Whispers in the Dark_(1)

It was the summer of ‘69. My wife had been bitten by a scorpion while working out in her garden and had been hospitalized for a week. This undoubtedly had put a halt to our plans for that weekend and it had our fourteen-year-old sulking. She’d been looking forward to that trip for months and was walking on clouds in her anticipation. To her, the thought of flying for the first time was exotic in itself. She was devastated to seeing her dreams of escaping the rustic countryside on uncertain suspension.
The first two days went pretty much as expected, early to bed and filled with inactivity, and the occasional moan of disdain could be heard as she brood about the house to her mother’s unfortunate accident hissing and damning scorpions and every insect for delaying her vacation plans. And, It was during one of these low points that she became a bit bolder in displaying her misery. To the point of mumbling a muted cuss, shit! It was a teenager’s hell, and she was drowning in her displeasure. Then on the third evening I noticed something uncharacteristic in her behavior. She began taking, what seemed like, calculated risks. She had poked her head from behind the bathroom door after a shower, knowing well I was in my study, and then certain of my presence gingerly made her way down the hall wrapped loosely in a towel. It dangled weakly about her waist, exposing her breast as she walked away from me, before it dropped alongside her thigh exposing herself just as entered into her bedroom, which was at the far end of the hall, and in full view to me. She had shut the door gently behind her and then had stood leaning briefly against it. I could make out her silhouette underneath the door, as she stood absorbed to her daring naughtiness. I was briefly stunned by her bravado but admittedly inspired by it as well! I wondered what might be running through her head.

I admit I had once considered the possibility, to the verge of imagining us joined in a steamy fuck. If you’d seen her you’d see just how voluptuous a little girl she was even at the youthful age of twelve. She was cheery, always in giggles, and seemed to enjoy being a tease. She would bounce about the house in her school uniforms innocently, but with reckless abandonment, that she’d unintentionally provided me with infinite reasons for decadent thoughts, and, by the age of fourteen she’d become aware of my occasional stolen glances and seemed to be content with my fascination of her. Later, it was also evident that she too was taking pleasure of the attention I was showering her with. I could see she was pleased with her budding development in how she looked packed into her shorts or jeans. She was a wonderful little girl and an even adorable, promising, teen. She was true to some earlier photos of her mom at that age, and despite filling my head with errant thoughts. I only feasted on her playful exhibitions and never took it further than enjoying the sight of watching her ripen. But that evening I couldn’t contain my thoughts after watching her strolling down the hall naked. Her ass was plump and flushed to a warm rosy shade by the warmth of her shower that she not only looked inviting; she seemed to welcome my eye. I sat playing that stunning image over and over in my head until every step and her every wiggle, as she sauntered into her bedroom, was permanently etched warmly to memory. I could still see her curvy ass twisting and churning as if to smile to me as she walked noticeably uneasy down the hall. Her brown hair stretched down her back and clung wetly to the small of her back lying curled over the roundness of her fleshy ass. It was as if it had been placed carefully there by design. There were beads of water dripping off her hair that they rolled down the curvature of her waist down to her energetic thighs. She was the picture of a healthy, bouncy, teen.

I closed my eyes trying to shake the wicked thoughts that screamed in my head. So I poured myself some scotch and then made my way down the hall, cautiously. With reason I was nervous. I recall feeling much like that insecure teen I once was hoping to make it with that naughty Sheila who sat in the front row next to me, teasing me with her warm smiles and telling glances. And for that moment, I had seen her again in my daughter. Sheila was a Marilyn Monroe type of girl, curvy, lively, and full of mischief. Come to think of it, this too described my own little Lisa to a T.

I slipped quietly into the bathroom and shut the door carefully. I could hear my daughter’s stereo in the next room booming quietly. The bathroom was still humid and perfumed with cheery, fruity, scents that she’d used on her hair. Then as I placed my glass on the sink, I noticed the dirty clothes hamper and scandalously lifted its lid. Lying at the bottom and on top of her jeans and blouse was her white cotton bra and her matching little warm panties. They were a pair of white cotton delights sprinkled with little swirls of multiple hues of soft blues and yellows with pink little bunnies. I held my breath as I reached in and picked up her panties. They were soft and pillowed, fluffy to the touch, as they dangled limply in my hand. I held them contemplating smelling them, and as I did, my erection jerked me out of my hesitance. I brought them up to my face and then slid them gently over my lips. I closed my eyes and took in the soft, musky, aromas of fresh fragrant pussy. I think I bit into her crotch and sucked gently. My eight-inch erection was now arched painfully against my briefs and throbbed menacingly. I opened my eyes and examined her little trinket. They looked so small, but I could imagine them stretched agonizingly across my baby’s plump ass. I reached down with them in hand and quickly but quietly with my other hand pulled out my erection and then draped them over it. It jerked to one side and throbbed in frightening pulsations to the sinful act. I gave it a comforting stroke and thought of Lisa as she’d made her way warmly down the hall. This only caused me more pain. My head was in a swirl and the dizzying thoughts of wanting to seduce my daughter kept screaming through my head. She’ll let you fuck her, I heard myself thinking. I had lost control, because before I realized what I had done, my engorged dick throbbed wildly as it spewed rivers of warm cum onto the tiled floor. I removed her panties off my still throbbing erection and stepped back to see the pool of cum on streaked across the floor. It had never looked so thick or as white as it did then. But at least I could now slip it back into my pants without injuring myself. I wiped the thick glob of cum off the floor and flushed it. I then took my glass and drank from it letting the scotch burn soothingly down my throat. I must admit, here too, that that release was intense and not soon to be forgotten. But what I thought of doing next was not only bold it would be risky as hell!

It was now 7:30 pm. And the sun had begun to slip beyond the canopy of trees, of which our acreage had in abundance. I slipped my daughter’s defiled panties into my pant’s pocket and made my way back into the library. Her stereo was still churning out soft, soulful, moans of Motown. Once back in the study, I began to close all the drapes including those in the living room and then lit the seven candles that sat over the mantlepiece. I turned on my stereo and tuned it to the station I’d heard my daughter listening to. The music was soft and soothing. I freshened up my drink and then stood by my bookcase rolling three joints one of which I had laced with a little trace of cocaine. This was a stash my wife and I kept to enjoy in the privacy of our bedroom and on those evenings when our fuck sessions promised to go deep into the night. The laced cigarette was also my wife’s favorite. Claiming, and I’d seen evidence of it; it helped her loose all inhibitions. I fired one up and took, long, deep hits from it until I felt its warmth. After having smoked half of it I felt loose enough to try my luck. I took a deep breath and went over my plan quickly as I made my way casually, or as casual as I could muster, down the hall towards her bedroom. It wasn’t much of a plan actually, and though the intent was evident, I had gone down winging it to see what would come of it. However, I had hoped that my relationship with my daughter was secure enough to at least warrant me my forgiveness, if I’d read her all wrong.
I knocked, “Punkin?” I said opening the door. She hated it when her friends teased her after they’d heard me calling her this, but she relished it when I called her that. It often meant she could get away with anything, or help me rule in her favor when her mother tried being stern.