Chapter 3: Cornered

“Ready” came through on my phone, half an hour later. Ha, I’d outwaited them. I’d worked out what was coming too, and I was going to be up to it. I knew Della would have raised the stakes, plotting together with her hot little Olivia. But I was ready.

I walked at a leisurely pace through the living room, seeing the girls at the work table in the conservatory at the far end. The living room is nine metres long, so I had several seconds to appreciate that, for no reason that I could see, Olivia was naked. And so was Della. I opened the door anyway, and stepped in, looking concerned but not freaked out, I hoped; and not aroused. I made sure not to look down at their bodies, but only at their faces.

“Oh sorry Dad,” Della couldn’t stop a guilty grin spreading across her face. “It’s so hot in here, and we’re changing all the time anyway.”

I shifted my gaze to Olivia. Her grin was a having-fun grin. “And we know we’re safe,” she smirked, “as you don’t even want to touch us, apparently.” Her hair was down, framing her cute face and swirling round her back as though to make me wonder what it must be feeling like, brushing over her skin. I blanked, or nearly blanked, how it was visible on both sides of her miniscule waist.

“No I don’t,” I said calmly. “I thought you were ready with the dress?”

“Oh, yes. Here, give me a hand Liv.” Della slid her arms into the pile of flimsy purple fabric on the table, then raised the dress up over her head. Olivia strolled unnecessarily slowly round behind my naked daughter, and reached up to help pull the supposedly recalcitrant garment down. Being short, she had to press right up against Della naturally, skin to skin. She jumped up and down, trying to reach.

“Here,” Della bent at the knees.

“Thanks,” Olivia gripped the hem and pulled it down, onto Della’s head. “Did you want to see if it hides your nipples now?”

“Mmmm,” Della stood up again, which somehow nudged Olivia away revealing her erect nipples.

Olivia addressed the task of flicking her delicate little fingers over her friend’s nipples, until they were equally erect. They looked inquiringly at me.

“Dress,” I reminded them. My mind management was doing okay.

Between them they got the dress down, with a lot of rubbing, smoothing and caressing. Della’s nipples were producing little points in the fabric, but otherwise the thing was, technically at least, decent.

“That ought to pass,” I nodded, “it looks good. Your nipples and bush are hidden, but I can see your outline. I’m sure it’ll be a success.” I knew I’d sounded a bit stiff, but, frankly, her body looked ... I turned for the door and went through.

“Thanks Dad,” she sniggered after me.

That was not bad, I thought. I might have to live with some teen nudity for a bit, but once the novelty had worn off I bet they’d give it up: long-learned modesty would assert itself, when they realised it wasn’t succeeding as a power play. Meanwhile I’d proved I could stand it. And in any case I was pretty sure nudity would gradually become less associated with sex, over time. I just had to make sure they didn’t forget and answer the door.

Perhaps they came to that realisation as well, because by dinner time they were in new outfits. Della, who is no dressmaker, was in a short, thin shawl draped over her shoulders, flopping down to almost below her tits. A knotted piece of cotton fabric was a skirt; on her left side at least, and short even there. I didn’t have to bother wondering about panties, because her right hip was bare, apart from the knot.

For Olivia they’d fashioned a cloak, thin and floppy, tied loosely at her slender neck, then open, down a short distance to just below her volcano-shaped little tits. For her lower half they’d sewn a rectangle of thin, stretch fabric into a band about six or seven inches wide, and pulled it on to wrap her ass - just - and her bush and labia - just. I couldn’t decide if there was a wisp of bush escaping over the top, or not. I was trying not to look long enough to be sure. The fabric was taut, but not sinking in.

It was all pretty brazen.

“You’re not going on TikTok dressed like that?” I asked, in a relaxed tone, while I dished up the penne pasta. “Wine? Riesling, or some Merlot?”

“Red, obviously,” Della grinned, realising what I was doing.

“No thanks,” Olivia shook her head.

“Lemonade?”

“No thanks.” A trace of uncertainty flitted across her pretty face.

“He’s teasing,” Della reached to stroke her arm, which brightened her up again.

“I’m the one who’s teasing?” I smiled, while I poured.

“We’re not doing a tiktok like this obviously, it’s practising. And we’re not kids either.”

“Practice is always good.”

“We’re not that bad at it. These seams are pretty straight...” she pulled one on the bottom of her shawl, revealing a firm, plump teen breast.

“It’s a good skill to have,” I nodded. “People always need clothes.”

And so it continued, through the main course and then the fruit: the girls flirting with each other and revealing bits of body, while I made what rejoinders I could about their sewing. Then at the end of the meal they clearly couldn’t keep their hands off each other any longer, and retired upstairs, presumably for something that even Della wanted to be private. I forbade my mind to think about it.

Over breakfast the next morning I was still doing okay, even with both of them in shirts - purloined from my room - and nothing else. Buttons were being undone and done up, by themselves or each other. There was kissing, caressing, stroking, and murmurs of arousal, but I hadn’t had an erection or given a hint they could get a look at my dick or ravish me.

So I was feeling reasonably in control of things when they went off into town to meet up with friends. They came back half way through the sunny afternoon, and the chatter in the hall told me there was a friend with them,

“This is Rona,” Della introduced her, on their way through to the conservatory.

“Hello,” she smiled. Quite tall, and slender. Italian kind of complexion, and very stylish even being, presumably, only about Della’s age.

“Hello Rona,” I welcomed her.

“We’re doing a bit of fashion, and some sunbathing,” Della told me. “Rona doesn’t really have anywhere.”

“Come and join us if you like,” Olivia invited me.

“Yes do,” Rona agreed, to my surprise. I looked at her confident, excited face and realised she’d been recruited. How much did she know? Had she been drawn in with the hope of ‘a look’ too?

“I don’t think so,” I turned them down with a smile.

“You can come out in the garden if you like, anyway,” said Della. “Rona’s not shy either. She’s going to start off in undies, they’re Calvin.”

“Thanks, perhaps later.”

So then there was the question of what to do with the rest of my Sunday. I didn’t want to do work work on a Sunday: with a job like mine a certain amount of rhythm is important.

The garden and conservatory were occupied by naked underage girls, which made the living room, and even my bedroom - which overlooks the lawn - off-limits.

That left the kitchen and garage. I decided to give the mower a service, in the garage. I got the oil draining, and was sharpening the blades on the grindstone, when the back door opened - there’s a side door into the house, and one in the end wall that opens onto the lawn. I switched hurriedly into mind control mode as I turned off the grindstone.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come and be in the sun?” It was Della, in the nude. She approached, trying to get me to look down over her immaculate teenager’s body.

“I’m not going to come and join in your nude party games,” I declined definitely, not looking down. “I suppose you and your ill-behaved sidekick have been seducing Rona?”

“She came here to be seduced, obviously. And do some time without clothes, being free.”