RICHMOND, VIRGINIA: FALL 2005

Where'd those come from, I asked myself when I saw the burgundy colored panties lying among the pile of clean, white clothes I'd pulled out of the dryer and then just dropped in a pile onto my bed.

Huh, they're definitely not mine, I thought as I held the lacy satin up between my hands. I stretched them once, then again, and then drew them to my face where my nose picked up some still lingering odor on the just cleaned panties. A male scent?

Could one of my friends, maybe Laura or Jane, have inadvertently dropped them in my sport bag after phys ed today? And then I'd thrown them in with the wash? I knew immediately that was nonsense, both my friends invariably wore plain, white cotton shorts at school.

So where'd they come from? I'd never worn this style before. Curious I stripped off my sweats and underwear and tried them on. As soon as I pulled them up it seemed as though they'd been tailored especially for me. I liked the feel of them, low rise, cheeky boy shorts, a stretchy lace, a style I'd never used. They made me feel sexy.

I ran my hand down my stomach, let my middle finger trace my slit through the soft material, shivered as a moist spasm ignited deep in my sex. "Gosh, I should wear these always," I mumbled half aloud, then pranced over to the wall mirror and pulled my sweatshirt over my head. Quickly shed my white, cotton sports bra.

"I'm too sexy," I sang as I danced to my reflection, my long coltish legs moving rhythmically. Cupped and gently squeezed my full and jiggling, pink capped breasts. Then I noticed three or four rogue hairs that spilled from the lace edges of my new panties. I hadn't trimmed my dark pubic patch in months, the coming of autumn and the putting away of bathing suits had seemed to make it unnessessary.

I rolled down the panties a turn or two, exposing the full black triangle designed by nature to lead a man's eyes down to a woman's sex. I saw how I was open, spread pink, moist... wow, it was still mid afternoon. What are these panties made of anyway?

I turned and, looking back over my shoulder, watched how my firm, high, round cheeks peeked from the tight panties trying unsuccessfully to conceal them. Just the presence of the soft cloth on my body seemed to be exciting me more than the two boys I'd been leading on for the last three months.

I lay back on the bed and slipped my hand under the elastic and then moved my fingers over my sex. Faster and faster. Tried to think of my two boyfriends, but then strangely, just as the full force of my orgasm radiated outwards I saw a long, hard prick, a man's prick, in my minds eye. Then daddy's face slipped across my consciousness.

Daddy? Yuck! Not when I'm cumming!

I left them on as I did my homework, studied my math topless, was wet between my legs all afternoon. I left them on later while I cooked daddy's dinner.

"Hi sweetie, how was school. Soccer practice?"

"Good daddy," I answered as his arms engulfed me in his normal welcoming hug. "You smell nice."

"I do?"

"Uh huh," I answered even as I realized I'd never really noticed daddy's odor, his scent, his maleness before. Not this way anyway. "Are you using a new aftershave? Deodorant? It's nice... manly, sexy." God, what did I just say, I asked myself silently.

"Same old, same old sweetie. And do I smell brownies?"

"I cooked them specially... it's your last night... I wanted to..."

"I love you sweetie," he laughed as he lifted me in the air and spun me around, a game we'd played a thousand times since I was three.

"I love you too daddy," I squealed as I my crossed legs around his waist and threw my arms around his neck.

I felt my nipples suddenly stiffen; started to push them into his chest just before he lowered me to the floor.

"I'm getting to old for this, I can hardly carry you," he joked, a broad grin on his lips.

"Yeah right dad," I answered, both of us knowing how hard dad worked to keep his thirty-seven year old body in shape. At six-two and a chiseled one ninety-five, my father still had the hard athletes body he'd had winning football letters at U.V.A.

But then later, as we ate the meal I'd prepared, I kept asking myself, what is wrong with you, he's your dad. And yet I couldn't help but feel the dampness between my legs, the moist spot growing larger and larger on my new panties. Had to stop myself from looking at the bulge in the blue jeans my father had changed into. Wondered what it would feel like inside me.

The panties arrival in my wash would have remained one of those unexplained mysteries that occur to everyone, it would have, except later in the evening I went downstairs to get a soda.

Daddy was bent over in the laundry room, peering between the machines when I passed the door.

"Lose something Daddy?" I asked, still innocent.

"Oh sweetie," Daddy answered after jumping erect, a blush spreading across his face. "Darn socks... I seem to lose one every time I do a wash."

"Sock monsters," I laughed, agreeing even as the truth flooded through me. The flimsy cloth still girding my loins were daddies... somehow the panties I wore, panties even now still damp from my need, somehow these panties had only recently been fondled by daddy's strong hands.

Later that night I lay confused in bed as vivid images flooded my brain, images of an indistinct man stroking his immense cock with the same panties that were still resting tight against my throbbing sex. The same cock I'd seen at the moment of my orgasm earlier. It was Daddy's cock I knew now.

All night I tossed and turned, continually awakened by the imagined penetration of my virgin channel by my fathers prick.

Oh my gawd! This is sick.

The repeated knocking finally broke through my sleep. "Honey... honey... are you awake in there?"

"Dadddddy?" I mumbled as I slowly came to.

"Are you awake? It's late. Time to get up. You're going to be late for school."

He knocked again and then opened the door, and before looking in asked, "Are you decent? Can I come in?"

I pulled the sheet up so that it covered my breasts and then answered, "Uh huh, c'mon." Seeing daddy poke his head around the door I added yawning, "I forgot to set the alarm. What time is it?"

"Its seven fifteen, I gotta run," he answered as he crossed the room and sat on the edge of my bed. "My flights at nine."

"Oh gee, I forgot daddy, you're going to San Francisco today. A whole week, I'll miss you," I cried as I sat up and hugged him.

"You've got my schedule? Ginny said she e-mailed it to you. If you have any questions call her at the office, or check on my computer. You've got the password?" he asked with a smile.

"Yeah, like I'm going to forget my name," I said, knowing father only used one password- 'Gabriella'. The sheet had fallen when I'd hugged daddy and even as I talked I felt a wave of excitement roll through my body. Knowing he could see my breasts, my fat, now erect nipples. He's just your dad I thought but then was suddenly aware of his panties which I still wore. God, don't let him see them I prayed silently.

"When will you be home?" I asked, holding the sheet tight against my stomach.

"Friday. If you have any problems... well, you know who to call."

We both laughed. I called daddy for the slightest reason, always had.

"Can I drive you to the airport?"

"No honey, the service will be here any minute. I'll call you every night... e-mail you," he promised as he stood.

"Give me a kiss," I demanded. He got about half cheek and half lip but for the first time in the thousand of father/daughter kisses we'd shared I felt a frisson of sexual excitement. Dad was oblivious to it.

"Luv you," I whispered.

"You're my angel," he said standing again. But just before leaving the room he turned and asked, "Why aren't you wearing your pajamas anyway?"

And when I answered slyly, "I'm growing up daddy," I saw his eyes quickly flit to my quivering chest.

"Yes, yes, I think you are," he said with a shake of his head, and then added as he stood in the doorway, "Has your mom talked to you about... well you know?"

"About what daddy?" I asked grinning; my shoulders now pulled back to brazenly display my breasts.

"Uhh... you know... the birds and the bees stuff," he said grimacing.

"Birds and bees? Mommy?" I delayed, enjoying daddy's discomfort.

"Your mother... remember... that woman who lives in L.A."

"Do you mean sex daddy?" Seeing his embarrassed nod I answered, "She said you'd tell me everything... that it'd be better if a man explained the details."

"Your mother said that?"

"Maybe when you get home you and I can have a talk... I have a lot of questions daddy."

What is wrong with me? Miss Slut Tease with my daddy, I thought after he finally left.

My name is Gabriella Downing. Gabby. The first thing you should know about me is that I'm still a virgin. An eighteen year old certified American virgin. A good looking (beautiful?), tall teen whose black, silky hair cascades down my back almost to my small but perfectly rounded bum. A virgin whose hips and breasts had ripened into awakening womanhood over the last year. A girl who has increasingly felt the urge for sex.

No, you don't have to feel sorry for me because I'm still a virgin. Even though the Kinsey Institute reports that the average white, American girl loses her virginity at sixteen years, nine months of age, in my high school, in 2005, in upper class Richmond, Virginia, it wasn't either unusual or rare for an eighteen year old senior to still be intact.

In fact, of my five best friends and me, only two of us had actually been penetrated by that male appendage designed for our deflowering, although Sally had recently admitted that she and Timmy were getting awfully close.

I probably would have lost mine myself last summer if my boyfriend Kevin's father hadn't been suddenly transferred. I'd been just on the verge of giving in to Kevin's almost nonstop entreaties. But when he suggested it might be a nice going away present for him I gracefully declined, although almost as horny as he, I didn't want to lose my virginity to someone I'd never see again.

So I'd tentatively been test driving two of my classmates, Craig Brown and Jake Williams, all fall, and was still undecided about whether either should be my boyfriend, let alone my first lover.

So where'd all these weird thoughts about daddy come from, I asked myself as I soaped myself in the shower.

Does daddy really have that big a cock, I wondered, that cock, an image of which seemed now to be permanently etched in my brain. I knew that it was neither Craig nor Jake's penises I was dreaming of.

He probably did, I thought later as I sat through my History class, all my friends had always thought he was sexy. Since we were like fourteen years old.

"Your dad is so hot, soooo hot," Laura or Janey or one of the others would whisper in my ear when they saw dad, knowing it would always get a rise out of me.

"He is not!"

"I'll bet he's big," one of them would snicker as she held her hands a foot apart.

"You're all disgusting," I'd admonish as they giggled at my embarrassment. Girl talk.

"What are you wearing?" Janey demanded as I bent to pull daddy's panties up my legs. We'd just showered after our afternoon soccer practice.

"They're new," I answered shyly.

"Have you finally decided on one of your beaus? Trying to turn him on?" she asked, snooping.

"No."

"You're becoming a real slut Gabby," Jane teased.

I was! It was these bloody panties, every second I was wearing them my pussy seemed to hum.

We had an agreement daddy and I. Oh, it wasn't written down or anything, in fact we hadn't discussed it in over five years. Still, it existed. And now I was about to break it.

Mom left us when I was six. Just walked out on her young daughter and loving husband. At the time, my father had softly explained to his trembling daughter that mommy was tired, was a little sick, needed a little rest... that she'd come home soon...

I learned later that she just announced she needed 'some space' as she blithely explained it to her stunned husband and walked out. Mom was definitely different!

Then mom arrived back in my life when I was ten. She'd suddenly decided that it would be better for me if I lived with her in California. In the preceding four years she'd sent me six letters, phoned me twice and sent me one Christmas present!

Dad, who'd been told by his lawyers that he could tell mom to get lost and every court in the country would back him, instead let me decide, and even encouraged me to spend some time with her. After I'd made a couple of tentative visits to L.A., both supervised by dad, mom and dad and I had agreed as follows: I'd spend one month every summer with mom and every second Christmas with her.

And it turned out to be about perfect for both of us. Mom simply wasn't meant to be a full time mother. I knew she loved me but... but there was no one in the world she found more interesting than herself. It showed.

I'd learned to love her but after about twenty-five days in her company I'd start to get itchy for dad and Richmond and my friends. By the last day of our month together we'd both be starting to go crazy. It was always a relief to go home.

So what has all this got to do with breaking my agreement with daddy? Well, when I arrived home from my annual summer trek to L.A. and mothers condo in 2000, I found daddy had completely redone my 'bedroom'.

Except it wasn't a bedroom anymore. In the month I'd been away contractors had taken two small bedrooms, an office, a washroom and a large hall cupboard and built me a master suite that rivaled dad's for comfort and luxury.

My first day home dad had taken me shopping and we'd outfitted 'my world' from furniture to sheets and towels. It was simply the Ritz. A TV. Hot tub/whirlpool bath. A study area, a play area. A huge room that was destined to become the place where my friends and I spent much of our free time over the following years.

Then, when everything was done, he announced, "It's all yours now Gabby."

"My room? What do you mean daddy?" I'd asked.

"What I mean sweetie is that even though there's no key on the door, this is your room... I'll never invade your privacy."

"But you can come in anytime daddy."

And he'd always respected his word. Oh, the two of us would go into each others room if the door was open but I knew he'd never snoop. Knew that I could leave my diary open on my desk and he'd never read it.

And of course, although never discussed, I was bound to respect his privacy. I had never considered looking through his desk or papers. The whole concept was somehow icky.

So now of course I was trembling as I snuck down the hall. Knew even as I turned daddy's doorknob that I was doing something wrong. The gosh darn panties were making me do it! I was naked except for them. Blame them, I told myself.

Just as you'd know even blindfolded that my room was a girl's room, the scent in the air announcing it without any visual stimulus, so daddy's room similarly announced its maleness. I'd always secretly loved the room, the old four poster bed, the rich wood. I couldn't help but remember the nights when I was eight or nine or ten and had run into this room and jumped into daddy's warm bed as a thunder storm had raged overhead.

Crying, I'd soon fall asleep in his reassuring arms... invariably wake up the next morning snug in my own bed.

And now I was spying on him... rifling through his drawers... looking for...

They weren't even hidden. The third drawer I opened revealed his secret trove. Pink and blue and red and crimson and white and black, thongs and tangas, boyshorts, lace and satin, a veritable panty store. Oh god, I thought as I ran my fingers through them.

Each time I pulled one up my trembling legs and against my sex I knew daddy had touched the cloth, knew his penis had sought relief in their silken folds. On three of them were large stains of his dried and crusted seed. I actually rubbed the cum filled panties again and again up and down my moist crack.

I licked the sperm from one, ran my tongue damply over his caked essence, tasted daddy for the first time. Knew then that daddy had to be my first.

I slept in daddy's bed the rest of the week. Washed with his soap. Dabbed his cologne on my breasts. I wore only his panties. Dreamt endlessly of a huge penis filling me. Daddy's penis. I was crazy.

"What are you doing here?" daddy asked after I'd met him waving at the gate. "You didn't have to."

"And have no one meet you?" I said as I hugged him.

"I'm glad you did honey, thanks," he said, then gave me a kiss on my cheek.

It was eight p.m. and he had just landed from his week long trip to the coast. Both feeling guilty and excited I'd driven to the airport to meet him. I was again wearing the panties, my pussy was tingling under them the whole drive home.

"Have you eaten?" he asked as I drove. Seeing my shake of my head he offered, "Why don't I take out my favorite girl out to a fancy dinner then?"

"You must be tired daddy, I'll cook you something," I said, giving him a quick loving smile.

"Sure?"

"Yes."

"Thanks honey, I am tired."

"You go have a shower while I cook the steaks," I ordered.

"Are you angling for something special for Christmas?" he asked suspiciously.

"Yes," I laughed, "now go on, it'll be ready in twenty minutes."

"Yes ma'am."

I could be his wife I thought, as singing happily I cooked daddy's dinner.

"So, what do you want for Christmas anyway," he asked between bites.

"It's a secret. I told Santa," I said smiling.

"Did ya? Any hints for the guy with the credit card?"

"It won't cost you anything," I answered mysteriously.

"No jewelry? Clothes? Cameras?"

"You'll see."

I lay awake that night, thinking, wondering, trying to plan. How does an eighteen year old daughter get her daddy to realize... god, to even think about her as... as what, a lover? I didn't even understand how I felt, what I wanted. But knew the penis that was haunting me, daddy's penis, knew it was the only one for me.

"So, have you decided yet?" Daddy asked a week later. "You know, jewelry, clothes, a Christmas present," he added when he saw my look of incomprehension.

"I don't need anything... really."

"Nothing? Not a pretty dress, a sweater, a coat?" Dad insisted.

"Just underwear," I finally said.

"Huh?"

"My friends all say my underwear is old, falling apart... disgusting."

"What do you mean falling apart, disgusting? Don't you have normal girl's underwear?" he asked, clearly confused.

"Not according to them."

"Let me see them," daddy suddenly insisted. "My daughters wearing old underwear?" he questioned aloud.

"Daddy," I protested, elated at how well my little plot was proceeding. "You don't want to see my underwear," I said with a tone that indicted how gross I found the idea. But I did stare pointedly at the drawer where I'd purposely placed my very old and icky panties and bras... stuff I hadn't worn for months, even a couple of pairs of panties I'd actually been using as rags.

I finally let him talk me into showing him and laughed inwardly when he saw the pile of castoffs I unceremoniously dumped on my bed.

"Jesus, you wear these?" he asked, obviously aghast.

"Well..."

"Here... go and buy some new stuff... today... now," he ordered as he pulled a credit card from his wallet. "I don't care what you spend... I'm throwing these all out right now," he promised as he struggled to gather up the stained and torn underwear. "Hurry... go!"

"Daddy!"

"I'm serious. God, I'm tempted to go all through your closets. You've always seemed well dressed," he asked with a question in his voice. "Doesn't your mother discuss these things with you?"

"You'll have to come with me."

Daddy was clearly nervous when we entered the first of what I envisioned to be at least three separate stops. But I could sense his excitement. And as it turned out we only needed one store to fill our needs.

It was a small, specialized boutique, expensive and empty on a Sunday afternoon. The owner, a pretty, well dressed thirty something year old, immediately sized daddy up correctly as very wealthy, his watch and his well cut, expensive clothes a dead give away.

She also assumed, incorrectly, that I was daddy's little plaything. She was on him like a vulture as soon as we were two steps into the shop.

How could she help monsieur? Daddy, flustered, simply answered truthfully, "She has nothing to wear. It's pitiful. We need everything."

Monique, as she insisted we call her, was a fairly new arrival from France, and at daddy's words her eyes lit up like a cash register. She immediately turned and after locking the door, affixed the closed sign in the windows. "Excellent. Follow me," she ordered, then led us into a smaller, more sumptuously appointed dressing room, where she installed dad into an ornate chair that resembled a throne.

Leaving me standing in the centre of the mirrored room, she hurried off to the store room, promising she'd be back with a perfect selection for me. Within minutes she'd piled thirty boxes on the table in the corner as well as pushed a rolling clothes rack stuffed with lingerie filled hangers.

"Please strip my dear," Monique demanded.

"But," both daddy and I started to protest as Monique started to undo the buttons on my dress.

"It's the only way to buy lingerie sir," she said addressing father as she slipped the dress off my shoulders. "Oh my gawd," she cried when she saw the ugly, plain and torn bra and panties I wore. "You simply can't do this my dear. A beautiful dress like this and then... uhhhgg, these... these rags. I'm sorry sir." She quickly unclasped my bra and pushed my panties down my legs.

"Can I throw these out sir?" she asked as she held my underwear at arms length.

"Yes," daddy agreed, "and maybe I should go while you two continue. I'm..."

"No dadddddy. Stay. Please. I won't know what to buy."

For just a second Monique's eyebrows rose in surprise, but then, quickly recovering, she said, "It's even more important you stay. Your daughter! Imagine, letting her dress like this when you show such refinement in your own clothes sir. You have the responsibility monsieur. "

Daddy stayed as Monique took stock of me and started commenting. I shyly stood with one hand partially covering my hairy mound, the other across my chest. Standing behind me Monique took my arms and lowered them to my sides.

"But," I protested even as I watched daddy's eyes hungrily appraising me.

"What's your name my dear," she asked, aware now that it wasn't just daddy she'd have to please.

"Gabriella, Gabby."

"It's a beautiful name... for a beautiful woman," she purred as she slid her hands from my arms and moved them over my stomach and the upward until she'd cupped my breasts.

"You're so lucky mademoiselle... they're so beautiful... firm... full... Look Monsieur Downing," she ordered daddy, "most women would die for such breasts. Here, give me your hand," she told him after she moved me until I was standing right in front of dad.

"I don't think I," daddy started

"See how full, how soft they are?" she asked a blushing daddy as she moved his hand over me. "And the nipples... incroyable," she muttered as her other hand squeezed my now fat and erect nipple. "They must be covered only by beautiful cloth," she added as I felt daddy involuntarily tweak my other nipple.

We spent over two hours with Monique, two hours during which I tried on fifty bras, fifty panties... every color, every style, every material, every possible cut.

Again and again I stood naked and open before daddy, felt his hand on my bum, my breasts, my thighs as Monique demanded that he check the feel, the cut, or check the fit.

"She has such a round, cute derriere," cooed Monique as she guided dad's hand over my trembling skin. "Split so perfectly," she went on as she slid a finger down my crack.

"You should trim this a bit," she instructed me later as she ran her fingers through my bush as she pulled a sexy green tanga up my thighs. And then, for just a second she slipped a finger inside me. She felt my moistness.

"Viens, look Monsieur," she instructed daddy, "see how her hair escapes when she wears these? She must trim her pretty fur... Maybe you should help her... it's always difficult for a young girl to do it herself." She actually made me stand in front of daddy as she gave pubic barbering instructions to father.

"I don't think I should be the one," daddy finally protested, clearly not sure whether to laugh or cry.

"C'est fou. You Americans are like children," she complained. "It's a father's duty to make sure his daughter is ready, understands what her role is... knows about men, sex... my father showed me."

"She was horrible," I complained as we walked from the shop, both our arms laden with packages. "Gosh, I think she was a lesbian. She kept touching me. And they cost so much."

"She was a bit strange sweetie. Foreigners! But we can't take it with us. Why not spend it and enjoy it?"

"And what did she mean when she said her father showed her? Showed her what?"

"I don't know sweetie," dad answered as he shook his head.

"The underwear, don't you think they're too... too sexy... too grown up for me?"

"They're perfect sweetie. You look beautiful in them. Merry Christmas," he said as he gave me a hug and a kiss.

"I do? I love you daddy. I'll miss you so much at Christmas."

"You'll have a great time with mommy."

"Hah ha." But after dinner, after we'd watched a movie together, and after I'd showered and put on one of my cute new bra/panty outfits, I approached dad with scissors and tweezers in hand, and asked lasciviously, "So do you want to trim me tonight, Monsieur Downing."

"Go to bed," he growled.

"But papa, Monique says it's your job to make sure your little darling daughter is properly coifed," I said with a sexy wink.

"Gabby!" dad insisted, dismissing me, but I saw the twinkle in his eye, couldn't have missed how his eyes undressed me. Knew he'd love to trim my pussy.

"Bonsoir papa," I cooed, then left wiggling my cute little butt. Shit, I thought, if I had to spend my nights dreaming of daddy he should have something to dream of too.

The Friday following, the sixteenth of December, school closed for our Christmas break. Daddy was to leave for his long booked vacation to Martinique on Sunday while I was scheduled to fly to moms on the following day. Mom called during dinner.

Daddy watched me as I listened to mom talk. Raised his eyebrows when I yelled 'I hate you' and slammed down the phone.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing!"

"Sure?"

"Yes," I yelled as I fled the table, secretly elated at the news.

"Honey," I heard insistently repeated as dad knocked on my door.

"Leave me alone."

"Gabby! Open up... I want to talk to you," daddy called through the door an hour later.

"NO."

"Mommy called me."

"She's a bitch. I hate her."

"Can I come in?"

"Yes," I finally called softly.

"Why are you smiling?" I demanded when I saw the broad smile on his face.

"I get to spend Christmas with my favorite girl and I shouldn't be happy?" he asked as he sat next to me and drew me into his arms.

"You're going to Martinique," I complained.

"I'll cancel tomorrow."

"That's not fair. You've been looking forward to your holiday for months. I'll stay here. I'm sure the Sloans would let me stay with them."

"Yeah sure."

"Mom just thinks of herself," I sobbed, my tears falling on dad's broad chest.

"Where would you like to go? We could go to Colorado, Aspen, or maybe the Alps," daddy offered.

"Its too cold, brrr," I said as I pushed myself farther into his warm embrace.

"Would you like to go to Martinique?" he suddenly asked. "I'm already booked. Maybe we could just book another seat. Would you..."

"But that's your place, you probably don't want me around," I answered, my heart almost stopped as I waited for daddy's response.

"Nonsense, I'll call Ginny right now. Get her to work on it."

Two hours later Ginny reported back that, "No problem, you two are all set. You leave Sunday; make sure Gabby has her passport."

Yes! Yes! From total depression to elation in like three hours... Daddy and I... alone... an island resort... sharing a private beach villa... Yes, thank you God!

For I had researched the place daddy was planning to spend his vacation. Had grown both angry and jealous as I'd read the reviews of 'Plage Francais Martinique', an exclusive resort set majestically on the less crowded south coast. Catering mainly to rich, young Europeans, it featured a clothing optional beach and aimed its advertising at a more sexually liberated clientele.