The look on my fourteen-year-old daughter's face could have easily been mistaken for pain. And if her furrowed brow, her flaring nostrils, or the row of pearly teeth biting into her lower lip might have somehow left an observer unconvinced of her discomfort, perhaps the rest of the scene would have settled it. As she lay back upon the top of our washing machine, with her dimpled knees pulled up nearly to her bared, bra-less, apple-sized tits, the petite eighth-grader struggled with both little hands to insert the knob of my blunt, swollen prick into the well-prepared but resisting confines of her nearly hairless cunt.
However, despite appearances, my daughter was not in pain; the time of pain was long past ... but perhaps I'm getting ahead of myself.
Katie had grown a lot over the summer. The rambunctious tomboy I had known and adored, who refused to ever wear a dress, who always easily outwrestled her younger brother, and who seemed far more interested in shooting baskets than in sugar and spice, had suddenly been transformed into a most amazing and delightful creature of an altogether different sort.
As though choreographed, her interests seemed to turn away from competitive athletic pursuits at a rate in direct proportion to the sudden widening of her hips, the budding of her breasts, and the rounding out of her bottom. By the September start of her eighth grade school year, our little hellion was wearing skirts, spending ridiculous hours every week on the phone, in the bathroom, and both, and becoming completely uninterested in any activity associated with her younger brother. In short, puberty had arrived in a blitzkrieg, and had immediately seized control of my daughter and settled down for the occupation.
My wife would smile, and say to me, "Our little girl is growing up. I know you'll miss the tomboy, but I've been waiting for years for a daughter who acts like a girl."
I'd laugh and say: "I still have Jimmy to toss the ball with. What I'll miss is living free of all the boys I'm sure will soon be buzzing around this house."
I knew that sooner or later, they would come.
Katie might have been my daughter, but I could turn an objective eye on her well enough to know that someday she'd be a heartbreaker. She already had a beautiful, doll-like face, with big blue eyes, a cute little nose, and a pouty mouth. Her healthy, thick blond hair, heretofore virtually ignored, was now kept carefully washed, conditioned, and brushed to a shine. The early promise of her girlish figure, as well as her mother's genes, suggested that someday her body would drive men to distraction. In fact, unless eighth grade boys were made of sterner stuff than I remembered, I was sure that she was already maddening them, at least, in the hallways of Turner Middle School.
One Friday evening early in the school year, Katie had her friend Bunny stay overnight. The plan was that I would take them to their soccer game on Saturday morning. Apparently the social aspect of organized schools sports was still enough to keep Katie participating, despite her newfound prissiness.
Bunny appeared to have grown dramatically over the summer as well. She came in the door wearing shorts and a crop top, and I couldn't help but appraise her with a practiced eye. The adorable brunette had developed adolescent titties, a shelved out ass, and a distinct pubic arch. I could only hope she hadn't caught me fixating on it during my first few moments of pleasant discovery.
My wife went to bed early, and my son Jimmy was on an overnight of his own at a friend's, so it was just the girls up late watching a couple of movies on cable with me. The first movie was a recent comedy, one the girls had seen before but wanted to watch again. I sat on the couch nursing a couple of drinks as my young charges spread out on the floor. They rolled around, poked at each other, giggled and whispered, while I tried to pretend to watch the screen.
What I was watching, despite my attempts at self-control, was our young guest's delightful little body. As I grew tipsier I became less discrete, and I began to suspect that both Bunny and Katie were repeatedly catching me ogling the girl. However, my overheated cumballs and the well-chilled highballs conspired to easily throw any self-discipline I had left right out the window. Oddly enough, it seemed that Bunny was flirting with me. I guess the teasing coquette routine comes naturally to women at a certain age.
When the comedy ended, and the girls scampered off somewhere giggling. When they returned, they had changed for bed. I nearly gasped when I realized they were now wearing nothing but panties and long T-shirts.
The second movie was a steamier drama, not "PG-13" as I'd thought, but strictly rated "R." I made no move to dismiss the girls or change the channel, however, even after repeated nudity and blatant (although not explicit) sex scenes. I enjoyed watching Bunny laying on the carpeted floor before me, her chin on her hands facing the TV while her T-shirt rode up her legs every time she squirmed. It seemed that the more sexual the story's content became, the more this wonderful squirming took place.
Occasionally, one or both of the girls would cast a furtive glance my way, I assumed in order to gauge my reaction to the onscreen developments. I was afraid they would instead discover my reaction to the on-floor developments in front of me. Luckily, Bunny couldn't really look straight at me without craning her neck and torso around, because she was facing almost directly away from me. This was a good thing for another reason, since it meant that her now half-uncovered bottom was pointing right at me. Her bright yellow T-shirt had ridden up to uncover the lower halves of her cute little ass globes, encased in her tight white cotton briefs. I felt my penis actually start to thicken at this depraved voyeurism – My god, she was only what, thirteen or fourteen years old?
Try as I might, however, to concentrate on the movie, my stare continued to inexorably return to the perverted pleasure of my daughter's friend's display. Her shirt kept riding up, her bottom kept squirming, I swear her legs kept slowly spreading, and my cock kept hardening. I was incredibly turned on and nearly panicking. I had to stop this right now!
Unfortunately, the fates were not cooperating. Soon her entire panty-covered ass was laid out before me, and her young thighs were spread wide enough to expose her poorly-disguised vulva to my view. The white cotton of her gusset was pulled tight across her sex, clearly outlining her fat labia and even defining her immature crease.
At this point, I was enslaved. As discretely as I could, I moved my hand to my lap and started to lightly massage my prick through my jeans. Long gone was any attempt to watch the TV: my eyes were now rabidly transfixed on the eighth-grader's taut little biscuit. The sight was so erotic, and I was so aroused, that I thought I would come in my pants at any moment, in the most perverse and frankly frightening episode of my sexual career. And then I was interrupted in a most humiliating manner.
"Jeez, Dad! Take a picture, it lasts longer! Bunny, my Dad is 'Manson-ing out' on your ass!"
Bunny turned as she sat up, hiding her sweet bottom. No matter, my penis had deflated even faster. "Is that true, Mr. Colson? Were you looking at my ass?" she asked with a laugh and a smile.
"Well," I practically stuttered, "what do you expect a man to do when you're dressed like that? Both of you. A man can't help but look if you show it to him." I tried to laugh it off, but my defense sounded a little weak. At least they didn't seem to realize I'd been touching myself!
"Oh, we know, Dad. Mr. Simmons, our math teacher, is always checking out the girls' butts. We think it's funny."
"Well, funny or not, you two should be careful. Teasing can get you in trouble."
I got a "sure, Dad," and a "we know, Mr. Colson," and we tried to watch the end of the film. I barely even knew what was going on in the plot by now, and the instant it was over I beat a hasty retreat to my private den. I locked the door, logged onto the Internet, did a search on "young," "teen," and "schoolgirl," and was within minutes stroking off to images on a website called "Barely Eighteen" or something like that. I came while "Manson-ing out" at the youngest-appearing model I could find.
I was a little embarrassed the next morning as I drove the girls to the soccer field. As we pulled up, I saw Mr. Simmons, the math teacher and assistant coach, leading the warm-up drills. As the girls sprang out of the car and trotted over in their uniform shorts to join their teammates, I thought about my daughter from Simmons' point of view.
Katie might have been my daughter, but I could turn a subjective eye on her well enough to know that she had become a little heartbreaker. Her long, coltish legs, her boyish but clearly un-boylike hips and ass, and her blossoming bosom clearly announced that her body could drive some men to distraction even today. In fact, unless eighth grade math teachers were made of sterner stuff than I suspected, I was sure that she was already maddening poor Don Simmons, at least, both in the hallways of Turner Middle School and out on the soccer pitch.
I chuckled to myself. Imagine thinking of your fourteen-year-old daughter in those terms!
The next couple of weeks were odd ones for me. I would often find Katie looking at me strangely, which would bring a burning sensation to the back of my neck. I didn't know if I'd ever stop being embarrassed at the events of that Friday night.
.... There is more of this story ...