I live in a two storey house with my daughter, Angela. The house is far too big for our requirements but what the hell, I like it and it's a good investment. When Angela eventually moves out I'll think about selling and will probably get enough to retire on if I so desired.
The main bedroom (mine) is on the ground floor and the ground floor was considered to be my domain. Angela's bedroom was upstairs, along with a couple of spare bedrooms. Angela did all the housework upstairs, not that it required much. Basically she just had to keep her bedroom tidy, and dust the other rooms. Oh yes -- she also had to keep her bathroom in decent order. She does this quite willingly as the last time I did it I threw out a lot of half empty bottles and tubes of this and that. She was furious and is now taking care that I don't have reason to attend to her bathroom again.
Angela is eighteen and a cheerleader. Her last year as a cheerleader as she'll be graduating at the end of this year and hopefully will start to attend a university. The actual choice of whether she will or not is up to her. I'm hoping she'll get a decent degree, not a 'do you want fries with that' type of degree.
Tomorrow is the last big football game of the season, and Angela has invited the cheerleaders for a sleepover. How much sleep a bunch of excited teenage girls will get is another question entirely, but they'll be upstairs and won't bother me.
I pointed out to Angela that if there was too much noise I'd come up and make some noise of my own. Angela pointed out that the girls were sleeping over and that meant pyjamas and nighties and if I dared to come up I might catch someone changing and that would have ramifications on my abilities to continue breathing.
Various girls turned up for the sleepover. It wasn't the full cheerleader squad but from what I could tell it did include all the older girls. I suspected that this was going to be their last get together as cheerleaders as they'd all graduate and disperse after this year. The girls brought snacks and drinks with them. I was trusting that a bottle labelled Coca Cola did indeed contain that particular liquid, even if the colour did look a little sus. I wouldn't be the one trying to cheerlead with a hangover. A valuable lesson for them if they screwed up.
A couple of hours later it was dark. They had a noise maker playing, but not so loud as to annoy me or the neighbours. I was going to settle down and watch some television when Cecelia came drifting down the stairs.
A lovely sight, Cecelia. Tall, slender without being thin, very shapely with a full high bosom. (Very full, I might add.) Blonde with blue eyes and a sparkling personality, with an air of bon vivant about her. Did I mention her legs? Half a person's height is in their legs so as you can guess she had long ones. Long shapely ones. I could personally attest to this because she was in her nightwear which just barely reach down enough to cover her panties. Not that I was complaining.
"I smelled coffee," she said, "and thought I might grab a cup."
"Help yourself," I said amiably. "It's fresh made. Not enough to drink upstairs?"
"Oh, there's plenty to drink," she assured me, "but I don't really have a taste for, ah, soft drinks. So I came seeking something better."
She poured herself some coffee and sat down at the table to drink it. It was only polite that I should also sit to finish drinking my own. We chatted idly while we had our coffee. Nothing deep and meaningful, just how's school/work, the party, what are you doing right now.
Now I'm not saying Cecelia's nightie was see-through. It was, however, made of a rather flimsy material. I could definitely see her breasts pressing against that material, and would have been able to press her nipples with amazing accuracy. Cecelia also had this slight tendency to lean forward when making a point about whatever we were discussing, at which point the front of her nightie would gape, showing me a very nice pair of breasts, gleaming white and tipped with pink, which I manfully didn't notice.
With our coffee finished I stood up, took both the mugs, and put them in the sink. Turning around I promptly bumped into Cecelia who had chosen the moment to stand up and step away from the table. It was a rather firm bump, strong enough to knock her over if I hadn't hastily put my arms around her, holding her while she regained her balance.
It seemed she had a bit of trouble gaining her proper balance. I blamed that full high bosom -- it just threw her centre of balance off slightly, resulting in her leaning against me. I could feel those breasts pressing against me and I could swear that I knew exactly where her nipples were touching me. Acting on the assumption that my hands on the small of her back were actually holding her against me I hastily move them, dropping them lower. Did I mention that she had a pert little bottom? One that a man's hands could cover quite nicely?
"Um, your hands," she said, trying to sound embarrassed. I say trying as she wasn't blushing at all and actually had a bit of a smirk on.
"What about them?" I asked.
"They're on my bottom," she replied.
"No they're not," I denied. With that I moved my hands up (not off) and then slid them back down, inside her panties. "Okay, now they're on your bottom," I admitted.
"Do you mind moving them?" she asked.
Not telling me to remove them, just asking if I was going to move them. So I did.
"As you wish," I said amiably. "My pleasure."
My hands were now wandering around her bottom, stroking her cheeks.
"That's not what I meant and you know it," she snapped.
"Do I? A question for you. Did you lose a bet?"
"What do you mean?"
