Author's Note : Thanks to all those who've poured in their comments, compliments (a lot of that!) and criticisms (thankfully, only a handful of that! Mostly out of goodwill, I suppose.) for all my stories, making me want to write again, making me want to be better... I know I am becoming more and more infrequent with my contributions, but it's unavoidable. I have written more stories than I've ever planned to, submitting them to only three of the best sites on the 'Net, each a leader in its own right. My thanks to Storiesonline.Net, the fans of the site, MY fans - I was quite surprised to learn of their existence!... Perhaps with more, JayBee.
PS And keep writing in...
"Hi Daddy!" chirped my eighteen-year old daughter as she came into the house. I had my back to her as I was busy preparing something for her to munch on, and she hugged me from behind. Her soft breasts pressed against my back, giving me a familiar sense of heat at the touch, but it was something I had learned to live with. Her hands snaked over my chest and brushed my lips.
"Hi sweetie-pie!" I replied, kissing her fingertips. Stephanie giggled. It was a lovely sound, ringing clearly in my ears.
"Hmmm! Smells nice... whatcha cooking?"
"Nothing special," I replied, "And what smell?" I never knew dough had a smell.
"I'm talking about you, silly," my daughter replied, giving me a playful jab as she moved a step backward. "Nice cologne. Very sexy."
"Thank you." It was not the first time she had commented that something was 'sexy' about me, and I have to admit that it was extremely gratifying to hear it from her lips. I mean, it's not everyday that I get complimented by a girl who is nothing if not a knockout. I turned around.
Stephanie leaned over and kissed the tip of my nose. It was a tradition that we had started back in her first grade, and it was something she hadn't yet gotten over. We were pretty expressive around the house, and although it did sometimes make me uncomfortable not to reveal how intensely I felt attracted towards my own daughter, I was careful not to let it on.
At just a couple of inches shorter than I, Stephanie had no problem in reaching my height. She was the only red-head on the block, with brown eyes and dark eyebrows. It seemed to give her a fiery touch, sensuousness into her friends-with-everybody approach. Her breasts - as a father, perhaps these should be beyond my scrutiny, but I have to admit that they were increasingly becoming more and more prominent to my eyes - were firm and high, at least a size bigger than her mother's.
Absently, my eyes swept over her body. The cheerleader's dress she had on revealed a lot of leg, lots more than I would have thought proper had I not been so interested in the view of the tanned flesh. They appeared sculpted, sinew and softness combined to make one deadly combination.
"Earth to Daddy! Earth to Daddy! Come in..." Her voice broke into my reverie.
"Oops!" I replied, embarrassed to have been caught ogling her. "Sorry, hun. How was practice today?"
She grinned at me. "Not bad. Not bad at all. All those boys were staring at me most of the time though, you know, just like you were, half a second ago."
I shook my head ruefully. "You really can't blame them. With legs like those, who needs - " I suddenly shut up, realizing that I had about to say too much.
Steph, on the other hand, wouldn't let go. She knew it was a compliment, and typical of girls, damned if she was going to let me off without hearing what it was. "Who needs... what?" She squeezed my palm gently. Her touch was soft. "Come on, Daddy, tell me. If you've got my legs, who needs what?" She puckered her lips, "Puh-leese!"
I had been about to say strangling-cord or something to that effect when the correct words came to me. "Anything else," I replied, "I mean, with those legs, who needs anything else?"
"Thanks," she said, giving me a peck on the cheek, "I think."
We have never been too modest inside the house - not that we were nudists, which would be an extreme - and walking around in my underwear was usually the way my bra-and-panties-clad daughter discovered me in the mornings. If my wife were also there, she would start off the day in just her panties. Thankfully, we don't have a son - the poor guy would have had more than enough trouble explaining his hardons over his mother's state of undress.
With such a liberal background, therefore, I was not very surprised when Steph whisked the top of her uniform over her head. It was the first Friday of her vacation, and the practice was the only thing on her calendar for the next two months, she told me, other than eat, sleep and beach.
"I'll be doing the laundry soon," I informed her, "So as soon as you take everything off, give me a call. I'll pick up your hamper." I was surprised to see that she hadn't worn a bra underneath her top - instead, she had put on a bikini top that was little more than two triangles held together by translucent strings. It even left a little of the undersides of her breasts exposed.
Stephanie slung the top over her shoulder. "I'll go one better," she said, "I'll strip in the basement, dump everything into the machine, then dash upstairs. We've got towels down there, right?" She was obviously referring to the cache of fresh towels that we stored in the basement.
"I guess," I replied, not just a little mesmerized by the way her cups strained the blue bikini top. "Look-see. I already emptied your hamper earlier today."
"Okay." I watched her walk down the hallway and turn into the staircase that led down to the basement. The thin string of the top was invisible against her back, and I groaned inwardly. From where I stood, she looked as if she were baring her tits. Ah, how I wished it were so!
Presently, within a minute, she called out to me. "We haven't got any soap."
"Sure we do, hun," I replied. "I'll be down in a sec."
"NO!" she shouted back. "I mean, I don't have a stitch of clothing on. And this darn towel is a little too short... I'm gonna dash upstairs, Daddy! Close your eyes, and don't peek!"
"Okay, Steph." In spite of all the openness, I had never seen my daughter naked. Not even a single tit. Sure I had seen her in bikinis, but a glimpse of her nudity was something that was still eluding my lifetime achievements. "I have my eyes closed," I lied. My eyes were locked on the basement door.
I heard her rush up the stairs, then stop. She peeked around the doorway, grinning as she saw me looking. "No peeking," she said, mock-sternly. "I'll tell Mom if you do!"
Because I knew she wouldn't, I decided to call her bluff. "Oh, really?"
The standoff lasted just a couple of seconds. Throwing caution to the winds, my daughter ran into the hallway and up the stairs, vanishing into her room and slamming the door behind her. She was fast, but she hadn't been fast enough - I had seen enough.
I had seen her breasts!
The towel - if it could be called that - was a strip of cloth that was wrapped around her waist. It was too little to cover her chest, and I had seen her mounds bouncing with each step. She had been too far away to see anything else, but I knew a winner when I saw it. And her tits could definitely put every other counterpart, including those of my wife, into shame.
I was still thinking of my daughter's boobs when I started towards the basement.
I was still thinking of my daughter's boobs when I missed a step and tumbled the last few steps and crashed into the hard floor.
And I was still thinking of my daughter's boobs when reflexes took over and I gave a bloody scream of pain...
Apparently, it was loud enough for Steph to have heard it all the way upstairs. Even as she bounded down the stairs, she started calling out my name.
"In here," I answered, "In the frigging basement." I had to clench my teeth to keep from screaming again. My right hand was underneath me, somewhat twisted out of shape, but my leg had really borne the brunt of the fall. The ankle was at a right angle with my leg, and I feared it would be more than a simple fracture.
"Oh God!" exclaimed my daughter when she saw me. I was still staring at the ceiling at that time, and it was only when she touched me that I turned to look at her. The dirty lecher that I was, the first thing I noticed was the way her wet breasts clung to the semi-transparent t-shirt that she had thrown on. It was quite evident that she was naked under the top - I could see the dark spots of her nipples.
Steph removed my hand very gently. It was already swollen at the joint, and as purple as I had ever seen something of the same color. "Does it hurt?" she asked, concerned.
For a second, I felt guilty. Here I was, hurt, and I was totally concerned with my own daughter's anatomy, while she was more worried about my well-being. "Only when I laugh," I cliched weakly.
She smiled back. "So don't laugh."
As I stood up, I couldn't help but notice that all she had on was the wet t-shirt. Fortunately, for I have always believed in the silver lining of the darkest clouds, the injuries were totally on my right side. With a great deal of effort, Steph managed to get me into a limping position. She had her hands quite firmly on my waist, slowly but surely supporting me back step by painful step.
On retrospect, I remember being slightly disappointed that she was wearing panties. It wasn't much, but it wasn't the same as watching her naked ass either.
.... There is more of this story ...