Slipping 2

Chapter 9:

James: Sweetheart, listen to me. I understand how hard this is for you. But sometimes, you just can’t have what you want.

slippery_lil_clitty: there has to be a way, I really can’t take this anymore.

James: Sure. There’s always a way. But is it worth it? He’s your father, honey. You only have one. If you push this and it ruins your relationship, there’s no going back.

James: Hey… Come on, don’t cry baby. It’ll be ok.

slippery_lil_clitty: I have to go.

James: Sweetheart, wait…

I turned my cam off, logged off my computer and threw myself on the bed, wailing into my pillow with huge sobs. It wasn’t fair. I’d done my research. Girls my age were taken advantage of every day, all over the world. Unwillingly, by dirty older men that chased THEM. A lot of the time it was their family members. Uncles, brothers, fathers. All chasing after these stupid reluctant girls, doing all the work, seducing them. The internet was full of stories, pictures, videos. Endless amounts of proof that they had something I didn’t have.

No one ever chased me. Except maybe James, but even he was all talk until I made it really happen. What was it about me that made me so unwanted? Was I ugly? Fat? Annoying? Stupid?

It had been a few months since dad came home from the hospital. At first I’d been excited. A lot had happened while he was away, I’d had a few experiences that turned me from just another horny girl into a more experienced and sex starved one. I’d felt more mature, more ready to try and make something happen with dad. I thought I knew what I was doing, I thought I’d be able to make it happen. I was convinced that after all this time of touching myself and thinking of him, it finally didn’t have to be wishful thinking anymore. I thought I was somekind of expert in seduction.

Ha. Some seductress I turned out to be. The only reaction I ever managed to get out of dad was him walking away from me. And to make things worse, I’d been focusing so much on trying to get with him that I hadn’t even tried to get with anyone else the entire time. I felt like I’d go nuts if something didn’t happen soon.

James had tried to give me advice, and I’d followed it to the letter. He’d never steered me wrong before, but this time nothing worked. He told me to start slow. I’d walked around in front of dad in my undies, laid down on the floor in front of him to watch tv with my legs bent up and crossed at the ankles, my thighs slightly spread allowing him to see the crevice the cotton of my panties was tucked into. Just knowing he was right behind me on the sofa, that he could see the outline of my pussy through the cotton, it got me so hot I felt myself start to drip, felt my panties getting wetter and sticking to me more tightly and transparently. It made me start to rock my legs left and right, making my pussy rock slightly, causing a tiny amount of friction on itself. But the only effect it’d had on dad was to make him walk away and go work in the garage. I wasn’t even sure he’d looked at me at all.

A week after that I’d tried again. I’d had a shower and wrapped a towel around myself, and laid down on the sofa next to where he was sitting, my head on the armrest and my legs towards him, wriggling around to “get comfortable” and putting one bent leg against the back of the sofa and my other leg stretched out on top of his lap. All he had to do was turn his head to see a glimpse of my bare pussy.

He didn’t. He just left after a few minutes and started making dinner.

I kept up my routine of walking around in my undies, trying to get his attention, and slowly got more desperate. Now when I took showers, I never closed the door anymore. I’d stand under the running water for an hour, just hoping he’d walk by and see me. I heard a creak by the door once and my heart started pounding, I reached for the soap and started to “wash” myself, slowly rubbing my slippery chest and trailing down to my pussy, sliding the bar of soap around my mound and slipping it between my legs, convinced that dad was just outside, watching through the crack from behind the door. Closing my eyes and continuing to slide the soap along my pussy, spreading my legs and building to an orgasm…

And hearing the garage door slam downstairs. If dad was down there, he sure as hell wasn’t up here watching me. I was so disappointed I couldn’t even finish myself off.

And so it went for months. Me getting more and more desperate, him failing to notice all my attempts at arousing him, trying to make him think of me as something other than his daughter, trying to make him see me as a woman. And failing miserably.

Maybe he loved big boobs. Or slutty outfits. Or red lipstick. I had to find out what made him tick.



Chapter 10:

I skipped school a few days later, went back home after he’d gone to work, went upstairs, and walked into his bedroom. Men had magazines, right? Maybe those would tell me what he liked. I looked through his drawers, under his mattress, in the boxes in his closet. Nothing. I flopped down on his bed in frustration and hugged his pillow, breathing in my daddy’s familiar scent deeply. It smelled manly, strong, comforting somehow. God I wanted him so badly.

My eyes wandered over to his nightstand and landed on his laptop. Hey…

I bolted upright and snatched it into my lap, excitedly flipping it open.

Password protected. Shit.

I tried everything I could think of. His birthday. His mother’s name. His hobbies and his car. His favourite movie, favourite band, favourite food. Nothing worked and I was on the verge of crying from the frustration.

Not expecting it to work, but not knowing what else to do, I tried my last idea.

“Jasmine”

Holy crap… I was in. I was so surprised I laughed out loud. Sweet sweet daddy, using my name as his password. I was elated and eagerly started digging around in his documents and browser history. My spirits were starting to fall again the longer I looked, there was nothing. No porn sites, no search histories that could give me a hint as to what he liked in a woman. I was back to square one, when his email client popped up a notification alerting me he’d received a new email. Just a spam message, but looking through his other emails might be a good idea anyway. It’s not like I had anywhere else left to look.

Work emails, and lots of spam. All useless. The only actual personal correspondence seemed to be with some guy named Simon, tucked away into a password protected folder I couldn’t crack.