Part 2

The problem with real life, I've often thought, is that it's not enough like a story. Take my recent experience with my beloved wife, for example: I had left Becky half-asleep on our bed, my spunk drooling from her pussy, whispering the name of our daughter Lucy, the subject of my wife's incestuous fantasies - well, the subject of our incestuous fantasies, I suppose, since I could hardly claim to be an unwilling participant. I had left Becky alone, drifting in a blissful post-orgasmic glow, because the object of our desires, our gorgeous daughter Lucy, had just arrived home from school and was running up the stairs toward us. She hadn't burst in on us while I was deep inside her mother, nor had she opened the door while Becky was moaning her name, over and over. The laws of narrative therefore demanded that she be listening outside the door, reckless with desire, her fingers inside her white, virginal panties...

Tell the truth: you expect Lucy to be on her knees sometime in the next couple of paragraphs, overcome with lust, sucking her daddy's thick cock. It's okay — in a way, I kind of expected it too. That's the trouble with stories: they make you think you know what's going to happen next. And they're usually wrong.

On the upside, stories are never quite as interesting — or enjoyable — as the real thing.

Closing the bedroom door behind me, I crept along the hall to the top of the stairs, and there, coming toward me, I saw Lucy. Perhaps it was just the incestuous thoughts implanted in my mind by Becky, or simply the novelty of being in a robe in the middle of the day, my cock still moist with Becky's hot juices, but something made me examine Lucy's body closely. She was a shade over five feet tall, and had inherited her mother's delicacy and grace. When she was smaller, I used to call her my fairy princess, she was so light on her feet — now, as Lucy approached her fifteenth birthday, the fairy princess had been replaced by a lush, nubile nymph. Her long dark hair was worn up in a simple ponytail. Her body, covered by the short pleated skirt and white blouse that served as a school uniform, was a thing of ripe curves and firm, budding flesh. Her best features, without a doubt, were her breasts, as large as her mother's but even more pert and firm. I would have given anything, right at that moment, to have torn the shirt from her body and worshipped those beautiful tits with my tongue and lips...

I cleared my throat, pushing away the vivid image, and the hot rush of desire which accompanied it. "Hi baby," I said in what I hoped was a casual tone.

Lucy looked up at me, and smiled. "Hey daddy, what are you -" She looked at me, and rolled her eyes. "Oh."

"Oh what?"

"I was going to ask how come you're home in the middle of the day, but there's only one reason you're in your robe."

"And what would that be?" I asked, dimly aware that my cock, so recently drained, was stirring slightly. "Would you care to enlighten me?"

"Gro-tacious, daddy," she said, then stuck out her tongue at me. Honestly, where the hell do they get these words? "Can you give me a ride to the mall? I'm supposed to meet Bethany in half an hour."

"Why didn't you just go straight from school?" I asked.

"Dressed like this?" she said incredulously, indicating her adorable uniform. "Gro-tacious. Come on, daddy, it'll only take you a few minutes, and you kind of owe me for this disgusting reminder that my parents... ugh! I could be emotionally scarred!" She shivered in mock-disgust, and I couldn't help but laugh.

"Alright, Lucy, I surrender. Give me ten minutes to get showered, and I'll take you."

"Thank you, daddy," Lucy said, stretching up on tiptoe to give me a perfunctory kiss on the cheek, then skipped lightly along the hall to her room, closing the door firmly behind her. I stood in the hallway for a long moment, wrestling with my conscience, my imagination conjuring up image after image of my beautiful teen daughter in her room. What was it Becky had said, when she showed me her peep-hole? "Every day she runs home from school, throws her bag on the bed, and strips off her clothes. She's our daughter, Mike, and she's so beautiful, so perfectly beautiful..."

Call me weak. Call me a fool. Call me an idiot for standing in the hallway for so long — the next thing I knew, I had crept back into my room, pushed the door closed quietly behind me, and moved over to the closet. The doors were still open, following my wife's earlier revelation. I glanced once toward Becky, but she was fast asleep on the bed, her chest rising and falling in a regular rhythm, covered only by the thin sheet I had draped over her. The peep-hole drilled through the back of the closet was exactly at Becky's eye-level, so I had to bend over slightly to see through it clearly. I peeked through, a nervous flutter in my the pit of my stomach, my heartbeat loud in my ears.

For a moment, I could see nothing except for Lucy's room. Her desk, loaded with textbooks and folders full of school work; the dresser, along with it's scattered collection of cosmetics and strange creams; Lucy's bed, complete with a baby-pink duvet, covered with her extensive collection of stuffed animals. All in all, it was the sort of room you'd imagine any fourteen year-old teen being proud to call home.

The image of wholesome family life didn't last long, however. My breath caught in my throat as Lucy walked into view. She had wasted no time in throwing her school bag into a corner and pulling off her crisp white blouse. She walked to the dresser, her back to me, dressed in only her short skirt and a white bra. Reaching behind her, she unclipped the well-filled bra, and let it fall to the ground. A wave of excitement washed over me as she turned around running her fingers casually up her stomach, and cupping a pair of breasts that were everything I had imagined they would be: full, pert, and firm, with nipples every bit as large as her mother's. I could feel my cock harden and swell as Lucy tweaked those beautiful nipples between her thumb are forefinger, making them hard and erect. I leaned against the wall, trying to get a clearer view through the tiny peep-hole, and was rewarded by Lucy raising her arms high above her head in a tired stretch, her wonderful tits swaying beautifully with the movement.

I watched, mesmerised, as my beautiful daughter deftly undid the button holding her skirt up, and let it fall to the floor, revealing a pair of virginal white panties, so tight that I could see the tempting bulge of her vulva. A hot rush of excitement and shame ran through my body, and my cock twitched, hardening further. My arousal was undeniable, and the quiet voice of reason which reminded that this vision of nubile loveliness was not only fourteen years of age but my only daughter, seemed to be noticeably absent. Daughter or not, Lucy was beautiful, combining all of her mother's best attributes with an air of simple, innocent sexiness which I found intoxicating. When Lucy brushed her slender fingertips up the outside of her thighs, then reached around to firmly squeeze the cheeks of her ass, I thought there was no way I could possibly be more aroused. Then, when Lucy slipped a her right hand inside the front of her panties and groaned happily, I realised how wrong I had been.

Enough was enough. Unable to contain my rising desire, and suddenly fearful of being caught in such a compromising position, I cinched my robe around my waist, trying to ignore the ridiculous tent caused by by throbbing cock. Checking to make sure Becky was still fast asleep, I crept quietly from the bedroom, and got myself under a shower as fast as I possibly could. With the hot water running down my body and the glass door steaming up rapidly, I finally acknowledged the burning lust with inflamed me and began to touch my tumescent prick. A half-dozen strokes were all it took to unleash a series of thick spurts, images of Lucy's perfect teenage breasts and flawless, panty-clad bottom floating through my mind.

I lingered in the shower for ten long minutes, letting the hot water wash away my sense of guilt at masturbating while thinking about my beautiful daughter.

As I left the bathroom, a towel wrapped around my waist and my robe hanging open over the top, I almost collided with Lucy, now dressed in jeans and a baby pink Hello Kitty T-shirt that would have looked adorably sweet if it had been two sizes larger and hadn't exposed quite so much of her full, round breasts.

"What are you doing?" I asked, a little too quickly.

"I'm putting my laundry in the hamper," she replied, holding up a wad of discarded clothing as evidence. "Hurry up, daddy, Bethany's going to kill me if I'm late."

"Alright, alright. Go and get a piece of fruit — I don't want you stuffing yourself with mall food, Lucy," I said patiently, forestalling her objection, "so get some fruit and go wait in the car. The keys are on the table in the hall. I'll be two minutes."

Grinning impishly, Lucy pressed the tangle of clothes into my hands, and lightly skipped off down the hallway. I stared dumbly at the clothing, still warm from her body. I stepped back into the bathroom, and, without thinking, pulled the white shirt from the wad and threw it in the hamper. I unwrapped the skirt, and mu pulse quickened. There were Lucy's white panties, the very ones she'd been wearing a few minutes ago when I'd spied on her through the peephole. I traced my fingers lovingly over the soft fabric, letting the other clothes fall to the floor as I turned the panties over and over in my hands. On the thin cotton gusset was a large damp mark, evidence, if evidence were needed, of my daughter's indulgence in her room. I groaned, half in desire and half in frustration, and I could feel my cock hardening for the third time in an hour. These are my daughter's panties, the ones she wore when she was rubbing her little pussy, when she was fingering her hot little slit...