She ran off, leaving me a little bewildered as I rubbed my sore arms.
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Days wore on and turned to weeks. I couldn't get the image out of my head, I'd drift off in the middle of the day, images would flash through my mind, her panty covered mound, the sheen of her bronzed skin, the mouth-watering damp spot. It would always be accompanied by an erection, which I'd dreamily caress before coming to my senses in a guilty start.
Abby however, showed no signs that it was anything other than a little bit of innocent fun. Had she really not realised that she had nearly ground her damp pussy against her father's face? I couldn't tell if it was my imagination or not, but Abby seemed to be downright careless around me. Perhaps I was just noticing it for the first time, but it seemed that I would always look up, only to be able to see straight up her skirt. Or she would bend in front of me and I would get an eyeful of deep cleavage. Abby had taken after her mother and had developed a large bust. I guess at 18 she was already a C cup, maybe verging on a D. It wasn't much of a surprise, my wife was a double D.
