Chapter 2

After a few weeks of thrice-weekly tutorials, everything was going great. Penny was learning quickly and had progressed through almost two months of the syllabus, and Sarah and I had built an easy camaraderie. She made me coffee afterwards, and she’d fuss in the kitchen while we chatted, baking or preparing dinner, affording me many opportunities to stare longingly at her breasts.

Penny’s half-brother, Ben, was home every afternoon, and got bored without his big sister to entertain him. He made such a nuisance of himself that Sarah relented and allowed us to study in Penny’s bedroom. It was typical of any teenager’s private space – a single bed with ruffles everywhere, a dozen cushions, hero and heart-throb posters on the walls and clothes strewn all over the floor. It saddened me that she’d never personalized my spare room.

I found myself desperately trying not to notice the tiny cotton panties and little round-cupped bras that more often than not would be hanging from the back of the spare wooden chair that I used. It was disconcerting, given how much she resembled her mother. Yes, she was small and child-like, but she was also so obviously developing into a beautiful woman. Daddy or not, I couldn’t not notice that.

Penny enjoyed the tutorials, and I’m not ashamed to say that I did too. So much more rewarding than lecturing to a roomful of hungover college freshmen. She was funny and vivacious and loved to laugh. It was strangely more rewarding than the quality time we spent on weekends, and I looked forward to every session. She had such a refreshing innocence that high school usually beats out of girls, often sitting with her legs apart, or stretching luxuriously with her arms upraised, so that her T-shirt stretched tightly across her small breasts, pulling up to show her belly button and the narrow curves of her girlish waist.

Yes, I looked. She was beautiful. So kill me. Being my daughter didn’t magically neutralize her femininity. Besides, there was no harm in looking.

As spring warmed toward summer, Penny’s Levis and T-shirts were replaced by short-shorts and singlet tops, and on two occasions in particular, I was sharply reminded of her ripe adolescence.

We were sitting at her desk, and she was struggling with a difficult concept that I’d already tried to explain in a couple of different ways. In exasperation, she fell forward on her desk, arms folded with her head resting on her hands. Her blond hair fanned out to the side, and she looked back at me with an expression of misery on her elfin face. The arm hole of her singlet was gaping, and beneath her arm I could see straight inside. The two tiny, pale-blue cups of her bra were doing their best to cover her small breasts, but from my angle to the side and slightly behind, the one on the opposite side had fallen forward and away, showing me the small pink button nipple sitting proud and slightly pointed atop the freshly swelling curve of her young breast.

I froze. I couldn’t look, but I couldn’t not. A girl’s breasts are not for her father’s eyes, but goddam, they were so perfect. It occurred to me, perversely, that I could simply reach straight in along that line of sight to stroke it and feel it harden beneath my fingertips. I imagined Penny closing her eyes and shivering with unaccustomed pleasure, whispering to me in her little chipmunk voice, telling me, “Daddy, don’t.” and that I’d made her go all tingly.

The following week, I was giving her an oral quiz. she was still wearing her blue waitressing dress from the diner, and had moved from the desk to the bed, where she sat with her back to the wall, facing me sitting in the chair. As I asked the questions, she drew her knees up to her chest and, with her feet planted about shoulder-width apart on the covers, I could see straight between her ankles to the white gusset of her panties.

My little girl’s panties.

After reading each question, I looked up and waited for her to answer, and, if she was looking away, I’d steal another glimpse. As her attention waned, she began to fidget, swinging her knees from side to side. Unable to look away, I watched the small bulge of her young pussy swaying back and forth. The side to side swaying morphed into opening and closing. As her concentration waned, she made a game of it with her hands on her knees, swapping sides each time her knees touched, pretending her legs passed straight through each other and out the other side.

Every time her knees parted, I could see the whole front of her white panties and up to the pale skin of her stomach. A tiny crease formed in the cotton stretched over her pussy as it opened and closed with her movements. Stopping her game to concentrate on a tricky question, she held her knees apart, dimpling the sheer cotton over her tiny opening.

Jesus Christ, I was going to hell for staring at my daughter’s pussy.

Finishing up the quiz and our lesson, I realized my cock was hard as stone. I skipped coffee with Sarah and rushed home to masturbate, slowly and luxuriously, imagining depravities I’d never before entertained – kissing my daughter’s tiny breasts while she gasped in pleasure, sliding my shaft into her tight, pink folds, and releasing inside her – filling her young pussy with cum for the very first time.

I found myself enjoying the tutorials more and more, and Penny, in her sweet innocence, continued to afford me more glimpses of her burgeoning womanhood. Most days I would stay to enjoy a coffee with Sarah, after which I’d go home to masturbate, fantasizing about molesting my own daughter. My orgasms increased in intensity and duration as the fantasy grew more detailed. I imagined pulling her legs apart and force-feeding my thick cock into her, having her lock her ankles behind me, trying to draw me deeper. And then as my climax approached, I would imagine hosing cum into her shallow depths and having it spray back over my balls, because her pussy was stretched so tight over my cock. With her own orgasm mounting, I’d imagine her eyes wide and fluttering with nervous fear, gasping, “Oh, oh, Daddy,” into my ear in her tiny, sweet voice, and then her thighs clenching and shaking as her first climax ravaged her little body.

One holiday Monday, I walked up the neat path and rang the doorbell, but received no answer. I rang a couple more times and then walked around the side to investigate, hearing the sound of splashing and laughter from the swimming pool out back.

Sarah saw me from the other side of the gate and waved me back. “I’ll come through and open the front door, Blake.”

I went back around the front and Sarah let me in, yelling for Penny to come inside.

“I’ll get her stuff ready,” I said, and headed upstairs to her bedroom. Alone in there for the first time, I picked up a pair of yellow panties. They were inexpensive, thin cotton briefs, and looking through them I could see the shapes of the furniture in the room. I felt a tingle as I realized my daughter’s pussy had probably been touching them earlier that day, and I wondered whether, if the light was right, I’d be able to see the small, pink shadow of her opening through the weave. I held them up to my face and kissed the inside where her pussy had touched, imagining it was her soft, smooth labia touching my lips. My tongue stole out for a tiny taste, and I almost swooned when the sweet/acrid taste of her girlish musk fizzed across my tongue like an electric spark.

Hearing her hurry up the stairs, I made sure I hadn’t left any saliva on her panties and put them back on the floor where I’d found them. As I turned to fumble with the books, Penny burst in, giggling with youthful exuberance and soaking wet even though she was carrying a towel.

“Daddy! Thank God you’re here,” she laughed. “I so need a break from all this boring swimming and playing to do some exciting math!”

She stood with feet apart and hands on her hips, which were rocked to one side, her head cocked to the other. She wore a purple and gold bikini and for the first time I saw the full extent of her developing beauty. Her waist was so tiny I could have clasped both hands around and made the fingers touch. Her pelvis curved downward from her belly button and flowed smoothly into the swell of her mons pubis, proud and sweetly outlined beneath the wet fabric. The bikini top had an underwire that lifted and gave some shape to her developing breasts, even though she was still a long way from having cleavage. For the first time I noticed they swelled a little at the sides – although that might have been the underwire at work – and I wondered briefly whether they would be big enough to lift in the cup of my hand, or would the soft flesh cling to the thin frame of her chest underneath.

“So, what do you think?” she asked, wiggling her bottom.