"Veronica," dad called up the stairs, "are you in or out tonight?"
"In." I called back as I struggled into a dress more than a size too small for me.
I'd known that the dress was too small when I had taken it out of my cupboard; I'd bought it when I was sixteen and I had filled out a little in certain areas since then. I had also got a bit taller, thank God, and the dress, short when I'd bought it, was now a little too short for everyday wear, but it was just fine for wearing at home, well sort of. My boobs felt a little crushed as the dress finally settled into place and I could feel my bra being pressed into my skin. Sighing I took the dress off, took off my bra then put the dress back on again, after a bit of a struggle it was in place and though it still crushed my boobs I did not have to put up with the discomfort of my bra digging into me. Looking at myself in the mirror I frowned, there was a very prominent set of lines where my panties ran, reaching under the short hem I pulled my panties down and smoothed the material again. It was much better, but I knew that sooner or later I'd have to throw the dress out, it was getting too damned small.
Tossing my panties on the bed I gave myself one last look in the mirror, I liked what I saw, even if I did think it myself I was a very attractive eighteen year old and I smiled at myself before turning to leave the bedroom. As I headed downstairs I felt delightfully wicked with no underwear on, the tight dress rubbed on my skin with every breath I took and I could feel my nipples hardening from the sensations of being crushed and rubbed by the silky material.
"Hi dad." I greeted my father as I entered the kitchen.
"Oh, hi," he grinned over his shoulder distractedly, "be a dear and drain the peas for me."
Mum was away at yet another of her conferences; that was the problem with having a career woman for a mother, you never saw her and as I had that thought I wondered for the first time how my father felt about it. He always seemed cheerful, yet it had never occurred to me that he might miss mum while she was away. Then I wondered whether dad had worked once, if he had had a career and how had he been the one that ended up at home instead of mum. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for equality as long as I got the bigger share. Smiling at my thoughts I drained the peas then laid the table while dad dished up our meal. Dad was a good cook and I much preferred his cooking to my mother's any day, but whenever she was around she insisted on doing the cooking; the clearing up and everything else dad did.
"Dad," I said as I tucked into dinner, "did you ever have a career?"
"What a strange question." he laughed, "Yes, yes I did once upon a time."
"Why did you give it up?" I asked around a mouthful of food.
"I've told you before," dad grinned, "it's rude to talk with your mouth full."
I got the impression that my father was avoiding the question and waited until my mouth was empty before asking it again. My father looked at me with a raised eyebrow.
"Why the interest all of a sudden?" he asked in return.
"Just curious." I grinned, "So why did you give up your career?"
"If you must know I gave it up to look after you." He sighed.
"But didn't mum stay home?" I asked.
"She was earning more than I was at the time," dad sighed looking down at his plate, "we agreed that it would be best if I gave up work to look after you."
There was probably a lot more to it than that, mum had probably insisted that dad stay at home was probably nearer the truth; my mother had quite a forceful character and was very used to getting her own way in most things. I had a sudden picture of my mother in bed with dad ordering him around like a puppet while they made love; the image made me laugh and my father looked across the table curiously.
"It's nothing dad," I grinned stifling another laugh, "I just had a thought is all."
Dad sighed and went back to pushing his food around on his plate and it dawned on me that although I had almost finished my food my father had barely touched a thing; there was something wrong, even I could see that. I loved my father a lot more than I did my mother, probably because he had always been there for me, sorting out my cuts and bruises as cheerily as he helped me with my problems; mum was more of an occasional visitor and when he was upset about something, which was rare, I felt upset too. While I helped my father clear away the dishes and wash up I tried to think of a tactful way of asking what was upsetting him, but I'm afraid tact is definitely not one of my qualities and I decided to just come out with it when we went into the living room after the washing up was done.
Ten minutes later we were sitting down in the living room with a glass of wine and a long evening ahead of us, taking a sip of my wine I looked at my father over the rim of my glass. He looked awfully depressed about something yet as soon as he sensed that I was watching him he looked my way and smiled.
"What's up dad?" I asked bluntly, "And don't tell me that there's nothing wrong, you barely ate a thing and you've been sitting there with a face a mile long."
"Tactful as ever, eh Ronnie?" dad sighed, "If you must know I think you're mother is having an affair."
Mum was the last person I could imagine having an affair, but obviously dad had that impression and my father was not one to leap to conclusions, there had to be more to it.
"What makes you think that?" I asked.
"Veronica," my father said softly, "it really doesn't concern you."
"If my parents are getting a divorce I think it would concern me." I retorted.
"Who said anything about a divorce?" dad said in surprise, "I suppose you'll only harp on about it until I tell you. Your mother was supposed to be at a conference this week, she left the number for her hotel as usual before she left only the conference organisers rang here the day after she went away to confirm the revised dates for the conference. It appears that it was cancelled a month ago due to one of the organisers having died."
"Oh," I said brightly, "but that doesn't mean mum's having an affair. Maybe she decided to take a break seeing that everything was booked up already."
"I spoke with her secretary," dad sighed, "it seems that there have been no official conferences in the last three months. Furthermore she hadn't booked accommodation for your mother in all that time."
"But mum's been to five conferences in that time." I said in a puzzled tone, "Or that's what she told us."
"Precisely." dad shook his head sadly, "So I called the hotel."
"Don't tell me, she wasn't there." I sighed.
"Oh she was there all right," dad laughed bitterly, "so, apparently, was I."
"Oh dad, I'm sorry." I sighed.
"It's not your fault love," dad replied with a tiny smile, "and don't ever think it is. If anyone is at fault its me for not putting my foot down with your mother long ago."
"But didn't her trips show up on the bank statements?" I mused aloud.
"Your mother has her own separate account and I assume she uses that to pay for her pleasure trips." dad sighed, "Either that or her lover pays for them. Damn the bitch anyway!"
I was a little surprised by my father's sudden outburst, but held my tongue for a change, dad grinned sheepishly at me then sighed loudly.
"Your mother cut me off over nine months ago." he explained.
I knew what he was referring to and I felt myself getting angry with my mother for what she was doing to my father. Just then the phone rang, dad answered it, listened for a moment then frowned.
"No," my father snapped into the phone, "I will not cover an amount like that."
Angrily my father hung up the phone then saw me looking at him, he shook his head and breathed deeply to cool off his anger.
"It seems your mother has tried to draw on my account, the bank wanted my permission to pay her the funds," he said in a low voice, "you heard me tell them no. I'm damned if I'm paying out five hundred pounds for her pleasure!"
"Jesus," I laughed, "you've got to admire her nerve though."
Dad sat down again and put his head in his hands, he looked hurt and angry at the same time and I wished that there was something I could do or say to ease his pain. Then he looked up and his eyes went wide, in an instant there was a bulge in his trousers and it didn't take a genius to guess that my dress had ridden up enough to show off my bare pussy. Dad blushed and looked away after a moment and it suddenly occurred to me that there was something I could do to ease his pain; at least to ease his frustration if nothing else. I was no virgin or shrinking violet, but I was shocked at my own thoughts, yet it seemed so logical; I loved my father and he loved me, he was hurting and I had the ideal comforter sitting between my legs, and I had just seen for myself how randy he was feeling if the sight of my pussy could turn him on in an instant.
.... There is more of this story ...