And Then There Were 6

"And I'd like you to welcome our newest member - Lucy. Lucy?"

I stood to take the muted applause from the 5 other girls. Looking round, they didn't seem the type. But then what was "the type"? Christine whom I had known since I was 10. Anna, who was in the year above me and preparing to go to university. The chairwoman, Penny - quite honestly the most "untype" you could ever meet. A girl I had never met, but who definitely looked the type. And of course Sue, the founder of the club and the one who had been the centre of all those rumours last year. Rumours which, it now seemed, might be true.

Chris had invited me along after we had got drunk one night and she had admitted during a game of Truth or Dare that she was beginning to get weird feelings about her dad. That sometimes she imagined him on top of her (her pillow played the role) and that she had fingered herself to orgasm on numerous occasions, whilst thinking about him.

My response had been surprising, even to me. It didn't shock me. In fact it kind of excited me. Christine's dad was a looker. He had been in a band or something in the 70s and had a kind of rebellious air about him. She had always been the first to try new stuff - cigarettes, drink, ecstasy. And now this. Not that she'd actually done anything. This was a fantasy that would never be realised...

This society had been set up with all the secrecy and membership paraphernalia of the freemasons. One morning Chris had mentioned that I might like to come along. I was curious of course, and that lunchtime found myself in the basement under the games room. This was where they stored all the sports equipment for the school. At the far end there was a disused office. Invisible from the main room due to the mountain of goalposts, netball posts, rubber mats and hockey sticks piled up, it was an ideal location for a secret meeting. Furthermore Anna was the keyholder, having secured a temporary post as "equipment monitor".

The girls looked at me with a strange combination of lust and wariness. Anna spoke again:

"Lucy, as you probably know, DILDO is the secretest of secret societies. We need to be confident that you will never reveal our existence to anyone outside of this room"

I laughed nervously. Jesus what were they like?

"DILDO?"

"Daughters In Love with their Daddies"

"Ah...what's the O for?"

They all smiled. An in joke no doubt...

"And to that end you must perform 2 tasks in order to be accepted as a member"

I looked at Christine. Bitch had never mentioned anything about tasks. I thought we were just going to drink Pernod and talk about what we'd like to do to our dads.

"You can of course leave right now, but we would ask you respect our privacy and keep the location of our meetings to yourself"

I looked round at the faces. They were completely earnest. This was obviously quite important to them. Christine seemed to be urging me to accept. And for her I agreed.

"Good then. Your first task secures our trust. You must masturbate yourself to orgasm in front of us. Right here. Right now. We will photograph you"

"FUCK OFF!"

Now I knew it was a joke. I searched the faces for some trace of humour. Some sign that this was all a set up.

"Lucy...", it was Christine speaking. "We all did it"

"Oh yeah right"

Anna reached inside a drawer and pulled out several photographs. She tossed 3 over to me. They were pictures of Christine, finger immersed in her drenched pussy, clearly enjoying herself.

"It's the only way we know we can trust you Luce", she pleaded, "imagine if these got out. We all have copies of everyone else's".

I looked through the other pictures of the girls in their school uniforms. Penny...vibrator thrust inside her, Sue, wide open and loving the attention, Anna being tongued by the girl I'd never met. These pictures were hotter than anything I'd ever seen. I imagined myself, sitting on the couch while they watched. It didn't seem so bad. I was aware of juice running down my leg and I was beginning to lose any sense of inhibition.

"OK", I heard a distant tiny voice say, barely recognising it as my own.

I plonked myself in the middle of the sofa, not quite sure how to start. I let my legs fall open and started caressing my bare thighs self consciously, eyes closed, thinking beautiful thoughts. In the distance I heard the faint rumbling sounds of school life. Shouting, running, screeching, fighting. To think that all that was happening just a few feet above our heads. And here was I in this musty office, stroking my thighs and exposing my panties to these strange girls. The light was quite low in this secret room and the memories of the photographs were still sharp in my mind.

I was beginning to feel more comfortable as I hitched my skirt up, easing my hands up my legs and resting them in my lap, my white panties now moist with anticipation. I traced the lips of my vagina through the material aware that my clit was almost bursting through. Why was this turning me on so much? I could smell my scent clinging to the dusty atmosphere, and I was aware of an occasional low moan from one of my voyeurs.

I had half a mind to finger myself through my panties - I mean there was nothing in the rules that said ..., but suddenly I knew I just had to get my cunt out.

God what was I doing? Easing my knickers down my legs, eyes still tightly shut, I opened myself wide, my juices dripping onto the sofa. I heard the click of the Polaroid and opened my eyes. Penny was perched on the edge of the table, camera lens glinting down at me. Glancing round I saw the other girls willing me on. The girl I had never met had her hand down her panties as she watched me lustfully. I blushed bright red as I made a mental note to get to know her.

My exposed clit was completely soaked in silky juice as I rubbed it gently. The familiar feelings were beginning to overpower me, the tingling sensation giving way to an overwhelming urge to pee. Except it was different. More intense. The sensation became almost unbearable as I frigged my tight shaved cunt in front of the 5 girls. Part of me wanted to run away, to flee the scene and finish in private. But the other part of me, the part that oozed my mouth with lust fluids, wanted to cum like a rocket, to explode in their faces. I realised I was moaning, whimpering, as I rubbed myself with increasing intensity and fervour. The pitch of my moans rose until I was almost screaming with every gasping breath, my fingers frantically milking my hole, my cunt wide open and dripping. I heard another camera click and I wanted it. I wanted her to capture the moment as I erupted, my face contorted in ecstasy, my lips throbbing, my clit pulsating and raw, my cunt leaking cum. Oh yes! Daddy! Fuck your slut daughter. FUCK ME!

They all surrounded me and hugged me and kissed my flushed cheeks. The girl I'd never met slipped her face between my legs and took a mouthful of cum before being dragged off by a protective Christine.

"Wow Lucy! Hot"

The others concurred. I was a hit it seemed. Barely able to stand I pulled my knickers up. The girl I'd never met was staring unashamedly at my glistening wet vagina. Those eyes! That mouth! She looked like the horniest bitch I had ever seen.

"I think I speak for all of us in welcoming Lucy as a provisional member"

"Hear Hear!" they concurred as the snapshots were handed round.

"So Lucy, do you want in?"

I giggled diffidently.

"There is of course the small matter of the 2nd task"

I swallowed hard. Nothing could be worse than that though surely?

"To gain full access to the club, with all the benefits that confers, you must provide a photograph, taken by yourself, of your daddy's fully erect cock. Cum will earn you extra points..."

"Mmmmmmmm..", they all moaned simultaneously like Homer Simpson, "...daddy cum. ggggrhll"

The rest of the meeting was spent listening to various tales, some of which were undoubtedly fabrications, of teasing and "close encounters". Anna told us fondly how her father had become a house husband due to her mother's illness, and how she enjoyed making him squirm by leaving her worn panties on her bedroom floor, so that he was forced to pick them up and sift through them. And how she made sure that they always bore the unmistakable aroma of her cum.

Christine was a bit tongue tied in my presence, but she did eventually admit that she had recently masturbated in the bathroom, making sure her daddy could hear her moans...

So basically that's what they did in this club. They invented more and more ingenious ways to get their fathers to notice them as women. Their reward? Out of this world orgasms, unexpected presents, and an unprecedented degree of attentiveness from their fathers.

I wanted IN.

Part 2.

"They liked you" said Christine as we walked home later that afternoon. I'd been unable to concentrate much on the lessons, partly because of the sticky warmth in my knickers, partly because of my 2nd task. It had seemed quite straightforward when Penny had said it. All I had to do was get him drunk, unzip him, and snap, 'Bob's yer Uncle'. Hmm. Except he wouldn't be stiff. And he wouldn't just let me, no matter how drunk. And... and...

"You can always get Amy to help you. That's what I did"

"Amy?"

"The...nympho. She took quite a shine to you"

"Ah that's her name. Amy. What's her story?"

"Don't know really. She says her Dad has magic fingers or something...she's a bit full on. She's moving soon, mum died apparently."

"Shame. How did she help you?"

"My Dad fucked her and I took a secret photo"

"Er, excUSE me?".

I stopped in my tracks. There were so many questions I had to ask: How? When? Why hadn't she mentioned this?

As Christine fielded my questions there was one thing I knew for sure: whatever Amy's talents, there was no way my father would have anything to do with her. No, I had to do this thing alone. I just needed a plan...

Timing wise things couldn't have been better. My mother is a nurse and she was working nights for the next 3 weeks. This meant I had an unusually large amount of quality time with Daddy. I sat at my homework desk in the attic and made copious notes and sketches. If this had been a history assignment I would have got an A for effort for sure. But after an hour I realised it was hopeless. I didn't know anything about men, let alone this particular one. The one who had raised me so well, who'd encouraged me at school and with my dancing. The man who'd - wait! Dancing...

---------------------

"What on earth are you doing? Put that chair down you silly girl"

I reluctantly replaced my artificial dance partner back with his 3 chums round the dining table and clicked off the cheesy "Songs For Lovers" from the stereo.

He laughed apologetically, clearly slightly ashamed he had admonished me so.

"I'm just practising smooching", I lied. "For the end of term ball".

"Hmm, your partner seems a bit wooden. And look at his bowed legs. He looks like he has 4 left feet, and as for -"

"Yes yes, it's OK daddy I get the joke!"

"You do? Then my work here is done".

"You could help me? I don't want to look like an ostrich out there"

"Ooh no."

"But WHY?". I summoned up my best 'it's not fair' tantrum face.

"Hmm let me see...ah yes that's right. Because I don't want to. And by the way, that face hasn't worked since you were 8"

"I'll make you dinner. Juicy fillet steak. Medium rare. Perhaps with some fava beans and a nice Chianti. Fffftttt"

"Chips? Tomato sauce?"

"Yuk. Um, whatever..."

"Deal"

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"You see, smooching is all about empathy - you each follow and lead at the same time until both partners know almost instinctively what feels right for the other"

This was probably the longest sentence my father had ever said to me. Clearly my meal, and maybe the 3 glasses of wine, had loosened him up a bit.

"That way there are no jarring surprises or stepping on toes - are you sure that's what you'll be wearing to the ball? It doesn't look very formal"

After dinner I had changed into the most girlie thing I had - a dark blue flouncy summer skirt with big white polkadots. It came to about mid thigh, but swished beautifully when I turned, or even when I just took a few steps. I didn't often wear it in public since Christine had informed me that it was going to be impossible to keep my knickers from showing as it bounced so lightly when I walked.

I had deliberated long and hard about the top. I didn't want to look too slutty and obvious, but at the same time it was important that he got a good look at my figure. In the end I'd opted for a soft white cotton off the shoulder crop top which showed just enough cleavage and of course my tummy piercing. I experimented a little in the mirror; when I stretched to full height the top rode up to expose the underside of my bare breasts. Too much? Hmm, well would I need to stretch anyway? And I liked the way the material clung to my large breasts and then draped freely

Then I'd slipped on my white thong, the feel of which always turned me on. Before going downstairs for my dance lesson I'd looked in the mirror again and hitched up the skirt. I couldn't resist touching myself through the sheer fabric, already moist....maybe just a quick...NO. I must resist. Although a few dabs of my scent behind the ears won't do any harm. I presumed my erect nipples would subside by the time I got back downstairs...

"It's modern day formal"

Who knows what that was supposed to mean? No matter, he let it pass.

"I don't really understand...empathy?"

"OK, stand up, let me show you. Give me your hands"

As I felt his strong hands encase mine I knew I had embarked on a journey from which there was no turning back. Daddy had never been a tactile person - like so many men he was happier to cram his emotions and sensitivity inside until they cracked him open or drove him insane. His hands were softer than I imagined they'd be, but they were the hands of a man you could trust.

"Now just try to feel where my hands lead...and don't resist, go with it"

A little self consciously I tried to comply. As we held hands at arms length he slowly moved them in all directions like a mime artist. Gradually I caught on, the key was not to resist or try to predict the path but simply to allow myself to be led. Occasionally I too found myself leading him in a circular motion, or forming a little archway with our arms. For a few seconds I found myself on my knees and felt his gaze burning into my cleavage.

"Good" he muttered. "Now try it with some music"

Dusk was easing in and the room became dimmer, the old log fire affording the only source of light as we continued our empathy exercises. The music had added a texture that was hard to define...almost as though it too was somehow leading and being led. Slowly, inexorably we moved in closer, our hands still playing out the charade. And suddenly I was in his arms, he in mine. It wasn't much....but it sent pulses of excitement through me. To feel him at last against me, his arms round my waist, his cheek brushing mine as we slow danced.

Unsure of his feelings I concentrated hard on continuing the exercise, making sure that where his body led, mine followed. The movements were smaller now, his hips were swaying gently in perfect time to the slow music and I felt myself melting into his embrace, my head resting on his shoulder, my arms wrapped loosely round his taut body. I was ready to go wherever he led me.

In this cauldron I became sensitive to the slightest changes. His breathing had become quicker and I could feel his heart pounding like a toffee hammer. What thoughts were going through his mind? What did he want of me, his girl? In a gentle, seemingly casual movement he moved his hand to the small of my back. The feel of his touch on my bare skin made me tingle, but I knew I must on no account break this mood. The sensation of holding his daughter, of touching her body was affecting him also. It was an almost imperceptible nudge, but I felt it all right. How could I not? Our hips had been a whisper apart but now he was pulling me to him and I felt his growing erection through the flimsy fabric of my skirt. Still we danced, the atmosphere charged, our bodies hardly daring to move lest the other should break out of the spell.

I felt his fingers gently circling my back, under my top - a small sigh greeting the discovery that there was no bra, his hand nervously venturing every now and then to my waist, my hips, back up to my shoulders, my neck- his touch always tentative as though anticipating the inevitable knock back. His other hand had dropped so that it perched on the waist band at the back of my skirt, enabling him to draw me into him.

If there had been any doubt before, it now vanished. His erection was throbbing urgently against the top of my leg. Somehow I knew it was my turn to take the lead for a while. Coaxing his torso ever so gently he yielded to me until the pulsing rock rested between my legs. He sighed as I kissed his neck like a butterfly, my heaving breasts flattening slightly against his chest.

His hand had moved down even further, daring to caress my bottom through the thin skirt, tracing the line of my sheer thong between my cheeks. I felt my lips moisten as his other hand spread a little further up the side of my body until the knuckle of his thumb rested tantalisingly close to my naked breast.

This seemed to be the moment of truth. And I was powerless to resist. Again taking the lead I slid my body ever so slightly to the left. As though part of the same symbiotic movement he let his hand move upwards. And there it was! My father was fondling my soft young breast, his thumb grazing my pert hard nipple. His touch was the touch of an experienced man. Nothing like the frantic clutching of the boys I had, very rarely, granted access.

Neither of us seemed to be breathing. It was as though he too was making a decision. After all he could have easily broken free at that moment and apologised for the mistake....

Except....

His other hand had somehow meandered up the side of my bare legs inside my skirt. How did he want me to respond? Wasn't this after all why I had dressed this way? Wasn't this precisely what I had wanted? I licked his neck and ear in what I hoped was a sign of encouragement. I felt his hand waver slightly..hesitating, so I moved my feet apart. By now the dance was just a thin veneer of propriety, a masquerade. I shuddered as I felt his fingers whisper across the front of my thong, barely a breath from my eager clitoris. Now he was tracing the line of the thong, slowly oh so slowly descending towards my inner thighs. And at last I felt his hand rest between my legs, cupping the soaked material, his middle finger stroking back and forth. I whimpered as he eased his finger, and finally his hand, inside the flimsy material, my wet shaved cunt his. All his -

TRING TRRING!

TRING TRRING!

Like a soap bubble evaporating in the air, so too our moment popped. It was mum on the phone of course, making sure he'd eaten.

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It was surprisingly easy to set up the camera. In these old houses there were plenty of nooks and crannies so I fastened my small golf ball web cam to the high rafters in his bedroom with masking tape. I'd long ago rejected the idea of a single photograph. I wanted to capture every delicious moment on film. Setting the timer I clambered down and lay on his bed. Even I couldn't see the camera, and I knew it was there.

I rushed back up to the attic to view my recording. A few minor adjustments and some zooming and I was all set. I played back the recording again in slow motion. Daddy had gone to the pub soon after his phone call and I hadn't yet changed. Such a pretty skirt...