It has been a month since the Mardi Gras party. One long, torturous month, watching Lucy trot in and out of the house bundled up in winter clothing that obscures the beautiful body that I know lay beneath. I thought the weather would never warm up, but March is true to form - in like a lion, out like a lamb. I opened our pool early, hoping to entice my daughter out with an opportunity to tan, but more than happy just to see her without layers of sweatshirts and jackets. Today she is wearing shorts that come down a mere inch or two below her ass and a form-fitting tank top. Her breasts, full and round, swell out from her chest, high and perky. Her mother's used to be like that before she nursed our two children. Her ass is round and pleasantly muscular, her legs long, lithe, and absolutely beautiful. She walks through the living room and into the kitchen where she stands on her tip-toes to reach a box of cereal in the pantry. Her shorts pull taut across her ass, showcasing each smooth cheek. I reminisce about watching her ass jiggle as she rode my cock at that party. To think there she was, on a couch with an audience watching her get fucked in the ass by her own father. Of course she didn't know it then because I had the anonymity of the Mardi Gras mask. But since then I haven't found a feasible way to hide my identity so that I can enjoy my daughters sweet treasures again.
"You were out late last night," I muse as she pours milk into her cereal bowl.
"Ya, there was a party on campus," Lucy answered vaguely.
"I hope it wasn't one of those wild frat parties," I scold, even as my cock is hard in my jeans.
"Dad," she says, annoyed. "My friends and I stay together in a group, we don't do anything stupid."
Nothing stupid except letting a stranger (or rather a man she thought was a stranger) plunder every hole that she had willingly offered in front of a room full of people.
"That Mardi Gras party was certainly wild," I suddenly find myself saying. Lucy gives a quick, guilty look in my direction, and then puts on an impassive face.
"How would you know?" she asks nonchalantly. My heart is pounding in my chest. What do I say now? I stupidly started this line of conversation and had painted myself into a bit of a corner. I cleared my throat nervously, stood up, and walked over to the kitchen and stood behind her, leaning up against the sink while she continued eating over the island.
"I was there," I finally say. She visibly tenses up but she doesn't turn around. She doesn't want to face me, she doesn't want to find out what sort of things I had possibly seen.
"Oh," she says weakly. I step up behind her.
