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Thursday: 5’0”
I awoke to find myself still curled up at the foot of my daughter’s bed. My face felt sticky, and there was an awful taste in my mouth that I couldn’t quite place. Then, I realized: it was my daughter’s juices from the night before. I shuddered.
“Good morning, little guy,” Kyra said warmly from her bed behind me. As I sat up, I heard her feet plop down onto the floor and footsteps coming up behind me. As I turned around towards her, my body jolted as if receiving an electric shock, and my cock sprang instantly to attention. My daughter’s huge, curvaceous body was looming above me, clad in her usual nighties. Her boobs, still held up miraculously by an invisible bra, suddenly began plunging down toward me, revealing an ever deeper valley cleavage. From my perspective they were growing more massive by the day, and I wondered if both my hands could cover just one of her breasts anymore. Smiling broadly, she lowered her hands to her knees and peered down at me, saying, “You were out like a light last night, Daddy. I bet you were tired from all our activities,” she said, ruffling my hair. “I know I slept well.” She stood up and gave a long, lazy stretch, raising her top even higher past her taut abs and sloping hips. I took quite an eyeful, my cock now throbbing with excitement. I realized that I still hadn’t had a release since the incredible buildup of pressure last night. I had come down with a pernicious case of the ‘blue balls,’ as my loins were literally aching for release. I would have to take care of that in the shower.
“Come here, Daddy,” she said invitingly, sitting on her bed. I didn’t want to get up with my, uh, condition down there, but I knew she would see it sooner or later anyway. I got up and went to sit down beside her, but I felt her wrap her arm about my waist and pull me over onto her lap. I, a grown man, was sitting on my own daughter’s lap! She draped her left arm around my back and placed her right hand onto my thighs.
For the first time in 8 days, though, I was able to look slightly down into her eyes – sitting atop her leg, my head was just barely higher than hers. Sitting so close to her, I realized how impossibly large her proportions were. I suppose someone who grew up shorter would be used to it, but being formerly 6’6” made this all the more bewildering to me. Women, especially, always had shorter arms, narrower shoulders, smaller waists (well, the skinny ones anyway) – usually, much smaller compared to me. But as I say on my daughter’s lap, with her arm wrapped easily around my back and her face seeming quite larger than mine, I couldn’t help but feel small and weak, but at the same time incredibly aroused. I had never ever thought of my daughter in a sexual way at my former height, seeing her as my little girl. But now, there was so much more of her, and I couldn’t stop myself from admiring her increasingly Brobdingnagian features as they filled my vision.
“I have good news for you, Daddy,” she beamed, “I was so pleased with your performance last night that I have decided to forgo your spanking this morning. You see, it’s good to keep your daughter happy,” she said, wiggling my nose with her right hand. I guess that’s one good thing, I thought, although I had to pleasure my daughter to get it.
She lowered her hand again. “What’s this in your lap, Daddy?” she cooed, brushing her hand across my tip as it was poking up through the dress I was still wearing. My whole body shuddered as I jolted from her touch. She delighted in seeing her effect on me without her even trying. “Oh, that’s right!” she said sweetly, “You were just SO excited for me yesterday, but big, mean Kyra was selfish and didn’t return the favor.” She drew me into her body, her breasts squashing into my sides. I groaned, looking down at the cleavage formed as her huge tit pressed into my torso.
“Would you like Kyra to give you your reward? Hrmm?” she purred, lowering her voice seductively. I violently shook my head no. “Oh? Are you sure about that? I have a feeling you do, Daddy.” She started dragging her fingers up my thigh, coming dangerously close to my engorged member. I couldn’t hold it back any more. My body tensed up and I could feel my seed preparing to burst forth. At just the last instant, though, I felt an immense pressure on the length of my cock. My entire body spasmed forward as if someone had just slammed on the brakes.
Bewildered, I looked down to see that my daughter had squeezed her hand around my shaft. “Bad, Daddy! What did I tell you about getting semen on my dress!?”
Still writhing in delirium, I didn’t answer. “Well, mister?”
“You – you said you would kill me.”
“That’s right, and I just might do it to. Shame on you for trying to come.” Like I had any choice whatsoever.
“Stand up,” she commanded firmly, pushing me off her lap. “We need to get this dress off of you before you decide to ruin it.” Still seated, she pulled it up over my head and tossed it aside. “You’ve already made a mess on my bra,” seeing it resting on my chest, “and you had better hope that one washes out.” She reached around me an unclasped it, pulling it off my body. Then she bent over and pulled the panties down the rest of the way, as they were about to fall off of anyway. Tossing them aside, she pulled me back down onto her lap and said, “Now then, that was a close one. What do you have to say for yourself?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am.”
“Haha, that’s good, but today you may call me Kyra again.”
“Yes, Kyra.”
She pulled me into her body again, and this time it felt all the more electric as my bare skin pressed against the soft fabric of her nightie and felt her warm body breathing in and out underneath. “Now, Daddy, would you like your daughter to let you come?” she asked, caressing my face with her right hand.
“Uh … no,” I said, somewhat more reluctantly this time around.
“Are you suuuure, Daddy?” she cooed, gently brushing her fingers on my skin as she slowly brought her hand down along my chest towards my exposed member. I was teetering on the edge, even more delirious this time from the increased sensitivity of my bare skin. I started to surge as her hand brushed my shaft, but again her hand clamped down hard, leaving my sexual organs unable to carry out their function. As I looked over at her in wild frustration, she gently scolded, “You said you didn’t want to come, remember Daddy? I was just doing what you asked.” I remained highly aroused as she loosened her grasp. However, she didn’t withdraw her hand, instead starting to pump up and down, ever so slowly. I gasped, immediately returning to the brink. “You’ll have to beg me first. Beg me to let you come, Daddy,” she breathed into my ear.
“N- No - stop – B – Kyra,” I stuttered as I felt myself starting to lean over the edge as at the top of a roller coaster, starting the plunge.
She squeezed again, causing me to see stars and writhe in agony. “Beg me!” she hissed, beginning to stroke more intently.
My inhibitions were overridden by the intensity of pleasure and pain. “Please, Kyra, let me come! Please! Please! Please! …“ I repeated until I felt the floodgates open. I felt as though my entire life force was sucked in towards my loins and surged forward through my beating cock. I came for an eternity, shooting pulse after pulse of hot man-juice onto my daughter’s chest.
I sat there clutching Kyra’s body until my breathing finally started to stabilize, and I slumped into her shoulder exhaustedly. I looked down to see gobs of my goo covering both of our torsos. Kyra’s white shirt was soaked in front, and both her chest and neck glistened.
“There you go,” she exhaled, “See, all you had to do was ask, Daddy.” Looking down at herself, she chuckled, saying, “I can’t believe what a mess you made.” I saw her inspect her shirt and feared her wrath. “Don’t worry, little one, I don’t mind so much if my nightie gets stained, so I won’t punish you for this. But,” she added with a stern tone, “I expect you to do everything you can to get it cleaned today. And the same goes for my bra.” Her black bra still had my stain on it from yesterday.
She wiped some of my cum off her face and neck and playfully smeared it across my own face. “What a mess,” she repeated. “Come along, Daddy, let’s get cleaned up.” She stood up, causing me to fall right off her. As I stood back up, I watched as she grabbed the bottom of her shirt and started lifting her arms. My horror turned to shock and awe as I watched her massive melons bounce down into the open air as her shirt pulled free of them. Although I had shrunk 2 inches since yesterday, the fact that she was finally out of her heels meant that they were just below eye level. In fact, her perfectly round, hard nipples were standing out tantalizingly, mere inches from my gaping mouth …
I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t move, I just stood there beholding the greatest sight mine eyes had ever seen. I had just come, but I was already aching for more. Kyra stared down, absolutely delighted by my reaction. After letting me enjoy the show for a while, she pulled off her shorts and panties and beckoned me to follow her into the bathroom. Entranced, I followed her while watching her naked ass wiggle back and forth, and I could even see the sides of her breasts from behind as she lifted her arms up to take out her hair band, letting her hair fall down around her. Even after what I had just done, my loins were already going at full speed ahead.
Walking into the hallway bathroom (something I hadn’t done in ages), I watched her turn the shower on and get in. After a pause, she asked, “Well, aren’t you coming?”
Should I really shower with my own daughter? I was unsure of myself. “Come on in, Daddy, I won’t bite. And the water’s nice and warm,” she persuaded. Listening to the soothing sound of her voice, I realized that did sound really, really good. Besides, looking in the mirror, I realized I did really need a shower to clean up the goop on my chest, as well as the smeared makeup on my face from yesterday.
I stepped inside behind Kyra, my heart already pumping a mile a minute. She turned her head and cooed, “There’s a good boy. Come here.” She reached her arm back around me and guided me in front of her, into the stream of water. We stood there rinsing ourselves, her body occasionally bumping into mine and her breasts brushing into the back of my head.
Leaning over me and looking down, she commented with a bit of surprise, “My, my, that little guy just won’t go away, will he?” She turned me around to face her and handed me the body wash. I started lathering myself when she took hold of my wrists. “Now, Daddy, don’t be rude. Clean me first.” She took the bottle from my hand and brought my hands down to her thighs, saying, “Start down there.”
“Kyra, honey, I don’t think this is a good idea …” God, I WANTED her SO badly, but … she was my own daughter!
“Get started, now,” she commanded, “And don’t miss an inch.” I had no choice, but also something stirred in me as I began massaging her thigh. I worked my hands down to her calves and then her foot, then back up the other leg, making sure that my hands reached each and every inch of her oh-so-long legs. Despite my initial reluctance, I quickly became absorbed in my task, kneading her flesh tenderly as I moved up her leg.
“Ohhh, Daddy, that feels nice,” she purred, resupplying me with soap as needed. I worked my way up towards her crotch. “Nuh-uh, Daddy, I’ll take care of that myself.” She turned and brought my hands to her glorious ass. I felt their soft weight as I kneaded the soap into them, then moved upwards to clean her back. Reaching up, I was able to get her neck. Then, she turned to face me again and guided my hands to her arms. I ran my hands along them, realizing that each of them was now longer than my entire upper body from the waist up. I then worked my hands down her sides and did her midsection, running my hands along her glorious hips for the first time and feeling her taut stomach.
I paused and began to tremble as my thoughts turned to the two huge globes hanging in front of me. Seeing me pause, she said, “You’re forgetting a very important part, little one,” as she pulled my hands up to her glorious melons.
“Ohhhhhhh,” we both moaned in unison. My hands shaking, I began to gently lather the soap onto them. She reached down and pressed my hands into her breasts. They were firm and heavy, but at the same time impossibly soft. The consistency of the female breast is one of the great marvels of human anatomy, I thought. I had felt many a woman’s breasts in my day, but these were in a completely, entirely different league. My small hands began kneading her flesh feverishly, lost in passion. She kept one hand up to press me into her, but her other hand drifted down and began fondling her pussy.
After a while of this, she shoved my chest back under the stream of water and moved herself up under the stream as well. “Rinse,” she commanded. I lifted her heavy weights up to rinse under her boobs, and ran my hands around them to get the remaining soap off. She then grabbed a handful of my hair and shoved my mouth into her waiting nipple. “Suck!” she ordered. I closed my mouth around her nipple and felt it harden even more. There was plenty of nipple to suck on, and I closed my eyes in ecstasy as I worked. She began moaning as she pulled me over to her other side and mashed my face into her opposite nipple. Unable to restrain myself, I began to suck feverishly. She gasped as my tongue started wriggling around her nipple in my mouth. Meanwhile, she continued to work her hand around in her pussy, and pulled my own crotch into her bent knee. I started rutting on my daughter’s leg as we both worked more and more feverishly.
We climaxed simultaneously, as she threw her head back in ecstasy and shoved my face into her even harder, cutting off my breathing. She released me and I collapsed to the floor, too exhausted to stand.
She stared down at me, still panting, her fingers slowly withdrawing from inside her. Running her hand along her body, she said, “Tsk, tsk, Daddy, you got me all messy again.” She began cleaning herself off with body wash as I looked up at her from the floor of the shower. Kyra began to quickly soap herself down, minus the sensuousness of a minute ago. She shampooed and rinsed her hair, then looked down at me, expressionless. “Downstairs, dressed, 10 minutes,” she said, down to business. She stepped out and began drying her hair.
Still dazed, I slowly picked myself up and washed my body down. I couldn’t believe how easily I had given in to my urges. Not only did I fail to resist her, but I … I … Christ, who was I kidding; I fucking loved it. It felt wonderful, having Kyra’s bare tits in my mouth. But I told myself that what we were doing was completely inappropriate, and that I would NOT encourage any such activity from then on, no matter what.
I was completely distracted by thoughts of Kyra as I finished up my shower and stepped out several minutes later. I sheepishly scampered naked across the hall to my room. Putting on my own men’s clothes felt good, even if they were slightly loose-fitting this time. I got on the scale, weighing in at 100 lbs even. After brushing my teeth, I pulled out my electric razor and started to shave. “That’s odd,” I commented. I didn’t seem to be shaving anything off at all. In fact, my face felt completely smooth even though I hadn’t shaved in 24 hours. Honestly, that still didn’t bother me, but what did was my lack of body hair, except for a few loose strands here and there, and my vastly thinner tuft of pubic hair. Even my build seemed lankier – I now had no muscle tone to speak of, and I looked rather frail and underdeveloped. In fact, my whole body appeared more … child-like, perhaps?? Snapping out of my contemplations, I walked downstairs with about a minute to spare on Kyra’s deadline.
Soon, she stepped out of her own room. She was in the middle of putting earrings in, and the button-down shirt she was wearing was completely unbuttoned. It flapped open as she walked, affording me a brief glimpse of her bra and midsection. “Make me toast with strawberry jam, and orange juice.”
“Yes, dear,” I called back to her. She returned to her room as I prepared my daughter’s breakfast. As I was finishing spreading the jam, Kyra came down the stairs, buttoning up her shirt. I snuck a peak, noting that she hadn’t buttoned many of them, still leaving an absolutely glorious view of her rack. She came up to me as I obediently held out her toast and glass of juice. She picked up the toast and took a bite while saying, “Oh, before I forget …” then she pushed me roughly against the wall – not to hurt me; rather, she was simply in a no-nonsense mood. Standing up straight, I looked straight ahead at the bottom of her breasts (she was wearing her heels again). Still down to business, she munched on her breakfast while bending over to measure my height.
“Let’s see … 5 feet even. And, it looks like I was that height when I was … ah, 8 years old.” I noticed a hint of a smirk on her face. “And that also puts you just over the average height of a 12-year old boy.” I turned my head around and saw a new series of markings. She had evidently looked up a height chart online and marked it on the wall last night, after I had fallen asleep. “Interesting,” she stated simply. “Now, Daddy,” she continued, “while I’m at school today, I want you to clean my clothes that you stained”—my head drooped in shame as she said this—“and you might as well do the rest of your laundry too. But not mine, of course, since my room is still off-limits. Then, finish the rest of the chores, and at some point you’ll need to go to the grocery store. And Daddy, I’m goddamned sick and tired of the awful dinners you make, so I expect you to put a LOT more time and effort into tonight’s dinner. I’ll be looking forward to a good meal, and I would hate to be disappointed. You’ll probably have to start preparing it before you pick me up from practice. Any questions?”
I was confused. “Um, yeah, when am I going to have time for any of this? I’ll be at work all day, remember?”
“Oh, right, I forgot to mention that.” She put both hands on my shoulders and condescendingly told me, “Daddy, remember, you are grounded for your naughty behavior yesterday. That means you are not allowed to leave the house for any reason whatsoever, except for grocery shopping and picking me up and other things I specifically ask for. Other than that, you’ll need to ask me first.” As I was about to protest, she put a finger to my lips and continued, “And, no TV or internet. You are to finish all your chores and other duties first, then once they are completed you may call me to ask for permission to take a break, unless I think of something else for you to do.”
“I can’t leave for any reason? I have to go to work, Kyra,” I whined.
She took on a patronizing tone as she told me, “You should have thought of that when you were getting yourself in trouble last night, mister. Just call in sick or whatever, I don’t give a crap. But you WILL have your chores done by the time I get home, and you WILL make me a delicious dinner, or else you’re in big trouble.”
“But I’m already so far behind on work as it is and if I can’t get any work done they’ll fire me!” I complained.
She jabbed my chest back against the wall with a single finger and said, “You are staying home today and that’s FINAL.”
Too scared to say another word against her, I cringed up at her and replied, “Yes, Kyra.”
“Now, you should still take me to school until I get my driver’s license, but I expect you to come straight home afterwards. Don’t leave for the grocery store until I give you permission. I’ll call here from time to time when I’m at school, and you had better be here to pick up, got it?”
“Yes, dear.”
“OK, let’s go before I’m late for school again.” She took the orange juice from my hand, chugged it, set it down, and pulled me by the arm to the car. As Kyra drove to her school, I became depressed over my new loss of freedom. She wasn’t even letting me go to work, instead making me do chores like a goddamned house slave. I thought about going to work anyway, but I quickly rejected the idea since I had so much to do at home and I didn’t even want to imagine what Kyra would do to me if she found out.
We pulled up to her school and got out. I walked around to Kyra as she said, “One more thing I almost forgot: give me your wallet. I can’t trust you with it. I’ll hold onto it today so you don’t get any bright ideas.”
“But, Kyra, I need –“
“Don’t make a scene, Dad. I hate to be embarrassed in front of my classmates.” I realized that students were all around, walking to class, and I hoped that none of them heard how I was being ordered around by my daughter. I reached back and pulled out my wallet.
She snatched it, opened it up, and handed me my license and $40 cash. MY cash, that is. “Here’s your license, so you don’t drive without it. But ONLY for driving home and to the grocery store.” She gave me a stern look for emphasis, then continued, “And here is money for today’s groceries. Remember, I want a very nice meal, Dad, and make sure you can get it ready by 6:00.”
With that, she bent way down to plant a kiss on my forehead, and even as frazzled as I was I still found myself checking out her massive cleavage in front of me. Then she turned and walked away, and I could see her transferring the remaining cash and my credit cards to her own purse. What the hell! She may have taken my dignity, but she has no right to take my money too! I’ll try to get my cards back somehow, I promised myself. I angrily climbed into the car, slammed my fists on the dash, then pulled the seat as far up as it could go and drove home. To my dismay, I noticed that even with the seat all the way up, I still had to scoot my butt forward some on the seat to reach the pedals. This only amplified my frustration, and on the way home I cursed and shouted, telling Kyra that she is not to treat me like this and I will not tolerate it, and so on and so forth. It felt good to vent some, but at the end of the ride I still had to perform my house slave duties all the same.
I called work once I got back to the house. My boss was clearly getting upset at my continued absences and told me I had better get plenty of work done from home. Geez, now I had two women telling me what to do. Fortunately, since most of my work was done on computers I could work off my computer here at home without too much hassle. Just had to remote desktop and/or ftp some files over.
I remembered that my test results should be in today. I called first thing once I got back to the house. “James Roberts, let’s see … ah yes, your results are in but I’m afraid the doctor requested that he discuss them with you person,” the receptionist said. “It sounded important. Can you come in this morning, by chance?”
I didn’t know whether to be worried or optimistic, but finally it seemed that they had at least figured out something. “Yes, I’ll come over immediately,” I responded. But then I remembered Kyra’s stern face peering down at me as she warned me not to leave without her permission. “Um, wait, no, I forgot I, um … have something I have to do now. I’ll have to get back with you. Maybe later today?” I hoped that I could get a hold of Kyra soon and ask her permission to leave. This was important, though, so I was sure she wouldn’t mind. Well, fairly sure, anyway.
“Well, OK then, but we’re pretty busy this afternoon. Let us know as soon as you can so we can get you in to see him,” the receptionist replied. I told her I would and then hung up the phone. I immediately dialed Kyra’s cell phone to ask her about it, but there was no answer. She would call back when her class got out, I assured myself. Meanwhile, I would start the laundry.
I went upstairs and retrieved my hamper. On my way downstairs, though, I remembered that I needed to wash Kyra’s nightie that I had so thoroughly soiled this morning. … Oh, shit! It was still in her room. I thought about just going in and getting it, but I had bad memories from yesterday and I wasn’t keen on repeating them. Besides, if I cleaned them without asking first, she would realize that they were on her floor and that I must have gone into her room to get them. Not wanting to provoke my daughter’s wrath, I decided to wait until she called back to ask her this as well.
I started cleaning the house, and about 40 minutes later I heard the phone ring. I ran just to make sure I got there in time, and answered, “Roberts household.”
“Daddy, you made a fool of me last class.” Kyra was pissed. It was a bit hard to hear her over the din of students in the hallway. “My phone went off in the middle of class when you called, and everyone turned to look at me, and the teacher reprimanded me for disrupting class,” she ranted, almost like a petulant child. “You’re going to pay for embarrassing me.”
Her punishment was bad enough when I simply disobeyed her, but when I embarrassed her in front of other people … well, let’s just say I wasn’t looking forward to what she would do to me. Even something as insignificant as this seemed to cause all kinds of pain for me these days. “I’m sorry, Kyra, but it was important. The doctor’s office said they have some interesting results about my shrinking that I need to see. Can I please go there this afternoon?” I pleaded.
“Fuck you. You’ll just have to wait until tomorrow. That is, if I let you,” she retorted.
“But Kyra, this is important! I’m just going to keep shrinking otherwise!”
“Maybe losing some more would do you good, then you won’t be so quick to talk back to me. DO NOT call me back again, you little shit. I will call YOU, and you had better answer.” She hung up. It was so unfair! She gets to call all the shots around here, and she doesn’t even care about my well-being. Jesus, I was in the middle of a life-altering medical crisis, and she’s keeping me here to do some goddamned chores! I held my head in my hands, trying to hold back tears, but it was no use. I sobbed anyway, thinking about how awful my life was now.
Eventually, I picked my head up and went to start the laundry. Shit! With all her scolding, I had forgotten to ask permission to enter her room and get her dirty shirt and bra. Beating myself up over it, I realized that I would just have to finish the other chores until she called back.
Another hour came and went. Her classes were only an hour each, so she should have called by now. After another 10 minutes, it was clear that she wasn’t going to call until next class break. It was 11:00, so she wouldn’t call until noon. In the next half hour, I finished all the chores around the house, including washing my own clothes. All I had left to do was wash her two pieces of clothes, go grocery shopping, and start cooking. I went up to my computer and looked online for some recipes. I found one that looked good: pan-seared steaks with a garlic-brandy-mushroom glaze, and twice baked sweet potatoes on the side. It looked like a long prep time and cooking time, but if I got it all the ingredients ready before picking Kyra up I could cook it afterwards without a problem. Seeing that it was still just 11:50, I tried surfing the web for a bit. But, to my surprise, certain websites weren’t opening up. I tried some basic sites like Google and Wikipedia. They worked fine, but when I tried ESPN.com and Facebook, for instance, they said that access has been restricted. Did Kyra come into my room last night and change my parental control settings or something? I went to internet options to change it back, but found that it was set to strict, and certain sites like Facebook were specifically banned, but the settings were locked to all users except admins. What the hell? I looked under User Accounts on the control panel and found that I was no longer an administrator! Kyra was the admin now. I tried to log in as her but it was password protected. I had never used a password on my account, so Kyra was able to create her own account and change admin privileges. That bitch!
She called just then at 12:00. I sprinted downstairs to answer in time. “Kyra?” I panted.
“Have you been doing your work, Dad?”
“Yes, dear. I was just on my computer and –“ I cut myself short, about to ask her to unlock my computer but realizing that it was no use bringing this up. She would just ask why I wasn’t doing my work and get mad.
“You were what, Dad?”
She probably guessed what I had meant to say, but instead I said, “I was just finding a recipe for tonight. Can I go to the grocery store now?”
“Have you finished all your chores?”
“Yes.”
“OK then. But if you’re not back when I call at 1:00, I’m going to assume you are off doing something you’re not supposed to. You don’t want that, do you?”
“No, ma’am, not at all.” She simply hung up the phone. Shit! I was just about to ask her about her entering her room! Oh, man. At least I still had time once I got back to wash her clothes, but I figured the longer they sat there, the harder it would be to get my stain out. I wasn’t about to call her back while she was at school, though. I went and got the groceries instead. I had trouble finding things, since the recipe called for more exotic ingredients than my usual fare of boxed macaroni, frozen pizza, and the like. Crap, I said, looking at my watch. I had to rush almost frantically to find the rest of the shopping list and get home. Pulling in to the garage at 1:01, I shut the engine off and heard the phone ringing.
Oh God! I got out, scurried around the car while bumping my arm on a rake, practically knocked the garage door off its hinges as I opened it (well, maybe if I were 6’6” and stronger, I would have) and dove for the phone. “Hello!” I shouted.
“You’re a lucky little man; I was just about to hang up,” Kyra scolded with a warning in her voice.
“I’m sorry, honey, I just got home from groceries.”
“Sure you were,” she said. Again, she hung up on me, and again I was unable to ask her about her laundry. I brought in the groceries and started preparing the dinner.
I spent quite some time preparing it. I sliced up some fruit to make a fruit salad, baked the sweet potatoes to get them soft enough to mash up, prepared their filling, and made the rub and the glaze for the steaks. It took a good hour and a half, but finally everything was ready to be put in the oven when I got back from picking Kyra up. It was then that I realized Kyra never called during her last class break. I was starting to get antsy about her clothes, but I figured it was still fine since I would have over an hour still to wash it once she called at 3:00, and then I could throw the clean clothes in the dryer when I left to pick her up.
I went over to the recliner and sat down. At least she can’t tell if I’ve been watching TV. I turned it on but discovered I needed a password to watch Comedy Central. Are you freakin’ serious? Kyra enabled parental controls on the TV too? She sure had prepared last night for my grounding. I flipped through the channels but found that they were all locked, every single one. I would have found having a parental control on PBS and CSPAN rather funny, had it not meant that I now had nothing to do. I did probably watch too much TV, but it’s what I enjoy. But now what.
Frustrated, I went to my room and passed the time browsing what few websites my daughter allowed me to open. I remembered someone saying that if you start on any random Wikipedia entry, and click on the first link not in parentheses or italics, and then repeat, you will eventually end up at “Philosophy.” I tried this several times and was amused to find that it actually works. But soon I got bored, went downstairs, and stared at the paint on the wall for a while.
Mercifully, Kyra called at 3:00. “Hi, Kyra,” I answered the phone. Making damned sure to get my question in, I continued, “Can I please enter your room to get the shirt and bra so I can wash them?”
“What, you still haven’t done that yet? You said all your chores were done.”
“But I didn’t want to go in your room without asking first.”
“Then why didn’t you ask me this morning?” Not pausing for my response, she said, “Fine, go in my room, but come right back out, do you understand me? No loitering. I don’t even want to think about what disgusting thoughts go through your perverted little head in there. Actually, you know what, I’m going to count to 10, and when I reach 10 you had better be back here with the clothes in your hands. One … two …” At least she was counting fairly slowly. I dropped the phone and dashed up the stairs to her room. Flinging the door open, I spotted both items on the floor and brought them down with me as I hurtled toward the phone. I picked it up as she was saying, “… Nine --”
“I’m back!” I exclaimed.
“Do you have the clothes in your hand?” she asked.
I did. “Yes, Kyra.” She simply hung up the phone yet again. Whew, disaster averted. Or at least, I hoped so. Seeing the huge slightly yellowed stain on her shirt was not encouraging, but it’s just body fluids, it should come right out, I reasoned. I really wasn’t sure about that, but nonetheless I spritzed them with some stain remover and put them in the washer.
Now I had another half hour to kill until they were done in the washing machine. I decided to walk back up the stairs to go discover what other sites I could access. I noticed that I had left Kyra’s door wide open and started closing it. As I leaned in, though, I paused, glancing around her room. Even though I knew I shouldn’t, I found myself taking a few steps inside. I looked over to the corner of the bed where, last night, she had pulled me into her and forced me to eat her pussy. I shuddered as the memories returned to me. It was so wrong, so horrible what she made me do … but yet, so …
Did I actually enjoy giving her such pleasure? What was really going through my mind as I felt her body shake around me and heard her scream in ecstasy from my touch? I didn’t know. Or perhaps didn’t want to know.
Then I looked over at the side of the bed where she held me on her lap this morning and made me cum. Or had she let me come? Didn’t I ask her, even BEG her to jerk me off? I mused that maybe it wasn’t so much that I was in anguish over the pain of being denied an orgasm several times, but perhaps it was more that I desperately wanted my daughter to bring me all the way, to let me erupt into her as she held me on her lap. And that’s not even to mention the scene in the shower. Oh God, what was she doing to me? Even though a part of me still knew it was wrong, it seemed that more and more of me was beginning to want her, to NEED her to give me the pleasure that only she could give. It was all very confusing.
Finally, the saner side of my brain snapped me out of my reverie, and I shook my head as I got the hell out of Kyra’s room and shut the door. I decided to stay downstairs the rest of the afternoon just to avoid the temptation of walking past her door.
I sat twiddling my thumbs until the washer buzzed. I pulled out the white shirt and, to my relief, saw that it looked clean – one could not tell that it had been stained. I then confidently pulled out the bra, but … the stain still remained. Whether it was due to the longer time it had sat out, or due to the more revealing black color, or the different fabric, I could not say. But, while it had faded somewhat, the stain was still clearly visible with about half of its original intensity. Oh shit. I panicked for a moment, then rushed upstairs to research how to remove a semen stain from a bra. I apparently wasn’t the only one who has had this problem, as the Google search had returned several results. But, to my alarm, I was blocked from visiting any of them. Apparently the word ‘semen’ was on the list of naughty words that the parental control recognized. I tried ‘cum’ and ‘jizz’ with the same result. I tried ‘bodily fluids’ but the results were vague and unspecific. Realizing that I was wasting precious time, I stopped searching and decided to try my luck with the washer again. I plopped a healthy amount of stain remover onto the spot and rubbed it in, then ran it through the washer again. This had better work.
It was time to leave for Kyra’s practice when the washer finished again. I pulled it out, and saw that the visibility of the stain was more-or-less reduced by half again. Still not good enough, though. I put even more stain remover on and ran it a third time, hoping that it would be good enough by Kyra’s standards. I grabbed the keys and sprinted out to the car to go pick up Kyra.
I waited in front of the gym, leery of people seeing me in my diminished stature but also remembering what happened yesterday when I parked farther away. To my great relief, Kyra walked out of the gym alone. I got out and held the door open for her as she touseled my hair and got in. She seemed to be in a good mood. I scampered around to my seat as she started pulling away.
“Did you do everything I asked?” she said cheerfully.
“Yes, dear.” I didn’t mention the possible snafu with her bra.
“Good boy,” she said, patting my thigh. My cock jumped a bit as she did so. Why did I have to get so distracted whenever she so much as touches my leg, I wondered. She turned on her crappy music station and we rode home without another word.
Once inside, Kyra went right up to her room, and once she was gone I checked the washer again. Well, it was slightly better since the last time, but a splotch was still faintly visible. Not looking forward to showing it to her, I nonetheless realized this was about the best it was going to get as I put it in the dryer. Meanwhile, I started cooking the dinner, putting the potatoes in the oven while pan-searing the steak, then transferring the steak to the oven once the potatoes were done. Dinner was looking good; Kyra would be pleased.
As the steaks were cooking, Kyra came down. I looked up and did a double take. She was down to just her sports bra and panties. There’s something about a good pair of boobs in a sports bra that really does it for me. It just seems to hold them nice and round and emphasize their size. And, of course, if I enjoyed seeing just an average set of tits in a sports bra, then just imagine how I felt about Kyra’s …
Interrupting my reverie, she said, “Dad, I need my black bra. Where is it?”
“In the dryer, honey,” I said, trying to sound casual to avoid arousing Kyra’s suspicions. I turned back to the oven and held my breath.
“Daaaddeee, come here please.” Oh shit. I put down the oven mitt and came over to her by the dryer. “Do you see this,” she said seriously, pointing to the faint splotch on her bra.
“I’m so sorry, dear, I washed it 3 times and put stain remover on it and everything! That’s the most that’s gonna come out. I’m sorry, Kyra, it had been sitting out for too long.”
“And whose fault is that?” she retorted.
I wanted to point out that she was the one who made me wear it all last night, but I had learned better by now. “Mine.” I looked down at my feet.
“Now, how am I supposed to wear this tonight? What would my date think, seeing me in a bra with some other guy’s semen on it? Especially my little daddy’s semen. Just how do you think that would make me look?” I saw her feet step closer as she loomed over me with her hands on her hips. “Well?” she demanded impatiently, cupping my jaw in her hand and craning my head up to her gaze.
“Y–You have a date tonight?”
“What, are you surprised? Didn’t think I was SEXY enough to get a date?” she asked menacingly.
I squirmed under her stare but her hand held me tight. “N-No, it’s not that, not at all! It’s only, well, I just didn’t know about your date, but I thought maybe, if you don’t mind, you might want to consider waiting until you’re older? I mean, I’ve had lots of dating experience in my day, and I really think it may be best to start dating when you’re older and more mature.” Seeing her menacing stare, I hastily added, “I mean, if that’s OK with you.” Gone were the days when I would command my daughter around with authority.
“Listen, Dad,” she said, sighing, “You know I’m much more mature than your average 18-year-old.” I had to agree; she’s more mature than most college girls I’ve encountered. She put her hands on my upper arms, leaned down slightly, and said frankly, “I’ve even had to step in and be strong for you as you’ve shrunk. You’re looking more and more like a little boy each day, and I must say you’ve started acting like one too.” Her tone was one of serious concern instead of mocking condescension. “I’m afraid you’re just going to have to learn to accept my judgment and guidance, little fella. It’s best for both of us.”
I hated her calling me immature. “But I’m not a little boy, I’m a grown man!” I whined up at her.
“See, Dad, that’s exactly what I’m talking about.” Jesus, she was right, I had just whined like a 12-year-old. “Now I’m going to try this bra on and see if your stain is noticeable.”
Before I knew what she was doing she stepped back and lifted up her sports bra. My heart skipped a beat or two. Her generous bosom was staring back at me, level with my face now. It just defied physics how things so heavy could stay up like that with no support. Wow…
As she picked up her black bra she saw me staring at her naked chest. “Are you just going to stand there gawking at your daughter’s breasts?” I didn’t hear her at first. I felt a hard slap across my cheek. “Daddy! This is that immaturity I was just talking about. You’re staring at my boobs like a little kid who just hit puberty.”
I snapped out of it and, embarrassed, covered my eyes and looked down. “Gawd,” she said in disgust as she put her black bra on. “OK, now, I give you permission to look at my chest, but just so you can tell me if your stain is noticeable.” I opened my eyes and tried to seem like I was focused on a serious inspection of the stain, and nothing more.
“Well, it’s, um, it’s on the underside of your, uh, b-b-breasts, so no one will see it under your shirt.”
“I know that, but what if he takes my shirt off? Won’t he see it then?”
Some guy taking my daughter’s shirt off!? I didn’t like the sound of that. “Well, um, Kyra, I agree that it is OK for you to go on a date,” I said, conceding the point I had argued earlier, “but maybe you should, uh, take things slow for now? Since this is your first date and all.”
“Yeah, yeah, and ‘You have so much experience with the ladies,’ “ she quoted me mockingly. “We just went over this, Dad; I’m mature enough to know just how slow or fast I want to take it. But,” she added, looking off dreamily, “I have a feeling I’ll want to take this one nice and fast. He’s got such a body…” she said, daydreaming about her date tonight.
Oh, hell, I didn’t think there was anything I could do to keep her off this schmuck. I was about to try to change her mind again when she said, “Now, come on, I need your help.” She squeezed my bicep and pulled me with her up the stairs and into her room.
“Hmm,” she said with disappointment, looking at her bra in her mirror, “I really wanted to wear this for Steve. It looks sooo hot on me. Right, Daddy?” she said, posing in front of her mirror and giving her boob a playful squeeze. She glanced over at me as I was, of course, confirming her statement. She flashed a smile at my reaction and said, “Dad, hand me that bra there,” she said, pointing to a bra at my feet. I bent down, picked it up, and upon raising my eyes was confronted with another awesome view of her naked tits. She had taken her black bra off and had turned toward me, waiting for the next bra.
“Dad,” she sighed, “I see you ogling my tits again. I’ll let it slide for now since I want your feedback, but after this I’m going to have to start punishing you again if you keep it up,” she reprimanded, taking her bra from my hands and putting it on. “Here,” she said, snapping her fingers and motioning for me to stand in front of her but to the side of the mirror. I obeyed like a well-trained dog. “How does this look?” I was only too happy to oblige her.
I checked her out for a few moments, then said truthfully, “It looks great, Kyra.”
“Yeah, some help you are.” She apparently wasn’t thrilled with the bra and told me, “Top right shelf of my dresser. Bring me a handful of them.” I complied, grabbing an armful of large, soft bras and walking back to Kyra. Bare-chested, she motioned for me to return to my spot and took another bra from the pile, putting it on. “How’s this one?”
“It looks great.”
“Dad, you think they all look great on me.” That was the truth. “You have to be more specific. How does the shape look? And what about my cleavage?” she asked, bending forward to give both of us a better look.
I gulped. “Uh, maybe I liked the last one a little better?” I offered.
“Yeah, I agree. The last ones pushed my boobs together better.” I couldn’t believe I was helping my daughter pick a bra and giving my opinion on how sexy she looked. She took them off as I looked on. “Hmm, I know, what about my other new dress? The strapless one. I remember how much you liked it when I tried it on for you earlier. See what strapless bras I have in there.”
I hadn’t forgotten the dress she was talking about. A sexy little number that was white with some flowers on it, that barely covered her from nipple to ass. I fished around and found just two. Well, even having two of them was more than she should have had, since I had never allowed her to wear a strapless dress before and I didn’t see why she needed any strapless bras then. She probably had taken advantage of my indifference toward shopping and slipped them by me.
She took the first one and put it on. Meanwhile, I was starting to take on fever-like symptoms as a thin film of sweat was forming on my hands and face, my forehead was hot, and my heart was beating too quickly. I knew what the cause was; and the cure was to avoid standing in front of Kyra’s naked body for extended periods of time. “What do you think of this one?” She turned sideways to check out her profile, and hefted her boobs up with her hands.
“Um, also great.”
“Daddy, come on,” she raised her eyebrows at me, expecting some elaboration.
“Uh … they look nice and round but, uh … maybe it could hold them closer together?” I said, perhaps unsure that there could possibly be anything wrong with such a glorious sight.
“OK, let’s try the last one then.” I was truly glad that she was letting me off the hook for staring at her so hard, both because I loved the view, and also because I didn’t have to endure any punishment. As she put the last one on, she gauged my reaction. I was impressed, seeing an already awesome sight become even awesome-er. “Well, I think we have a winner, eh?” she said, noticing my hungry approval and stepping towards me for a closer look.
“Y-Yeah. They’re…perfect.” At least, I couldn’t fathom how they could look any better.
“Touch them,” she said down to me. I looked up with astonishment and a hint of … joy? Was I thankful that she was letting me play with her melons? “Go on. I want to make sure they feel good when Steve squeezes them.” Not letting thoughts of this Steve jerk get me down, I brought my right hand up to her left boob and pushed up a bit. I glanced over my shoulder at our reflection, seeing the incredible size difference between us and especially between my hand and her boob. “How is it?” she asked as she pushed my hand harder into her boob and inspecting the mirror. Was I a bit disheartened that she wasn’t responding to my touch at all, instead just critically examining herself? Maybe. But God, it felt good anyway.
“It’s … It’s absolutely incredible, Kyra,” I said, unable to hide all the arousal in my voice.
Kyra didn’t notice, simply responding, “Good, this is the one. Get my dress out of the bag, please,” she said, still looking at her own profile in the mirror. I did as she asked, and she even let me help her put it on. She stepped through it as I raised it up onto her body. “Zipper,” she commanded. I zipped her up, admiring the close-up of her from the other side. She stood there posing and examining herself, then said with a dreamy look, “Excellent. Steve’s gonna love this.” I can’t imagine a straight man on earth who wouldn’t. Remembering that I was still there, she shooed me off with a wave. “You may go,” she said, not looking at me. I reluctantly backed out of her room, stealing as many glances as I reasonably could. Turning back for a second, I said, “Um, Kyra, honey, are you going to be having any dinner?”
“Naw, Steve’s taking me out to eat,” she said, starting to put makeup on.
“Are you sure, Kyra? I tried really hard to make you a good dinner.”
“Well, just throw my portion out then, I don’t care.” She remained focused on getting ready for Steve.
As I trudged downstairs, I wondered why I was so disheartened. I think it was because I had worked so hard to make Kyra a nice meal, but she wasn’t even going to have any. I then realized that I was also, perhaps, jealous? Jealous that some guy was stealing Kyra’s attention away from me. Jealous that she didn’t even notice me as she thought about that douchebag. Sure, it was wrong that we had performed sexual acts together earlier. I knew that. But still, for some reason I yearned for her to respond to my touch as she had when her nipple met my mouth in the shower that morning. Or when my face was buried in her bush last night. I should be glad that she seems focused on Steve, so now she’ll stop molesting me, I told myself. But somehow I didn’t feel glad; I felt downtrodden. God, my head was all fucked up.
I smelled burning and realized that the steaks were still in the oven. I pulled them out and found that they were charred and way overdone. Great, I can’t even eat a delicious steak on my own tonight. Oh well. I decided to cut away some of the charred bits and enjoy what I could. At least the potatoes were fine, albeit lukewarm.
Kyra came down some 20 minutes later. Holy potatoes, Batman. She looked fine as hell. Her hair was done up, her makeup was striking but tasteful, her smell was exquisite. And, of course, her dress and heels accentuated her goddess-like features perfectly. I felt like I ought to stand. “You look absolutely stunning, Kyra.”
“Oh, thanks,” she said nonchalantly, still not paying me any heed.
“Dinner turned out well, but, uh, a little overdone,” I gave a nervous little laugh.
She glanced at what I made, saying, “OK, make this again tomorrow.”
“Will do!” I was overplaying my hand, sounding too optimistic and trying too hard to get a reaction from her, with no success. I tried to keep up some small talk, but she just sat by the window responding, “Uh huh,” absentmindedly. Finally, she squealed, “He’s here! OK, I’m heading out. I want lights out by 9:00. Be in bed when I get back.” With that, she opened the front door and walked out. I couldn’t help but run to the window myself. That Steve guy looked pretty ripped. And, standing as tall as Kyra in her heels, I realized he was around my old height of 6’6”. He definitely had the douchebag tough guy/jock look, with hair that probably took an hour to meticulously craft with gel to give the phony “just got out of bed” appearance. I can’t stand these assholes.
I saw Kyra saunter up to him gracefully, putting more sway in her hips than I had ever seen her use before. She gave him a hug that lasted a bit too long for my taste. Then, laughing at a joke of his, she playfully rested her hand on his chest as he moved his hand to her lower back and guided her to his car. Any old fool could see from their body language that they were into each other. Grumbling, I stepped back from the curtain and finished my dinner alone.
Afterwards, I went on my computer and did some research for work. It was a nice change, letting me take my mind off things for a while. Almost 9:00, I wanted to stay up to catch up on some more work, but I didn’t want to displease Kyra. After all, I was grounded and I deserved it, too, for my bad behavior. … Wait, what did I just say? She was starting to get into my head. Or, perhaps more accurately, she had already broken into my head and was now rummaging around in it.
I turned the lights out at 8:55 but couldn’t sleep. All I could think about was how Kyra’s date was going with Douchebag Steve. How she shouldn’t keep touching him and sending signals like that. How she should stop batting her eyes and flirting with him. But gradually I found my point of view shifting towards that of Steve, imagining that I was the one Kyra was flirting with, how I would lead her up to her door and lean in to say good night and …
I heard the door open and close. Whoa, that timing was freaky. I heard her heels clicking on the floor downstairs then getting louder as she climbed the stairs. I watched the shadow of her feet pass by my door as she walked into the bathroom. I lay in silence, waiting. She started walking back, but then I heard my door handle slowly turn. Shit! I laid my head back and closed my eyes, trying to remain motionless. I felt light upon my face as she opened the door and looked in. After a few seconds, satisfied that I was asleep, she quietly closed the door and walked to her room. Why was my heart pounding so hard? It continued to pound as I lay there, then an idea struck me like a 2x4 to the head.
I couldn’t do that, could I? No, that would be suicide. She’d kill me if she found out. I laid there in silence, not hearing any movement for a minute or two. OK, I told myself, it couldn’t hurt to just poke my head out. Her door is probably closed anyway. Good plan, I thought, finding my logic irrefutable. Or, perhaps, not wanting to refute it.
I looked at the clock. 10:20. I ever-so-slowly crept out of bed and tiptoed to my door. Opening it just a crack, I saw that the hallway was dark. I slooowly pulled it open, wincing as it gave a few tiny squeaks. She couldn’t have heard that, right? I continued on, making like Elmer Fudd and tiptoeing down the hall towards my daughter’s room. To my delight, the door was opened just a crack, and I slowly brought my eye up to the slit. Fortunately, the door was aligned the right way, affording a view of the middle of the room instead of just the wall. Through the small slit, I had perhaps a 20 degree angle of vision, including the mirror in the far corner.
She was out of sight at the moment, but I heard her rustling around. Then there she was, stepping towards the mirror to take out her earrings and let down her hair. She seemed all the more enrapturing from the clandestine and sinful view I was taking. She went about her business, completely oblivious that she was being watched. Everyone acts a bit different when they think they’re alone: more carefree and uninhibited, unburdened by the gaze of others sizing them up, judging them. I had never had voyeuristic tendencies, but I watched in awe of her magnificence as she struck a pose in the mirror, trying out different angles and giving a sexy pout as she imitated the movements of a model (and what a model she would make!). She licked her lips in satisfaction as she turned and walked back towards her closet.
It was unnerving having her out of sight, not knowing if she was 10 feet away or 10 inches. I wouldn’t be able to pull back in time if I didn’t hear her reach the door. I began to shake from both fear and excitement, the added chill to my skin from wearing only boxers contributing to my heightened awareness. I listened like a hawk for sounds of movement. I heard her stepping forward and I drew back, preparing to flee. But then I saw her walk back to the mirror, bending over to take off her shoes while letting her magnificent cleavage spill forward. I gasped, almost silently, but still causing a bolt of panic to run down my spine. It was too quiet to hear, though, and she proceeded to unzip her dress. Oh God. I couldn’t believe I was seeing all this. I mean, I had a first-rate view earlier, but something about being invisible, watching her undress completely oblivious to me, and knowing the terrible peril I was putting myself in, made this all the more thrilling.
She stripped her dress off, wiggling her hips as she pulled it down. Remaining in just her bra and panties, she walked out of sight again. I shrank back to the relative safety of the door frame closer to my room, but I heard her begin to speak. Peering back in, I realized she was talking on the phone.
“Oh, Clara, it went amazing. He’s so fucking hot, and totally into me. … You don’t know him? He’s a senior. … Oh, yeah, I’ve been asked out by lots of seniors. Just as many juniors, too. I think underclassmen are intimidated by me, though,” she laughed, sitting on the bed. I could see just her legs as she crossed them and sat back on her elbows. “… Yeah, my dad had said no dating until 17, but I caught him staring at my tits the other day and he’s been too sheepish to confront me about anything since. I’ve been pretty much pushing him around.” What she said wasn’t false, but it was certainly a gross understatement. “… I can’t wait to see Steve again. Oh, those muscles. And he’s sooo big. I think, even … down there,” she said, giggling with her friend. “We went to a club after dinner and it felt sooo good rubbing up against him. And my hand ‘accidently’ brushed him down there a few times. I just want to feel him inside me,” she moaned, as I saw movement by her panties. I decided to push the door open ever-so-slightly wider, enough to see her fingers lightly rubbing the outside of her panties. “… Oh, Clara, I will. I’m thinking of letting him round 2nd base next time. Or maybe third,” they giggled. “Well, I should go, all this talk is getting me flustered.” Laughing, she hung up the phone and tossed it across the room.
“Mmmm, Steeeve,” she hummed softly as she began working herself more quickly. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from my daughter’s panties as her fingers slowly snaked underneath them. I decided to risk a better view, cracking the door open a bit more. I could see all the way up to her right tit as she was laying back and caressing it.
She wasn’t the only one who was getting horny. I felt my own hand reach down and start to rub my shaft up and down. Adrenaline was coursing through my veins as I watched my daughter start to pleasure herself. Completely enraptured, I leaned in to get a better look. In my tense excitement, though, I stumbled just a bit, bumping the door open another inch, causing the hinges to emit a loud creak.
I saw her pick her head up as I darted back from the door and toward my room. I tried to sneak quietly, but with pure adrenaline kicking in I don’t think I was quiet at all in my mad dash for my room. I thought I saw her door opening as I darted into my own door and yanked it shut, trying not to slam it. But, to my terror, I heard footsteps stomping up and saw –no, felt—the door fly open in front of my face. There was the silhouette my daughter, all 6’2” of her, standing with her feet apart and her hands on her hips. If I could have seen her face, I would have probably curled up in terror into a ball on the floor like a roly poly.
I started to stumble backwards but her hand darted out and grabbed hold of my ear. She yanked so hard I was sure it would tear off, and she stormed back to her room with me in tow. Once inside, she spun me around to face her, letting me see the rage emanating from her face.
“Kyra, I can expl—“
SMACK! My world went spinning as her open hand sent my face reeling towards the bed. I crashed face down onto her sheets, then felt a strong hand yank my head up by the hair. “WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU DOING OUTSIDE MY ROOM!!?” she yelled into my ear deafeningly.
I rambled, “I was just walking by to get a glass of water and I stumbled in the dark and bumped into your door and I didn’t see anything I swear!”
“Didn’t see anything? You – You saw me masturbating, didn’t you!? Did you watch me undress, too? How long were you out there, you fuckin’ pervert!!!”
She was yanking back hard on my hair, causing me to shriek in pain. I felt a sharp pain down my spine as my head was pulled back farther than it was meant to go.
“Please, Kyra, I didn’t do anything!” I started crying.
“HOW LONG!?”
My one concern at that moment was getting out of this excruciating pain. “A few minutes! I don’t know.”
“Oh, you sick son of a bitch. What did you see!?” she yanked back even farther.
“Owww! Nothing! I only … saw you take your dress off and talk on the phone and sit on the bed.”
“Only?” she asked incredulously. “You were watching me the whole fucking time!?” I felt a terrible pain in my side as she began punching me, HARD, finding a few sweet spots. I began bawling uncontrollably as the torment continued. She flipped me onto my back and punched my stomach. I started seeing stars and couldn’t breathe from the gut shots. She relented, sitting over me imperiously as I continued crying and writhing in pain.
Once I had calmed down a bit, she walked away, although I was too beaten to raise my head up and watch her. Coming back, I saw her body looming over me as I felt myself being dragged the rest of the way onto the bed. Then, her body grew larger and larger in my vision until everything went dark. I felt a crushing weight on my entire body, from head to toe, as she laid down on top of me, my head lodged firmly into her cleavage. I heard the clicking of a keyboard being used, and realized she was using her laptop. I had access to a tiny stream of air between her massive melons, as she was propping her upper body up with her elbows. The very limited access to air, plus the huge weight on my body, made every breath a mighty struggle. Realizing my arms were free at my sides, I brought them up to try to slightly reposition my face. But I sure didn’t think that one through …
“What, you’re trying to cop a feel, even now?” she asked with acrimony. She pulled my arms down one at a time and bent my forearms behind my back at a 90 degree angle. It was bearable at first, but gradually became unbearable with the weight awkwardly pressing down on my arms and back. Jesus, she was heavy. I recalled that I weight a mere 100 pounds to her 155, and almost all of it was pressing down on my body. I continued my labored breathing for quite some time, getting more difficult with each passing minute.
Eventually, she asked shortly, “What’s your Bank of America password?”
Why the hell did want that? I hesitated, but she just laid on me patiently. I tried to speak, but only a soft mumble escaped my lips and her boobs. She lifted herself up off my torso an inch or two. Suddenly free to breathe, I gasped in and out, gulping as much air as possible. “Well?”
I told it to her, then she fell back down onto me. Was she … stealing my money? I had $20,000 sitting in my savings account! She wouldn’t take all of it … would she? Jesus, she could if she wanted to; a couple clicks of her mouse, and $20,000 would be transferred to her own savings, probably increasing her holdings a hundred times over, just like that. I started to get even more worried as I tried to remember how much I had in stocks and bonds – way more than the $20,000, I knew that much. But I was pretty sure she couldn’t transfer it immediately; the transactions between my savings and brokerage accounts would take a few days to complete. At least I had that.
I was dying to know what she was doing on her laptop, but my world was utterly black except for faint glimmers of light above my daughter’s cleavage. It was becoming a real chore just to breathe in and out. I lost track of time down there; it must have been at least half an hour, maybe an hour? I couldn’t tell. But, to my dismay, and despite my discomfort and difficulty breathing, I felt myself slowly becoming aroused. Her huge proportions all around me, her incredibly soft, warm skin pressed against my entire body, my face nuzzled into her glorious breasts – all of this began to overwhelm my senses. I began to wiggle slightly, back and forth, growing more aroused with each passing moment.
Incredibly, she seemed to be responding to my motions, probably without even realizing it. She began to slowly undulate along with me. I could feel her breasts heaving in and out more quickly now. We continued like this for probably 60 seconds, growing slowly more intense. Then, suddenly, she rolled over, flipping me on top of her.
“You liked watching me masturbate, don’t you Daddy? Well, I think now you get to finish what I started. Or, I suppose, what STEVE started.” I felt myself being dragged down her body as her legs and hands worked together to push my face onto her panties. I tried to pry myself loose, but her legs had wrapped me into a prison, one that was slowly pushing me down into her crotch. She started grinding her pussy around my face, getting her more and more hot by the second. I felt her panties moistening.
“PULL DOWN MY PANTIES, NOW!” she commanded hoarsely, loosening her grip around my head. I immediately obeyed, pulling them over my head, down her legs, and off her feet. A hand then yanked my hair and shoved my face into her swollen lips. “Use some tongue this time. I expect this one to be even better than yesterday,” she ordered me urgently.
I didn’t often go down on girls over the years. But, I knew the lay of the land, and I was pretty talented with my tongue. Although I was at first hesitant, her moaning above me encouraged me to lose myself in her bush. I started giving it my all in a heated passion. She moaned louder and clenched her legs around my head, while using her hands to pull my head deeper into her cleft. Although I started having trouble breathing, I licked and sucked with reckless abandon until I felt her body scream and a wave of her juices hit my face.
We laid there for a minute, panting. I waited, still trapped between her legs, looking up past my daughter’s bush to see her eyes closed and her body stretched out, basking in the afterglow. I felt a twinge of pride, knowing that she was pleased with my performance. Although I was expecting some kind of compliment, she simply commanded, “Take your underwear off and kneel in the middle of the floor.” I thought that was odd but I did as she asked. She then stood up and got ready for bed, without so much as a glance in my direction. I watched her intently as she took her bra off and changed into her white nightie, brushed her teeth and hair, then left the room and walked downstairs. I remained kneeling as she commanded, wondering what she was up to, but praying that it involved her and my penis.
I heard the garage door open then close, and then Kyra returned to her room and stood over me. She had a length of thin rope in her hand, which she set on the bed. “Come here,” she purred sexily, beckoning with her finger for me to rise. We both rose simultaneously – that is, my cock and I. “That was quite a performance you gave, little man. I think I may have found myself a new sex toy.” She draped her hands around me as she caressed my face, neck, and shoulders, drawing me tantalizingly close to her nipples pointing out from her shirt. Oh God, I couldn’t help but get aroused around her when she wasn’t trying to excite me, but now that she was focusing her seductive powers on me, I was becoming nearly delirious from her attention. Her hands felt sooo good on me, her magnificent body was looming inches away, teasing me with its gentle undulations. Oh my God, I needed her so fucking badly! My entire body and soul was focused on her as I prepared for her to reward me.
“But, Daddy,” she continued, “you did a very, very naughty thing today, didn’t you?” she said, putting on a pouty face. I nodded up at her, wide-eyed at her magnificence and having no desires except for her to return the favor and bring me to orgasm. She leaned forward and started backing me toward her closet. “And what happens to naughty little boys?” she whispered seductively. I couldn’t find the words to respond as her hand drifted down and stroked my member. It only took her slightest touch to bring me over the edge. I began to spasm in glorious pleasure, but was violently jarred out of my ecstasy as her hand again clamped down with excruciating force on my shaft.
Her face instantly changed to a sneer. “…They are punished,” she completed her sentence with scorn as she shoved me backwards. I flew off my feet and crashed into the back wall of her closet, then crumpled onto the closet floor. My mind still reeling, I saw everything go dark as Kyra shut the folding closet doors. I heard her take 2 steps, pick something up, and then return to the closet. She cracked the doors open again, leaned over to peer down at me still on the floor, and said, with biting condescension, “This is how little perverts get punished. You’ll stay here as my little prisoner until I think you’ve learned your lesson. I’m going to bed, and I don’t want to hear so much as a peep coming from this closet. And,“ she said, pointing down with disdain at my still-hard cock, “if you cum inside my closet I’ll spank your ass so hard you’ll never walk again.” With that, she slammed the doors shut and I heard her doing something with the handles. Remembering the rope she had in her hand, I realized that, holy Christ, she was locking me in here! I was trembling in fear, not knowing just how far she would take this. I recalled the incident at the mall where she left me and drove away over a minor quibble, but now that she caught me spying on her while masturbating, I shuddered to think how long I would be in here.
As she turned the lights out and got in bed, I kept the faintest glimmer of hope that she would reconsider and let me out that night. After all, hadn’t I just given her the best orgasm of her life to that point? Maybe that’ll count for something? But as the minutes dragged on, this last hope faded as I resigned myself to sleeping out the night trapped in my daughter’s closet. ‘It won’t be so bad,’ I hoped, ‘she would free me in the morning before school, and I could put this degrading episode behind me.’ With painstaking care not to make a sound and upset Kyra, I slowly repositioned myself until I was somewhat comfortable, laying on top of my daughter’s mess of crumpled clothes, shoes, and boxes. I was unable to sleep for some time, listening to the steady breathing of my daughter sleeping soundly and comfortably in her bed. Hearing that she was asleep, I decided to risk it and test the doors, slowly pushing them outward. They barely budged, and I didn’t want to risk testing their full strength lest Kyra wake up and beat me to a pulp. Helplessly trapped, I eventually settled down into my lumpy bed and faded off into a troubled sleep.