There are just a few things to keep in mind when talking to Dad about money - dress short, reveal lot. And when you are down on your finances, desperate to keep your apartment and your appearances, you don't think much of the propriety of acting sultry with your father. Especially when your mother isn't of much help.

Then again, I guess I deserved it. I walked out of my home when I was just seventeen, moved in with a boyfriend, and shut off my parents for an entire month. The relationship cooled off, to the extent that it was just a formality to call once in a week. The jerk I was with ran into the law a few months later, and I was alone. Having picked up a few pointers back in Mechanics Workshop back in High School, I survived as an apprentice to a slob of a mechanic who had a pathetic little roof somewhere along the highway. Still, I shouldn't complain - at least, it paid for the rent.

With time, my skill improved, and a mechanic with a shop nearer the center of the city hired me. It was tough at first, but I learnt to work as the only female in a male-dominated workplace. A couple of guys got to the third base with me, including the manager, but these were hardly soulmates; I was able to get a raise when I threatened the manager I would squeal to his wife. I wasn't the next Miss Universe or anything, but folks have complimented that I have the boobs and the butt to stand a chance. Being a dropout meant that was the only major qualification after my name.

Don't get me wrong. I wasn't a whore or a street-slut. I chose my - ahem - boyfriends carefully, and dropped those without cash AND looks. Unfortunately, the new manager who took over the shop didn't think I was a good enough mechanic, and I am a good mechanic, and hence, I found myself without a job at the end of the month. Some of my colleagues had tried to speak up for me, but the guy's mind was made up... not even a strip show could change his mind!

I managed the first couple of months very well, drawing upon what little savings I had and relying upon compassionate bf's to top it up from time to time, but without work, it soon touched the Danger mark. I had to swallow my pride - there was nothing else to do but approach my parents.

Let me describe them to you. Mom is really short, stodgy, but has that air that she is the Queen of England. She was a corporate lawyer, used to bargaining for anything and everything, and this habit was carried into the house. She would assign a lot of chores for me, promise an amount, then, after all the work was done, bargain with me to lower my allowance! What she didn't know was that Dad would pay the rest under the table, keeping my allowance intact! All he demanded in return was a daughterly peck on his cheeks.

Then things changed. I grew up, started to fill out my clothes rather nicely, and Dad started to take some unfatherly interest. His attitude towards me changed; he wanted me to kiss him on his lips more often. I should admit that Daddy was the first guy I kissed, and believe me, I would have done it for free. If he was paying a couple of dollars extra, that was just becos he was happy, wasn't it?

Nothing really developed until we reestablished contact after I had moved out. Dad was the only one who visited, that too rarely, but Mom just refused to be seen in my 'junkyard' - that was her name for my place. Dad would sneak me some money, some old clothes, and a little of canned food, things that seem thoughtful, but he was more than rewarded by my allowing him to feel me up when he embraced. And although he never actually said it, I knew that the more daring a dress I wore when he came, the more he paid.

It was a valuable lesson that I learnt from Dad - that I could use my sexuality to earn...

It was a mile-long walk to the house from the bus-stop, and by the time I walked up the long, familiar driveway, I was soaked in sweat. It was hardly the image to present myself in, but I hoped that the clinging top that I had on, with its plunging neckline, would distract my father from the mess that was my face. And with the sweat dampening my shorts, I was finding it increasingly harder to walk without spreading my legs. The back of the shorts cut into my ass rather painfully, and the tight top over my braless breasts was starting to make the latter throb.

Mom wasn't home, I had called to make sure. She was out at a business meeting. That was good - even though she never commented on how improper my attire on the previous house-calls had been, I knew she was just biting back a stinging remark, maybe even call me a 'Dirty bitch,' for being so shameless in front of my own father. It was just typical of Mom - back when she had been trying to make partner in her firm, she would wear miniskirts slitted to the waist and blouses with at least three buttons undone. Of course no one ever told her how that looked on a stout woman, so she always considered herself sexy.

"Hello, Daddy," I greeted as I saw him swimming in the pool. He was a hunk, definitely at the prime of his life. A couple of years younger than Mom, under 40, and with an easygoing retirement along, he was in great shape. A shape that was accentuated by the fact that he was having a bikini brief, obviously to impress upon me that he was still young. He climbed out of the water, flashed me that mischievious grin of his, and with the water still dripping from his fine body, came over and gave me a hug.

He hadn't changed at all. I could feel his hands roving all over my body, patting my ass, pressing against the side of my breasts... ever since I had crossed eighteen, he had just grown bolder every time we met. "Let go," I protested, playfully punching him on his back, "You are getting me all wet!"

Oops!

Dad grinned at my faux pas. To a man like him, this was a golden opening. But I had been here before; I didn't panick. "Look at my top," I continued, ignoring his dirty grin. "It's drenched."

"You look like you could use a drenching yourself, honey," my father replied, his hands clutching my stomach just below the swell of my tits. A thumb pressed against the mound, and I stiffened involuntarily at the touch of his hand just a fabric's width away from my breast. Before I could think of a suitable reply, however, Dad just hoisted me onto his shoulder and carried me to the edge of the pool.

Splash! Even as I came up spluttering for breath, I sensed Dad underneath me. Whether by accident or by design, he rose up between my legs, his face right in front of my jeans-clad pussy, and bombed me through the water again. I was totally soaked, the top now a translucent piece. I was aware that my nipples, erect from the cold water and all the playing, were poking through, their pinkness a shade too thick for disguise. Daddy grinned at its sight. "Guess you didn't bring along a swimsuit, huh?"

I shook my fist at him. "As if you didn't know!" I pretended to fume.

"Come on, baby girl," Daddy dived at me, but I moved away. "Where's your sense of humor?"

"I don't have much of anything right now," I answered. "Including my job."

"Quit, or fired?" Dad tackled me again, and we went under for a few seconds before surfacing, his fingers hooked into the neckline of my top.

"Fired."

"That's bad. What about rent?"

He was just making 'polite' conversation, asking the same things he had asked a week earlier.

"I'm short of cash," I said simply.

"Like there's a time when you aren't?" He grinned, and I made a face at him. "Say no more, hun. So you want some money. What else is new?"

"I'll - I'll pay it back," I blundered.

"How?"

I searched for a reply. Dad, noticing my confusion, held up a hand. "Let's discuss this later, okay? Now why don't you go change into an itsy-bitsy bikini and join your father for a couple of games of poolball?"

As I approached the patio door, he shouted, "Don't wear those damp things in there. Your mother just bought a new carpet, and she could get angry if you spill water on it."

Aha! So that was it. I had been expecting it. "What should I do?"

He swam over to the wall of the pool and made a motion as if he were removing his t-shirt. Then he grinned, pointed to me, and said, "I think you know!"

"You are a dirty bastard," I cried, only half in jest, but I whipped off my top nonetheless. Perhaps I would get a bonus for this. Without waiting for him to say anything more, I slid out of my wet shorts. I was glad I had worn the thong - otherwise, it would have been quite a show for Dad. I threw the wet garments at his face. "Here!"

I started to walk inside when Dad called out once again. "What about those?" he leered.

I wasn't about to take off my thing, too! "Screw you," I said as I went inside.

Dad always had the last word. "I wish!"

Figuring that my folks wouldn't have thrown all my stuff out, I went to my room. Just as I had figured, the wardrobe was just as intact as I had left it. The only difference was that someone - and I had a pretty good idea it was Dad - had thrown away all my later swimsuits. Only a red suit that had been too small three years ago remained; I had no other choice but to put it on.

Glancing at the mirror, I saw that there was the friendly neighborhood voyeur peeking into my room as I stepped out of my thong. My father. Having gotten used to his interest in me, it wasn't much of a surprise that he was doing every thing a dirty-minded man would. For an exhibitionist like me, it was far from an unsettling observation - in a way, it was even thrilling.

I kept my back towards him as I pulled up the bikini bottom. It was so tight that it couldn't cover my pussylips, nor the crack of my ass. It was so revealing it was close to nothing. Still, swallowing what little modesty I had, I decided to let it be and reached for the top. Three years is simply too long, and the strap of the 'itsy-bitsy' top wouldn't even reach behind my back. I struggled with it for more than a couple of minutes, giving my father a good show, and even contemplated going out without it.

Finally, just as I managed to put one knot into it, Dad rushed into the room. He caught me in mid-turn, gripping my arms and pinning me into the bed. The next thing I knew, he had my arms held over my head, his face just inches away from mine. I had the distinct impression he would rape me if I didn't accede... fat chance of that! I am a sucker for cock, and if Dad was as good a fucker as he was a manipulator, I might just let him drill me for the day.

"Let go," I said just for the sake of saying it. "Are you gonna rape me?"

"Maybe," Dad replied, his eyes riveted on the loose top (it had become untied) and the heaving breasts it covered, "If things don't get better."