Crumbling Boundaries

I live at home in what is one of the larger houses in our area, with wide porticos and fenced back yard, swimming pool. I grew up here with my mom, dad and my sister in a close knit family, which changed somewhat when my mother divorced dad when I turned 18. She was restless and after twenty years of motherhood, in what she had convinced herself was a 'loveless' marriage, she just called it quits. I didn't hold any grudge and we were still close. Her restlessness now though meant I stayed at home with dad in the house. I could stay as long as I continued my education, and so long as I did well in school all expenses were paid.

While I took the break up well, dad took it very hard. He was 25 years older than me, and well, in those years of 'marital bliss' he had let himself go a bit. He would be considered overweight today (along with half the population), somewhat short and also with a thinning hairline. Thirty years ago he was a real catch, today his only saving grace would probably be his domestication by three women - mom, me and my sister. He had been well trained.

Things were completely normal for the first year, but I did notice that dad sort of got an increasing irritability over the course of that year, and I also noticed that he never dated, never even tried to meet women. I also began to realize that my life, my social life, my looks and body, became an outlet for him. It became a way for him to experience the world, through me. Because of his difficult position relative to mine, I was understanding of his pain – my absence of pain – and so I let go some of my boundaries, which may have been a mistake.

I would come home from a date late at night, wearing my red dress (killer), high heels, and looking very good – sometimes disheveled, and there would be dad. He would ask me who I was with, where we went, what we talked about, drinking everything in as I answered – watching me closely as I talked. On one evening I remember he followed me right into my room, which surprised me. I swung my long hair over my shoulder as I stared at him – he just stood in the doorway – and I started to brush my hair. Ok, what is this all about?

He asked out of the blue, "Did you make out with Dave?" (The guy I told him I went out with).

"What!"

"Uh, I was just wondering what you might have done after. After you went to the bar. Did you drive somewhere?"

"Should I be answering these questions?"

"I just.. "and he looked at me plaintively. I complied. My boundaries crumbling...

"We drove over to a little spot near the airport, it was a beautiful night – and yes I kissed him. We Made Out."

"Did he touch you?"

My eyes widened, "Uh, Yeah!"

"Where?"

"This conversation is not happening. Dad! You come in my room at 2 am and start asking me these very private things."

He backed away, and just sort of looked sad for a moment. So pathetic to me. There was a pause, and I shifted in my chair to face him, looking at the floor, and in a low voice recounted my time with Dave in the car.

"He had me laid back in the passenger seat which could be lowered all the way. He put his hands under my top and played with my breasts, my nipples. I didn't let him unbutton my top because he didn't shave and I knew if he did he would want to suck on my teets and I'd have rug burn on my chest (which had happened before). But I did let him remove my nylons and let him put his hands between my legs ( I thought that might embarrass him!). And, if you notice I am still not wearing my nylons – which I was wearing when I left – which means I have nothing on under this skirt, and I have to pee. I need to go to bed. Enough? Happy now?"

I looked at him with my head tilted sidelong and then turned to my mirror. He didn't say anything, quietly slipped out of the room – I watched his reflection leave in the mirror.

These little sessions over time became an increasing routine between us. I broke up with Dave, but was dating Tom, also a few nights with Troy. And on many of these evenings I shared my intimacies with dad (R Rated), and somehow it became normal with me and that was that. Dad seemed happier sharing these additional intimacies, and I thought this little indiscretion with dad would tide him over for the time being. I was wrong. -- It was a Saturday morning, a warm day, not a whisp of a wind. We had our windows open and some areas of the house could be opened up so there is really no distinction between being inside and outside. I was laying in the study area just at the edge of where the house becomes outside, napping. I felt a slight movement on the sofa, but was too tired to move or even open my eyes. Didn't even think about it. Then, I felt it. A light touch on my breast, just a pressure – a palm. 'It' lay still and then sort of slid off the edges and drew circles around my breast. One then the other. I opened my eyes.

"Dad!!"

I sat up and scotched back from him to the far end of the couch. I looked at him with my arms wrapped around my breasts.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Honey, I think about your stories and..."

I shouldn't have been fucking telling you anything. I knew it! You little pervert."

I had to admit my dad really went out on a limb here. He's not been with any women and it is making him insane. I settled down, and said, "Dad, you got to go out and meet someone. Really!"

He just said, "It's so hard for me right now," and let his gaze wander off.

"It'll be ok." I said and reached out and touched his arm.

A few days later I was washing dishes and he came into the kitchen, and moved up right behind me. I knew he was there.

"Got any dishes," I asked.

"No, I brought them all before."

And he placed his hand on each side of my hips. Ok. I kept washing the dishes as his hands began to move around. I remember thinking, god dammit – my poor pathetic dad. What now? And then, he slid his hands up and cupped my breasts again, sliding his hands softly over my top. I was not wearing a bra, he could feel my nipples. My hands were wet, I had a glass in my hand – so I clamped my arms down around his, started bending my knees lowering myself and said, "knock it off! I'm trying to do some dishes."

"Sorry sweetie," he said and left.

These incidents became fairly regular and no amount of yelling, or insults, or reasoning seemed to help. I was muddled. I love my dad, he is wonderful to me – I don't want to leave this house. He is so sad, so difficult; but really a very gentle sweet harmless little man.

One morning I was again laying in the study, again cat napping on a beautiful day when 'the hand' landed on my breast. It lay there again as still as a stone, and then sliding off and moving around. Again I had on no bra. I just lay there with my eyes closed and didn't move. I could feel my nipples tightening. He squeezed and rubbed endlessly, like a teenage boy.

Without opening my eyes I said, "you fuckin little perv."

His hand stopped.

"What am I going to do with you."

I opened my eyes, but didn't move or shoo his hand off me as I had in the past.

"Just a touch, one touch that's all. You are so beautiful, so much like your mother."

I smiled, he thinks I'm beautiful. I drifted off to sleep with his hands softly caressing my breasts. What the hell. I'm tired.

But within a week, the caressing of my breasts became a new norm as well. I did notice how much happier my dad was, he had that little bounce back in his step that I remembered. Maybe this was ok. If a little tittie can do that for him, well ok.

I would wash dishes now with my dads hands cupping my perfect little breasts beneath my white half top and we would talk about the day. I still called him a pervert and he replied that I was probably right.

There was a whole section of the house which was basically designated as mine. Set up as dining area, living room, my own bathroom. Access to this area was through a single door to the rest of the house. It was designed that way. My room opened into this area, and I felt it to be my space. When I showered or got ready there were no doors to lock, no one there, until...

I was getting ready one morning, had come out of the shower wearing a towel around my body and one on my head. Within a mirror on the wall, I spied Dad!

Oh my God! So my tittes are not enough for him any more – he has to watch me now. But I also was reasoning that if he saw more then he might touch less. I was also struck by the silliness of it all – what an adolescent he is I thought. I was not ashamed of my body, thought nothing of nudity, liked it in fact. It's harmless, who cares.

So I got 'ready' that morning. I let my towel fall to the floor and wandered around my room (probably more than I normally do) and let him get a perfect view of my titties, my nice brown nipples, and as a bonus of my nicely coifed pussy (I maintained a regular bikini wax regimen). I was especially proud of my ass and gave him lovely angles of my best feature as I bent over to pull on my panties, my pants, and then put on my top. I was 'ready.' As I began to move toward the door I had to laugh – in a flash he was running off down the hallway.

Well, today at least he didn't touch me. In fact I couldn't even get him to meet my eyes. His voyeurism continued though, and he seemed to be getting more blatant. And like everything else I got used to this new drop in barriers as well. In fact, this particular invasion of my privacy I had actually begun to enjoy – mainly because of its impact on 'ole dad, how shy and muddled it had made him. I've always been a bit of an exhibitionist.

I still kept a very active social life, I had school, classes, dates, girlfriends. And I kept my dads lechery from them, partly because they wouldn't understand his situation and also because he could get himself locked up! I was out on a date with Troy, came home late and tipsy. I had given Troy a blow job and he had come in my mouth, but it had also spilled onto my top. I had a little cum stain. And, even amazing to me, I was actually wondering if dad would show up at my door and ask me about my evening as I entered the house.

True to form, there he stood, hands in his pockets. I sat in my usual place before the mirror, threw my hair over my shoulder and started brushing my hair.

"Did you have a good evening?"

"Yes"

"What did you do?"

"Dinner, movie, dancing."

"Anything else?"

I let it all out in a rush, "Well, he took me to his place and I was so horny that I literally tore his pants off, I wanted a cock in my mouth so bad. I gave him a great blow job - I think anyway. He came in my mouth. Look. I spilled some cum here on my top."

My dad was flushed, but he stepped a little nearer to look at where I pointed. I had probably had near a whole bottle of wine and felt in a pretty playful mood tonight. As he stood there I unbuttoned my blouse and let it fall open and then slid it down off my shoulders. I sat facing him naked from the waist up, and held the top, balled up in my hand, for him to 'inspect.' He took it in his hand.

"It's warm," he said.

He kept looking at me, and I just said, "Nothing you haven't seen before, RIGHT Dad? Oh, and I'm not wearing any panties again tonight. Didn't bother. But Troy doesn't eat pussy – his loss."

As I was saying this, I lifted up my skirt to show dad my little cunny which was hugging down on the chair where I was sitting. He could only see the creamy skin of my abdomen narrowing to my dark narrow bush between my splayed legs, my mound pressed into the chair. What the hell am I doing? I thought. God, I must be drunk.

Then I said, "Shows over" and dropped my skirt. "Get out of here you little perv. Goodnight."

He left.

Well little did I know. The very next morning I got up later than usual and went in to take a shower. I didn't even bother to close the bathroom door though it was pushed closed, just not latched. I was lathering my hair when I felt a cool breeze and then felt the presence of someone right there in the shower with me.

I couldn't see, had my hands up in my hair, so I called out questioningly, "Dad. Is that you?"

No answer.

"That fucking better not be you!"

I felt a hand on the small of my back. I was frantically trying to wash the lather out of my hair, and yelling, "Get out of here! Get Out! Last night was me being stupid. Out!"

I could hear him saying something but couldn't make it out. Something about wanting to look at me some more.

"Well don't you touch me. God, you are such a pervert. Dad, you got to meet someone."

I finally was able to open my eyes, there he stood naked, which I had never seen before, with a full woody sticking straight out. I had to laugh, I said, "and DON'T touch me with that thing."

"Can't I just watch. No, no touching I promise."

"No touching! God dammit dad. Oh my God." And now, my god, here is dad standing in my shower with a woody watching me shower. I was soaping up and he asked, "here I can do your back."

"No!" But then I relented, "My back, ok, nothing else."

He took the soap and began to lather my back, set the soap down and then using his hands he traced my back with both hands from my waist up to my neck. If felt good, I had to admit. I was even calming down to THIS. He 'washed' my neck and then shoulders, and he let his hands wander down to my butt.

I just said, "watch it," but let him paw at my butt a little (my most perfect feature).

Then – of course – he was sidling those little hands around to my front – to my breasts (of course). He had his hands cupped around my breasts and was playing with my nipples. I thought, what the hell, but said, "Dad, you need to study your anatomy. I don't think that's my back."

But I let him hold and caress my breasts and tummy a little bit longer and then said, "Ok, shows over."

He asked, "can I kiss them?"

"Jesus dad – I'm turning the hot water off now. Time for your cold shower now," and I reached down as I got out and shut off the hot water. He was hit full with cold water and scuttled out as fast as he could. I laughed.

We were both naked now in my bedroom except for our towels, and he asked me again, "Could I kiss your breast?"

I looked at him. He smiled saying, "I've shaved."

I nodded, "So you have" then looked him in his blue eyes, smiled back, "Ok. You little perv. What am I going to do with you?" And I let my towel fall down around me to the bed. I was completely nude, just sitting with my legs slightly opened, feet on the floor, my little bush pressed into the bed, and dad next to me still with a towel around his waist, tenting in his lap.

He brought his mouth to my nipples and gave me the most reverential sensual kisses. I have very sensitive nipples, but it still surprised me. I felt myself go wet. His adoration was total, I had never experienced THAT before. I let him kiss my breasts for awhile, me just sitting on the bed naked with my towel laying around me and him next to me. I felt his hand on my thigh rubbing lightly close to my now wet center. He was just brushing the hairs of my bush. THAT will be next I thought.

He brought his head back, and looked at me in the eyes, "I'm so lonely honey, you have no idea what you, this means to me." Such devotion, it brought tears to my eyes.

I leaned in and kissed him. It was supposed to be a daughter type of kiss – I intended it that way, but I parted my lips and found his tongue. I took his face in my hands and traced my tongue around his teeth, felt his lips on mine, and we tongued like this for awhile. I felt him extend his hand so that it cupped my puss and I could feel myself tingling right up my spine. I knew that he could feel my wetness.

His fingers were beginning to wriggle their way into my slit. I let him feel one then two passes through my slippery wet center before I gently said to him, "Ok. That's enough. I got to get ready – I'm going to be late, and you have work to do. We'll talk about this later."

But his fingers were finding their way into me, and I could feel my hips involuntarily sliding against his hand. Could feel waves of pleasure rising, muddling my brain. I didn't rise from the bed or move, or move him as I said those words. His gentleness was intoxicating. We said nothing, as I continued to part my legs and tip my hips toward his fingers exposing more and more of my nakedness to him. He bent his head and placed his mouth once again on my breast, and with a perfect pressure sent new shivers down my spine.

I just whispered. "Dad. Dad, we have to stop." But again I did not move at all. In fact he was motioning me backwards onto the bed as I said this, and was slowly letting myself fall. His towel had fallen open and I could see his cock rising up from the towel where it opened in front of him. I was letting his fingers slide inside of my pussy now, up inside of me. I could feel that space inside being filled, as his thumb found my hardening clit and I could feel his wonderful tongue swirling around my nipples. Oh my god, my resistance was melting utterly. I started to rock my hips into his hand harder, to push down onto his hand, and he looked up at me, questioningly. I needed more.

"Ok. You, you can eat me. Lick my pussy, but that's it. Ok?" And I again put my lips to his and let my tongue play with his. God I was hungry now. He lowered himself between my legs and I lifted and parted my knees, brought my legs full apart exposing myself fully to him. He pressed his tongue into me and with his fingers separated my labia, my full pink slit was open to him, and I felt his tongue sliding the full length of me, licking my wetness and the bare skin on either side of my pussy (which I Loved). Oh my God that felt so good. I rocked myself against his tongue, and he let his fingers roam inside of me. He had one hand holding my hip, lapping at me with a steady rhythm. I looked to my side and could see his hard cock hanging down between his legs, as he was stooped over me while resting on his knees.

What was I thinking? I reached for his cock with my hand, as I kept an even hip rhythm with his tongue, and began to slide my hand along his shaft. It was dripping with precum and was so wet that I could lubricate his cock, and slide my hand along its whole length. The pressure of his tongue on me was inexorable, intoxicating and I could feel a wildness rise in me. My heart was racing, I was pressing my head back into the pillow, stiffening and arching my back. His fingers were so deep up inside of me, I started to move hard against that hand that mouth. Could feel myself coming. I started to moan and he paused to look up at me, so I just took my one free hand and pushed his head back down into me. And I could feel myself coming, it rose up out of me as I lifted my ass from the bed and began to cry out loudly. I was lost, coming in a wonderful and beautiful wave of passion and release. I settled back down on the bed, feeling peaceful and utterly content. My god I couldn't remember coming like that. As I drew back my senses I could feel hands still laying on my puss and this mouth begin kissing its way up my abdomen.

I looked at him, "That's what you've wanted. You bad old man." I still had his cock in my hand and looked at it now, he was still on his knees. "Come here. I think I owe you a little something now. This is crazy." And I brought him up by me and lay him down on the bed. His cock was sticking straight up and was deep red, almost purple.

"Looks like it hurts," I said playfully. "Lets see if this helps."

And I let my mouth sink around his cockhead. Kissing it lightly. Parting my lips pressing just a little and then backing off. I knew it drove him crazy. He kept pushing upward with his hips as he watched, my breasts hanging down right beside him. I could feel him absently palming my breasts, but don't think he even realized he was doing it. That's what's gotten me into this mess I thought.