Mark Clifton had been a bundle of nerves all day. Things had gone way beyond anything he had ever imagined the night before. But his daughter seemed all laughs and good nature with him. He had expected her to seem distant, confused, angry even. But not this. He was so unsure of himself.
He wanted the innocence back. He needed to be able to touch his daughter, his Kitty, without feeling like a jerk, a pervert. Thankfully, she wasn't running away from him.
So, every time he saw her, he forced himself to reach out to her, to make contact. First time, in the morning, she came out of her room, brown hair disheveled, in t-shirt and pyjama pants, her shapely figure hidden more than usual. He kissed her on the head, touched her shoulder, fatherly stuff, normal stuff. And he was so proud of himself for not getting an erection.
Later, she had changed, wearing a skirt and a light cotton top, pink, cute, girly. Her bra straps were visible over her shoulders where the top had a wide neck. The skirt hung low on her hips, the top cropped so her waist and the tops of her hipbones were visible. Such a cute little navel, a teardrop, a jewel.
This time, he hugged her, pulling her into him. She was cute, giggly, batting her eyelashes at her old Dad. Everything so innocent, like it had been before. He ignored the swell of her breasts pushing into him, the warmth of her lower back, skin against skin. He patted her lightly on the ass, pushing himself, testing his limits. Still, he assured himself, completely innocent. Nothing to be ashamed about. Even if his cock felt thick after the contact, completely normal.
So that when she came out later, after dinner, looking a little shy, maybe embarrassed, he was all Daddy, nothing wrong.
"Daddy," she pouted, twirling her long brown hair in her fingers, "I've got a sore back. Could you maybe rub it for me?" She knew she was being bad, so bad. Last night had been wrong. She had let things get away from her, she knew. But she was so hot right now, she needed the touch of a man, any man, somewhere on her body. It could still be innocent, she assured herself.
"Uh, sure thing, Princess," he stammered, trying not to think of what had happened the night before, trying to ignore the sudden lurch in his crotch. She clapped her hands in glee, twirling around to go to the couch. Her skirt flew up, and he could see the lower curve of her ass for a second. His throat was dry, and he trailed behind her.
Kitty lay down on the couch on her stomach, her head turned towards the cushions, her heart pounding. Her Dad was so cute, the way he blushed. She could control this, his infatuation, her arousal. She kicked her shoes off, letting them fall next to the couch.
Mark looked down at her, from the foot of the sofa. Her hair was in a ponytail, fanning across her shoulders. The little cropped top was pushed up on her torso, the skirt riding low on her hips, so that half of her back was bare. He could just see the band of her bra under the hem of the shirt. And the skirt was just above the start of her ass. She was so beautiful.
He settled down beside her prone form and reached down to start massaging her shoulders. He was being so good, he thought to himself, so fatherly. He felt the thin shoulders, the soft skin that was exposed around her slim neck. He pushed the hair to one side so he could properly rub her back.
"Mmmm. That's nice, Daddy," she murmured. His hands felt so strong, so manly. Just what she was looking for. He worked his way down her back, keeping to the middle, massaging around her spine, feeling the each rib as he moved down. He kept to the level of her shirt, stopping when he felt the bra. He was not going to touch her inappropriately. This was all innocent.
"Could you go lower?"
He looked down at the golden expanse of skin of her lower back. So tempting, so delicious. He let his fingers cross the border from clothes to body. Still, working the muscles, this was just a simple back rub. When he got to the level of her skirt, he paused for a second, looking at her, her eyes closed, head turned away. His fingers trembled, then he moved upward again. Just a back rub.
She let out little breaths of air with his deeper rubs, little moans. His fingers pushed deep into her muscles, working the tension out. He got up to her shirt again, and started to move on top.
"You can go underneath, if you want," she breathed. "Feels better on skin."
"I thought it was 'only what you can see,'" he joked, his fingers paused right at her bra, tickling lightly, slipping underneath the lacy strap. He couldn't believe he had said that, referring to last night.
"Bad man," she giggled, too relaxed to care at the moment. Her mind raced, thinking about the situation, her needs, her desires, so much to resist, so little reason to do so. How bad she was. She lifted up onto her elbows, and pulled the shirt up above her breasts, still under her armpits. There. Still innocent, right?
He watched her as she pulled the shirt up, then lay back down, his heart pounding. He furiously pushed his thoughts into the fatherly track, letting his hands back down on her smooth skin, the white bra the only thing across her back.
"That better?" Her little girly voice, so distant. His mind was awhirl. He caressed her shoulders gently, the sharpness of her shoulder blades, the little knobs of her spine. In long sweeps he kneaded her muscles from shoulder to hip, each move only interrupted by the bra. She let out little sounds of frustration when his fingers moved off her skin until finally, she sighed.
"Just undo the damn thing, Daddy."
"Huh?"
"My bra, silly. It's just in the way. Only..." she paused. "Be good, 'kay?"
His hands trembled as he reached up to the bra-strap. He fumbled for a second with the catch, and she laughed, a sexy little laugh that stopped his heart. Finally, the thing came apart, and he pulled the straps down off of her shoulders, stopped by the shirt. Each half fell to the side, and he could see the bulge of her breast, pushed out by the weight of her body.
"Just a sec. Don't look, Daddy." He shook his head, and closed his eyes. She turned her head to study him, his handsome face. There was sweat on his forehead. Poor guy. She really shouldn't tease him like this. But really, it was so innocent. In a swift movement, she pulled the straps off of her arms and slipped the bra off from around her boobs. Now it wouldn't cut into her as she lay there. She could be completely relaxed. She settled back into place, her head turned away.
"Okay, Daddy, you can look now." His eyes flashed open, took in her shirt still bunched under her armpits, but the bra now on the floor, discarded by her limp hand hanging off the edge of the couch. Her left breast now uncovered all the way to where it was pushed into the sofa. So near the nipple, he thought, his throat dry. But concentrate, be a father.
His hands settled back onto her, now nothing between him and her skin. His caresses were softer now, gentle, searching all over the back of the girl. She was sighing deeply with each breath. He put his hands on her waist, that slimmest part, his thumbs by her spine, his fingers spread out around her, touching the sides of her torso. He pushed with his thumbs, but all his attention was on his fingers as he moved his hands upward.
Her breath caught as his fingers came into contact with the sides of her breasts. They felts so lovely, so feathery, so romantic. But still.
"Mmm... 'S not my back." But no movement to get away, so relaxed. He pulled his fingers back to the middle anyway, red-faced. Back to the muscles along her spine. Now moving lower again, working down to the place where her back started to curve the other direction. Just to the edge of her skirt, trying so hard not to push the limits. But he couldn't resist spreading his hands once more, and lightly caressing upwards.
This time, she said nothing as his fingers slipped over the swells of her breasts. Just being a good father, right? His fingers caressed those gentle curves, the sides, where they came up to meet her arms. He was achingly hard in his pants, but that was only normal. He wasn't acting on any kind of lust here. Just trying to make his daughter feel good. His hands slipped down her back once more. He paused again when he reached her skirt.
"Um. Go a little lower, would you?" Her butt wiggled a little.
"But I can't 'see' anything lower," he whispered.
"So push my skirt down a bit, dummy."
He held his breath as his fingers slipped under the waistband of that little skirt, feeling the elastic of her thong, and pushing downwards, an inch, two inches, until he felt the panties and waistband catch on the peak of her perfect ass, the top of the crack open before his eyes. Above, the little dimples, so sexy, the top half of each cheek golden and begging for his touch.
He let his fingers wander over the exposed skin. There was no massage here, just fondling. But it felt so good. So sweet. Her thoughts were a jumble, her wished-for control out the window. Sinful. Wrong. Delightful. His finger slipping right into the crack of her ass, then up the other side. And now, pushing down more, taking initiative on their own. She felt the thong catch in her ass, being pulled from between her cheeks, now the panties and skirt falling below the curve, sitting at the top of her thighs.
He drank in the gorgeous sight before him, the sight he had almost seen the day before when she had been lying on the bed. Only this time, there was no thong in the way. His hands, one on each cheek, rubbing in little circles. Pulling at each side, pulling her apart, laying bare her deepest secrets to the one man she should never let see them.
And she was letting him. She was open to him. Thumbs deep in that valley, spreading her. Now she could feel, physically feel his gaze on her little hole. The thumbs pushing deeper, letting him see everything.
Her tiny rosebud, there before him. His thumb, sitting right next to it. His steely erection, throbbing in his pants. How could he resist? His thick thumb settled over that tiny hole, rubbing in gentle circles around the wrinkled skin. Her breath, faster now, little girl moans all the time. He had to see. He let his thumbs travel lower, pulling her apart, and there, just below her anus, was the beginning of his daughter's pussy.
Oh God, she was wet. She just knew it. She knew he could tell, could tell that she was excited, sexually excited. She unconsciously lifted her hips, allowing him to see the shaved lips of her sex. Inviting him to touch her. Innocent. Oh, fuck it.
His thumb touched her wetness, the thick lips engorged with her arousal. He looked wonderingly at his thumb on her pussy, just sitting there. With a spasm, he exploded in his pants, his cum soaking everything around his erection. What the fuck was he doing?
In a flash, he withdrew, pulled away. Ashamed. Embarrassed. His pants showing the evidence of everything that he had planned to avoid. And there, his daughter, his wonderful daughter, bare to his eyes, looking at him, confused, flushed. He ran to his room. How could he ever face her again?
"Shit," she whispered, watching him go. "Shit, shit, shit!"
