As his daughter stepped onto the artificial grass court of their club resort, McWillis couldn't help but notice the sexy fullness of her body. She was twenty, an aspiring lawyer following in his footsteps, but she had definitely gained all of her mother's good looks - and more. There was this familiar stirring in his crotch as he watched Catherine bound across the turf, her heavy chest heaving, towards where he sat, shirtless and relaxing.
Ian McWillis, a third generation Irishman, was a self-made millionaire, and as such, felt entitled to act as the dirty old man, ogling his daughter as she walked the last few steps to her father. Since she was away at college for most of the year, instances like these were like fresh water for the thirty-seven year old 'retired' counselor. The three of them - he, his wife and Cathy - had stolen some time off from the rest of the kids, left with their uncle and aunt back in Belford.
Ian marveled at the way that her tits seemed to support themselves in spite of their obvious bulk, but kept his complimentary feelings to himself. And, he had often thought, it was quite unfair that such a prominent upper frame had just a hint of a waist below, giving his daughter a figure that was almost too much to bear. The short skirt accentuated her long legs, tanned after the past four days of sunshine, and he just wanted a piece of her thighs for breakfast, lunch, dinner, et all.
Yet, in the midst of all his unholy lust for his daughter, he never lost sight of that relationship. She was his daughter. And above all, that was the only thing that kept him from claiming her delicious self as his.
McWillis made a mental note to himself to install a spy-camera in her room, dismissing it just as soon for what his idea really was - a fantasy. Because he could never reach for her, much less attain Cathy, he had long since disciplined himself to think along two levels, loving her in two ways. As a father, in reality. As a passionate lover, in fantasy. The two, he had resolved over three years ago, were never to meet.
"Hello, honey," he greeted affectionately, no longer the quiet lecher, now only an affectionate father. "And what's my favorite daughter up to now?"
"Hi, Daddy," his daughter replied brightly, bending across the table to kiss him lightly on the lips. For a brief second, he caught a glimpse of her cleavage, receding into the darkness, ensconced by two fleshy walls whose taste he had by now fantasized a few hundred times. His cock jerked; he was quick enough to adjust it before it poked through the white shorts he was wearing.
Cathy, not totally unaware of her father's attraction to her, had dismissed it as the harmless infatuation that every father has for his offspring. She smiled warmly at him, setting her racket on the table between them. "Unless you are referring to some other illegitimate daughter of yours, I am your only daughter, and as such, your favorite, and I am quite fine, thank you."
The two of them laughed, a private joke unadulterated even by years of repetition, and Ian reached over to ruffle her dirty blonde hair. She had his eyebrows, he mused, dark but sharper, and her mother's blondish brunette locks, giving her an altogether... he searched for the word... hot appearance.
"Don't worry, Catherine, darling," it was his inevitable reply, "Even if there was another daughter born somewhere to your father's loins, you would still be my favorite."
The club waiter started to move towards them, having noticed her entry, but Cathy caught his attention viscerally and waved him off. Then she turned to her father, her expression that of a child trying to get a parent to agree.
"Dad, you used to play tennis in college, didn't you?"
Ian McWillis nodded, sipping on his cold glass of lemonade. "Three years in a row as Champ."
"Good. Then you can help me with some of my shots."
Ian grinned at his daughter and shook his head. "Why not?" his daughter asked.
"Too much work," replied the man, winking at her. "Ever since I retired from practice, I have developed an allergy to work."
"Yeah, I bet," she retorted dryly, "You would rather sit here ogling all the voluptuous females here. I have to talk to Mom about that."
Ian was thankful that she hadn't caught on that the only woman he was even moderately interested in was herself, and sought to dispel any further comments about his wandering eye with folded hands, as if seeking her peace. "Please, don't," he told her in a mild voice that was as false as her threat, "Already, she's cut me down to once a month... You know how orthodox she is. She might even cut me off totally."
"God, is she still like that?" Cathy feigned surprise. "After getting a very impressionable teenager out of the house, I thought she would have changed..."
"Actually, for a couple of weeks after you moved to college, she was on fire - more often than usual. Then she remembered that we still had other kids under the same roof."
Cathy giggled. "The three brats strike again, huh, Daddy?"
"Your brothers are good kids," Ian corrected, "Only the wrong age."
"Please, Daddy," Cathy changed tack. "Please. I've got impress a few fellows with some tennis power next month, and I need all the tips and the practice I can get."
"Oh, don't worry baby," Ian said, not wanting to get up, and he was suddenly conscious again of how sultry she looked. "I am sure you won't have any problem knocking their shorts off, which is probably what you are looking for, I suppose." He broke out laughing.
Cathy rolled her eyebrows at her father's humor. Sure, getting in bed with those studs was a big motivation, but she hadn't expected to be so obvious. In an effort to impress upon him her seriousness, she did the only thing she could do - she upturned the half-full pitcher of cold water over his head. She giggled as he spluttered at the sudden icy shower.
"Now that you've had your cold shower, can you be a good Daddy and help me with some free Tennis lessons?"
More to shrug off his recent 'bath' than anything else, Ian McWillis stood up. Before he knew it, he was halfway across the lawn of the club's luncheonette, pulled by his dear daughter towards the green and white. "At least," he protested, knowing that his attire of just shorts was basically not encouraged in the club, "Let me throw something on."
"Stop being so old-fashioned," she returned, and by then, they had reached Court 3, reserved for the day for the McWillis' family. It was close to noon, accounting for the fact that they were the only people out in the sun. The usher merely waved them through, relaxing an unwritten rule on proper dress code, and wheeled the automatic serving machine into the opposite side of the net. Ian envied the fellow as he went back to a shady spot between two trees and lay down on the ground.
Damn! At least he could have gone with his wife on the local charity trip. Lucky dam - she would be back only by midnight, no doubt pampered and cooled.
"Dad," her voice cut into his thoughts, "Where are you?"
He grinned at her pout. "Somewhere else, I wish."
"Okay, fine," Cathy pretended to explode. "Go wherever it is you want to go... Why bother with me at all?"
"There, there." Even though he knew it was all an act, he couldn't fight with his daughter. "I was just joking. Look, why don't you shoot a few serves while I load up the machine?"
"Thanks, Daddy," she chirped, now grinning just as much as her father, and gave a slightly moist peck on his lips. "You are the greatest."
As he watched from the other end of the court, Ian was struck by her graceful serve. Each one was a potential ace, delivered with power and accuracy, but what really grabbed his attention was the way her breasts bounced up and down. Her skirt flew in the air, revealing her thighs without prejudice, and the dirty old man was awakened in him again. The hard on, which had not entirely gone down, was back at full mast in seconds.
For no other reason than to see her jump in the air a few more times, Ian pretended to notice a fault with her serve, asking her to do it a few times more. There was nothing wrong - anything more, and she would get suspicious. He loaded the machine, set the base speed, and stood behind, watching as she returned as many balls as she could.
But there was something amiss with her forehand shots - that was obvious from the way quite a few of those balls crashed against the net. Cathy gestured for him to cross over.
"What's wrong with my fores, Daddy?" she asked him as he moved to a spot behind her.
Ian viewed a couple of shots before he spoke. "You are bending your arm as you play the shot - that's half the problem. And you seem to whip your hand too quickly from the backhands. Here, let me show you."
When he was just a step behind her, Cathy accidentally crashed into his front, and with a start, both father and daughter realized the presence of his hard-on. Cathy was as embarrassed as she was excited - but Ian cursed silently that she had found out. Still, neither made any move to adjust - on his part, it would have been tantamount to an admission of guilt; on her part, ignorance seemed to be the better part of discretion.
Even as one hand encircled her waist, sending a queer feeling into her, another gripped her wrist quite fiercely and exploded a forehand shot that reminded him of his old days. Then, more gently, he guided her hand for the next shot, nicely directing it over the net.
.... There is more of this story ...