Hello everyone, this is my first attempt at a story for this site so please let me know what you think. Construction criticism and feedback is welcome and I apologise in advance for any errors in spelling or grammar. If the reception for this work is positive I have an idea for a number of sequels. I hope you enjoy!
And all characters are over eighteen.
* * *
I lay sprawled on my bed, quietly fuming. I'd broken up with my boyfriend Mark about two weeks ago after I'd caught him fucking his ex-girlfriend, and while I was mostly over it the memory still stung whenever I thought about it. But this wasn't why I was angry. Mark and I had been pretty active, and I was starting to feel the irritation that going without brings on. My parents were going out tonight with the Mercers, and so I'd been looking forward to having the house to myself and getting a little me time.
So of course tonight had to be the night where my parents caught my brother with alcohol and decide to ground him.
I know I can't really blame my brother. I used to smuggle drinks to my friends when I was even younger than he is, only I managed to never get caught. Except for one time with dad, but I managed to wiggle my way out of it. Still, my sympathy for him was overlaid with annoyance that he had to caught tonight of all nights, and it took a lot of self control not to thump him.
I was still lying on my bed, wondering whether or not I should just go to a club and hope to pick someone up when there was a knock on the door and my dad spoke through it.
"Can I come in?"
"Yeah," I sighed, and my dad stepped in cautiously. He and mum always knew when I was annoyed, and he in particular knew when to leave me alone. Mum, unfortunately, did not.
Dad stood half in the doorway, looking at me with faint concern. He wore black trousers with a matching jacket and tie over one of his few button-up white shirts β what he generally referred to as his "adult clothes". He was hopeless when it came to clothes, and it usually fell to mum or me to dress him whenever he had to go out.
"You look nice dad," I said casually. "Mum might have to keep a close eye on Mrs Mercer tonight."
Sensing my tone, dad sauntered over to my mirror and looked at himself proudly. "That she might," he said critically, then glanced at me in the mirror briefly. "And at least one of us is nicely attired," he said archly.
It was then that I spared a quick look down at myself. I'd changed into an old nightshirt which was getting a little small for me, and as I'd shifted on my bed it had ridden up, exposing most of my midriff. I sat up and tugged it down impatiently, checking my appearance in the mirror to see if it was any better. As I did my eyes wandered over to my dad's reflection in the mirror β and noticed his eyes were fixed on the reflection of my breasts, which were straining under the tight fabric of my shirt. Even more surprising was the sudden burst of heat I felt from between my legs, and I felt the muscles of my thighs tense and squeeze together. I looked down involuntarily and bit my lip to stifle a groan, and when I looked back up again my dad was intent on his own reflection once more.
Dad attempted to straighten, his tie a final time, causing it to actually become crooked, and then turned and headed for the door. He paused before leaving and said, "I just came to tell you mum and I are leaving now, so be nice to your brother okay. We probably won't be home until late, so help yourselves to the lasagne left in the fridge and whatever Drew doesn't eat, throw out."
"Yes dad," I sighed, and then as he went to leave I called him back. "Let me fix your tie, mum hates it when it's crooked."
He stood still as I fiddled with his tie and collar, trying to get it straight and presentable. He was a little taller than me, and as I fiddled I realised that if he looked down he would have a lovely view at his daughter's firm breasts, and a slight glance upward showed me he was taking advantage of it, and not very subtly either. I felt that heat again, and couldn't help pressing myself against him. I struggled to hold in a moan, but then one slipped out as I felt his hardness push against my thigh and I started rubbing against it. I felt one of his hands cup my behind, and I have no idea how far it might have gone if mum hadn't inadvertently interrupted us.
"John, three minutes!" she yelled from somewhere downstairs, and we immediately stepped apart. My face felt warm, and I would have been embarrassed if it wasn't for the look of hunger of my dad's face before it suddenly disappeared.
"Try to have a good night," dad said, and gave me a quick (fatherly) hug and peck on the head. "And try not to be too mad at your brother. Your mum's the one who grounded him. And besides," he said pointedly, "someday you may enjoy having him around."
I frowned. "I know, but he was still stupid." And then I couldn't help but grin slightly as I added, "Although he could have always tried to reason with her, like I did with you."
Dad's face immediately reddened. He opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it, and turned and left my room. I heard his footsteps on the stairs, the muffled sound of my mum's laughter, and the front door slamming shut. A few seconds later the car started up and he was gone.
But the heat between my thighs was not.
* * *
I spent most of the late afternoon and early night moping in my room, trying to find a way to distract myself. I had a few toys and other things that could have dealt with my frustrations quickly and easily, but Drew's presence in the house killed that possibility. I get quite vocal, and even if he was plugged into his computer playing some lame videogame there was a significant chance he could hear me, so I was forced to try ignore the problem.
My encounter with dad had only made it worse though, and as much as I tried to immerse myself in my music on the dramas constantly unfolding on my friend Lana's Facebook page, my mind kept returning to the feel of his hardness against my leg. I knew it was sick and wrong, and despite my age probably still illegal, I had liked it. It didn't help that I'd already seen it, and I couldn't stop myself wondering what it would taste like or feel like as it inched inside of meβ
Enough! I stood up and decided to try eating dinner. With luck it would take my mind off my dad, sex, and most especially sex with my dad. I headed downstairs, passing Drew's room and the muted sounds of special effects explosions from within, and into the kitchen. I pulled the lasagne from the fridge, served myself slightly more than a third of what remained and plonked it in the microwave.