Chapter 3

The week went by with glacial slowness. At first I had feared my darling daughter, Rose, had decided that she did not, after all, want to be with me. Happily, however, that proved to not be the case; instead, she was simply being circumspect.

But Gods above, it was torture. I wanted nothing more than to see her, to touch her, and with my wife and son about, we could not take that risk. But she could certainly tease me, provoke me with her body, and get me worked up over her.

She arrives home first, somewhere around half-past three. I am next at four, and my estranged wife and son arrive a little before five, her by car and he on foot from the nearby train station; no need to drive to University, thanks to the proximity to the rail lines.

And every afternoon, she put that half-hour or so we could be certain of solitude to use. On Monday, I retreated to my bedroom- afraid, as I have said, that I had upset our familial relationships by taking advantage of her in a moment of passion.

It was then that I learned I had been worrying needlessly. Rose bounced into the room, wearing a daringly-cut bikini; the top scarcely concealed her hardened nipples, and the briefs were exactly that- cut high at the waist, barely covering her pubic hair and sex, and with a thin thong at the back of them.

I was on my bed, reading reports from work I'd not been able to focus on after my incestuous encounter yesterday afternoon. Looking up, I saw her there, a mischievous glint in her dark eyes. And smirking at me, she reached down to where her legs met, extended one finger to herself, and deliberately pushed the material into her cleft, causing a camel toe to appear.

I sprang instantly to hardness, and she sashayed towards me, her toned physique undulating. Have you ever seen Burn Notice? Think Gabrielle Anwar. At first glance, Rose appears to be somewhat spindly, but a closer examination shows you a dancer's body, lithe and trim. The constant demand she placed on herself with years of gymnastics and now cheerleading left her with well-defined, yet still feminine musculature, though it had probably stunted her development in other areas. I had often seen her glance enviously at her mother's more ample bust, but so far as I was concerned, she simply looked perfect.

And then, she winked deliberately at me, crooked her finger, and tossed her head towards the pool. "Get changed, daddy. I want to see it again."

My mouth ran dry. "Rose, are you sure about this? What happened yesterday, it was an accident- we were just worked up, is all, and-"

"Bah!" she snorted. "Accident, nothing. I've wanted you, wanted this for a very long time now. Are you having second thoughts?"

How do you answer a question like that? Of course I was- who wouldn't be? But to say yes was to jeopardise whatever our relationship was burgeoning into, and that was something I hardly wanted to contemplate.

"No, baby," I reassured her. "I was just ... well, I needed to be sure that this was what you wanted."

She shook her head. "No, daddy. This is not what I wanted, at all. I want you inside me. But we can't risk being caught; the others would never understand."

I nodded slowly, rolled off the bed, and went to my wardrobe. I opened one door outwards to give me privacy when I changed, only to hear my daughter's soft footfalls as she paced to the bed behind me. I turned, shirtless to face her, and discovered her with her toned legs spread wantonly for me. I began to harden.

"Face me, daddy," she whispered. "I want to see it."

I swallowed again, blushing. But I complied, stripping down and allowing my shaft to swing free as it became fully erect. Rose held my gaze, pulled the crotch of her tiny bikini briefs to one side, and held her little lips open for me. "Six days, daddy. And then you can have this."

I throbbed, my penis bobbing too and fro. She smirked, sure in her power over me; my mind worked furiously, imagining all the ways I wanted to, and would take her; on top, of course, and with her riding me, and on all fours as she squealed as I penetrated her...

But she snapped me out of my fevered thoughts by standing up. I pulled a pair of board shorts over my raging hard-on, and followed her down to the pool for some seemingly innocent fun.

The next day she decided to show me a little of what would soon be mine. I found her in the lounge room stretching out when I got home, dressed in her pleated cheerleader's skirt ... and nothing else.

She pretended not to see me as she went through a routine, directing high kicks towards me that showed me her glistening gash, doing the splits onto the carpet to show me her flexibility. And as I watched, mesmerised, she finally leaned back against a couch, placed her ankles behind her head, and commenced masturbating.