Chapter 4: A Series of Fortunate Events

A SINGLE FLOOR LAMP cast its soft white light in one corner, the living room shadowed and dark. To my left the gas fire flickered with an orange-red flame providing no heat, only ambiance. On the stereo, Enigma played, volume on low. I sipped an imported Steam Whistle lager and studied the iPad in my lap.

Light rain spotted the large windows. Occasional gusts of wind rattled them. New York was experiencing one of its many days of bad weather. Oddly enough, at night I liked it. Sitting in a cozy apartment on a chilly, dreary evening was very nice.

My mind wandered. Upstairs Sasha slept. For the last three days she'd demonstrated remarkably subtle affection that had made me ache for her. It was sweet how she'd stand next to me when I cooked, brushing against me. It was nice to feel her lean into me from behind and reach around to grab something on the countertop. I liked the feel of her hand resting on my back and how she caressed me subtly, affectionately.

Perhaps even better was her thigh. Earlier this evening she'd perched herself on the arm of my chair, her hand rubbing my shoulder, and on her iPhone shown me some YouTube video of a dance style called shuffle. It was quite hypnotic. While Sasha enthusiastically told me how she was going to learn to dance it I'd casually rested my hand on her jean-covered thigh. Her voice had paused briefly. Then I caressed, gently, a loving rub. She had a beautiful leg, youthfully slender, toned, firm. She'd leaned against me and replayed the video, commenting on the technique. Her hand had caressed the back of my shoulder just as intimately, affectionately, and loving as mine.

Sasha had fizzled with energy, full of smiles and brightness for the rest of the evening, unable to sit still for long, fidgeting constantly with her happy dance. The result of that simple caress was on my iPad in my lap - another email.

Renpet
I can't believe it! It worked! Dad actually became affectionate with me and almost intimate! He rubbed my thigh really gently. His hugs have become tighter, too. When I kiss his cheek it's almost like his dark eyes sparkle!
I'm so impatient now. I want so much more, too. What should I do? How can I make him think of me as more than just his daughter? Is it even possible? I'm so excited. Please, please help!
sasha .4843

Smiling with pleasure, I read it again. I wished she'd told me what she was feeling physically and emotionally, not just about her enthusiasm. Maybe I'd ask. Thinking about my next piece of advice excited me. I felt a stir of arousal. After another sip of beer I responded.

sasha .4843,
From your email it sounds like you've successfully started along the path to altering the relationship with your father. Well done. I sympathize with your desire for urgency. It must be hard to want someone that much but be unable to demonstrate it. Just don't rush. Don't be hasty. You're trying to create a new relationship that society frowns upon and one that will, with luck, bring you much joy.
The next step you'll need to take is to move from almost intimate into almost sexual. It's probably the easiest part. Your father no doubt sees you as his cherished daughter and not as a sexual female. You'll need to change that. Here's how to start that transformation.
Men are visual. Almost all men react to illicit peeks of intimate clothes. A glimpse of a bra strap leads a man to think about what the bra is covering. Your father will, too. If you let him see just your bra's shoulder strap and follow it with a light brush of your breast against his arm his mind will immediately think about your breasts. He won't be able to stop himself; no guy can. Follow that with a peek of your panties. Start with exposing just a bit of them, perhaps the top part glimpsed inside the waist of jeans or exposed in low-riding sweat pants. After a few inadvertent exposures comes the harder part.
Exposing yourself in your panties and bra should escalate - being caught without a blouse, a flash of panties under a skirt - leading up to your father inadvertently catching sight of you in only your panties and bra. Be sure you don't react by trying to cover up, or act too shy. Remember you want your father to see you as sexy. Letting your father catch regular glimpses of you in panties and bras, or panties and T-shirts, should almost become a normal thing; not too frequent but enough to keep it in his mind.
Don't forget all the other actions, though. You still need to hug and kiss him, and sit or stand close to him. At first he might regress into not reciprocating your hugs. Don't worry. At that point he'll be wrestling with his new awareness of you as a young female. Just play along. When his hugs and caresses return you'll be very close to the last step.
I have to remind you, don't do anything without thinking through the consequences. Be absolutely sure it's what you want. Lastly, would you let me know not just what happens but how you feel about it and how you react? I'd love to know.
Good luck,
Renpet

After a careful review I sent it and drained the glass of beer. I wondered what Sasha would do with my advice. A partial erection formed as I tried to picture her in just a bra and panties.

Sasha was my ideal, my dream. She was young - a perfect age - and appeared even younger with her dancer's physique: a willowy body, slender and narrow-hipped; tall for her age, five-four already. Her adolescence attracted me powerfully. Graced with petite breasts that seemed too small yet suit her perfectly and a stunning dancer's ass that was compact yet beautifully shaped, Sasha was intensely desirable.

Since becoming aware of my sexuality I'd known I was wired differently. It had started with sexual attraction to both my mother and older sister. Incest fantasies had played an important part in my early development. Then, as I matured, I found myself increasingly attracted to younger girls; girls that looked almost immature yet exhibited signs of pubescence; young girls with emerging breast buds, or flat-chested girls with traces of pubic hair, or teenagers like Sasha who appeared younger than they were - mini-adults, cute, sexy, and off limits.

Was it genetic? Was my daughter's attraction to me driven by her DNA? I knew it wasn't my actions that had led her to desire me. I was exceptionally disciplined. I'd never behaved inappropriately around her. And it hadn't been me leading her to my erotic on-line stories either.

I didn't care. If my daughter wanted an intimate relationship with her father, with me, I'd gladly cooperate ... as long as it was her decision.

Movement distracted me. Sasha, in a mid-thigh pale pink cotton nightshirt and dark pink and white striped socks, descended the stairs silently. Why was she up? She'd let her long dark-burgundy hair free. She looked slightly disheveled, so damn cute and cuddly.

"What's wrong?" I asked with concern.

She settled in the corner of the couch curling her legs up and to the side. "I can't sleep. I'm tired but not."

Getting up from the armchair I moved to the couch and settled next to her, lightly rubbing her thigh. "Are you worried about something or sick?" I asked.

"No. Just restless."

"Wanna play some video games with me? I'll let you win," I offered with a smile.

Her laugh was soft, amused. She shook her head, thick hair bouncing with vitality.

Music played softly, Enigma's distinctive sound almost mournful. Wind gusts occasionally rattled the large multi-paned windows. Yellow-red flames from the gas fire flickered. With a smile, I stood and turned off the floor lamp. Extending my hand to Sasha I said, "Dance with me, Sweetheart."

I loved dancing. Sasha's mother had loved dancing. It was what had brought us together way back when. Sasha had learned to dance as a toddler by standing on my feet. She and I had danced often before she was a teenager but rarely since - real dance classes stealing her attention away.

Sasha smiled and took my hand, letting me pull her up from the couch. Her amber eyes sparkled. I drew her into me, so slender, so sweet. One arm circled her waist. My other hand held her hand to my chest. She pressed herself against me, her cheek pressed to the front of my shoulder. We moved.

In the flickering firelight I closed my eyes, inhaled my daughter's scent into my lungs, and relaxed completely.

Dancing in the dark with Sasha was soothing and mesmerizing. Peacefulness permeated me and brought with it gentle arousal, soft desire, my adoration for her intensifying. Music ebbed and flowed, our movements keeping rhythm. Sasha felt far too good in my arms, young and sensual. She moved far too easily showing her natural grace. She was beautifully delicate, intensely female, sweet, young.

Dancing with Sasha at fourteen years old was a completely different experience than when she'd been a preteen. Before, it had been fun and energetic. Now it was emotional. I held an intensely desirable, blossoming young lady in my arms, one who moved sensually, fluidly.

We danced together through the whole album. Every so often Sasha's hand would caress my back or mine would caress hers, expressions of affection. Through my palm on her back I felt her deep sighs of pleasure. Through that same hand I felt the waist of her panties underneath her nightshirt. Through that hand I discovered she wore no bra and I became conscious of her small, remarkably firm breasts pressed against me. It was hard to avoid thinking about us together, about being intimate with my daughter. It was an increasingly difficult desire to repress.

The album ended too soon for my taste. Sasha gave me a tight hug before separating from me. I immediately missed her in my arms.

"Thanks, Dad."

"Feel better?"

"Much."

With an insistent partial erection calling for attention, I cleaned up after Sasha went back to bed. Turning the gas fireplace off and putting my beer glass in the dishwasher, I headed upstairs slowly, preoccupied.

She was still a physical presence against me. My mind's eye was full of Sasha's beautiful long, wavy dark-burgundy hair, loose and disheveled, and I had visions of combing my fingers through it. Yesterday in passing I'd mentioned how much I preferred wavy hair over straight hair and this evening she'd emerged with her hair left to form into her natural soft waves; a first. It had made her more achingly beautiful.

SASHA HUGGED HER EXTRA pillow. Her body was warm and sensitive. She could still feel the motion of dancing with Dad and being held so gently. She could still feel his large body pressing against her breasts and his hand caressing her lower back.

She sighed deeply, her breasts growing heavy. A pleasing ache emerged in her pussy. She felt the need to touch herself.

Holding Dad had been so intimate in her mind. She'd noticed how relaxed he was, how his hand moved, and how well their bodies fit together. His thigh had pressed against her pussy bringing a warm arousal, a familiar desire. It had been too long since she'd last danced with him. She'd forgotten how good a dancer he was.

Hugging her pillow, Sasha let her mind free to dream, arousal directing her fantasy. In it, Dad...

In bed, hugging her pillow with one arm, her mind full of her fantasy with Dad, Sasha touched herself, her fingers easing into her panties to touch her pussy. She let her imagination take her away, all the way into his bed, loved by Dad, together at last.

Finger slippery from her arousal, Sasha strummed her clit, pressure building. Urgency emerged, her hips moving, humping. Eyes closed tightly, picturing herself and Dad together in bed, naked and kissing, she gasped, her climax rushing in with a flush of utter pleasure. Her legs clamped, another wave of bliss made her body clench, pussy pulse. In a quiet, intense orgasm Sasha came, her body trembling and twitching as ecstasy washed over her.

Silence filled her room, the loudest sound that of her heart beating. The climax had brought release but no relief. She still ached for him. Eyes closed, Sasha rolled onto her front and fluffed her pillow. Thinking about Renpet's advice she plotted her next moves.

"Dad, have you seen my pink sweats?" Sasha called out.

GLANCING UP FROM THE kitchen counter, I stopped chopping onions to avoid cutting my fingers off - a very real possibility - and steadied myself with a deep, bracing inhalation. It was becoming increasingly hard not to visibly react. Sasha was proving to be a highly skilled tease.

She'd started with over-sized tops that draped off one shoulder revealing a pale blue bra shoulder strap, then a light pink one, then a plain white one. Each sighting was accompanied by a drive-by brush against me, her small breast rubbing lightly against my arm, or a gentle hug to press them against me. Each time I'd reacted in a way she couldn't see, desire unfurling, arousal flowing in.

On her own initiative she'd progressed to lightly brushing a lovely young breast against me when bra-less, confirming how startlingly firm fourteen-year-old breasts were. My mind couldn't help but think about fondling them. How would they feel in the palm of my hand?

Yet the vision coming down the stairs was teasing in a completely different league. A small royal blue cotton T-shirt was snug enough to scream there was no bra supporting her small breasts. They were so remarkably upright and firm that they hardly moved as she descended the stairs. That T-shirt ended just below her navel. Bare skin showed and below, well below my daughter was sporting pink panties that formed to her body. They were boyshort style, full-sided and low-riding with a lacy waist, and they revealed the delicate shape of her pubis in all its youthful glory.