Daddy 38

My mum kicked me out when I was 18. We never got on. She was busy creating a new family with my half sister and step dad. I was too much of her history to be part of her future. So I moved in with my dad. My dad, who I barely knew. He was in and out of my life as a little girl but I hadn't really seen him for a few years.

He lived with his girlfriend who was being overly kind to me, helping me settle in, making sure I had all the bits and bobs a girl my age may need. She cooked for me and we even had a couple of girly nights in on our own, watching crappy films and eating crappy food.

I felt settled, for the first time in a long time. Although my dad was distant toward me, almost afraid of me, but we were getting there. We had a lot of missed years to cover. It was awkward a lot of the time. We were both learning each others boundaries and doing a lot of tip toeing around each other.

Boundaries. Makes me laugh thinking about those early days living with him. The first time I noticed him noticing me was just after a shower. I wrap up in two towels, one for my hair, one for my body. I'm a big girl though, and the towels at my dads were not the bath sheets I was used to. They just about covered the bits needed. Anyway, I was doing my usual dash across the landing when I noticed him just standing in his doorway, watching me. He wasn't being shy about it. He was just stood there as if it were completely natural to watch his own daughter half naked on his landing. Something in his eyes made me slow down a little. I got to my room and shut my door, feeling unsure about what to do next.

I shook it off and put it down to him just not being used to me being there. But I couldn't get the look in his eyes out of my head. I'd never been looked at like that before. I'd had boyfriends, and girlfriends, but I had never seen that look in their eyes. I couldn't put my finger on what the look was. I just know it confused me.

It became a regular occurrence. I didn't bother dashing across the landing anymore. I would start to wander, to walk slowly, with purpose but not knowing what that purpose was. And he would just watch me. With that look in his eyes. Just silent. And it would excite me, gave me a thrill that I had never experienced before. I felt like I was waking up after being asleep for a long time and seeing the world slightly differently.

I began to imagine what it would be like to be with an older man. An experienced man. A man who knows exactly what I need before I knew it myself. I began to hunt them. And I didn't care if they were married or not, I just wanted to experience older men. At 18 the oldest man I slept with was 52. He was in awe of me and my body. He would tell me how tight I was, how lucky he was to be with me and I loved every minute of it. I'd never been worshipped before. But there was something missing.

My shower dashes were getting braver. To the point where I would accidentally forget my towel and just have a small hair towel to cover myself with. I'd use the towel to cover my front, and sashay across the landing with my long wet hair dripping over my curvy arse. And I would feel those eyes of his watching me, following me. I imagined them wanting me, needing me. And I would shut my bedroom door, panting, out of breath from the slowest walk. Wetter than I had been in the shower.

I began to imagine what could happen. What would happen. What I wanted to happen. I imagined him following me from the shower into my bedroom. I imagined him peeling the towel away from my body, his eyes drinking in my every curve. I felt his hands on my body, his rough hands, his gentle hands, his hands that used to hold mine to cross the road.

I'd writhe on my bed, imagining my own father's hands exploring my body, using my own fingers to explore my wetness and I'd imagine him on top of me, his eyes looking into mine, as he slides himself into me and my fingers would work faster and faster on my sopping wet clit, until I imagined him cumming inside me and my god the intensity of those orgasms had my legs shaking for ages afterwards.

I'd dream of him inside me. Of him on me. All over me. And I'd wake so confused but so turned on. I had to bury these feelings deep inside me. Knowing that I could never act on these feelings.

And then I saw them. Well, I heard them first. I came home from work early one evening and could hear them in their bedroom, the telltale squeak of the bed, the gentle soft moans coming from my dad's girlfriend, and, as I crept closer, crept up the stairs, the slapping of skin against skin. Their door was wide open. Why wouldn't it be? They thought they were home alone. I stood still, at the top of the stairs, watching my father's solid cock slide in and out of her. Wishing it was me. Wishing I was getting fucked. Wishing I could feel that feeling of him sliding into me for that first time.

They were coming to an end and I knew I had to get out of their view. And that was when he saw me. He was speeding up, fucking her hard, getting ready to release his load, when he spotted me staring at him. He stopped. Just for a second. And then carried on. But instead of looking at her, he looked me right in the eye as he came. I felt his explosion deep inside of me and knew I had to move but I couldn't. He was still staring straight at me with that deep intense look in his eye. Then he lifted his head, as if to shoo me away and I scooted off into my bedroom, realising I hadn't taken a breath for what felt like several minutes.

I had just watched my father have sex and instead of feeling weirded out by it, I was intrigued. I was curious. And more than ever, I was turned on. My toys were not going to cut it this time, so I jumped into the shower and turned it on full blast. I aimed the head of the shower at my clit and waited. Waited for the shower head to build my orgasm for me. The orgasm I wished my dad would give to me. It didn't take long, I closed my eyes and saw him looking at me as he came inside his girlfriend. I closed my eyes and saw his cock sliding in and out of her. I closed my eyes and imagined his tongue on my clit instead of the shower and I came so hard I had to grab hold of the curtain to stop myself from falling into the bath.

I knew that things would never go anywhere with my dad. That I would have to make do with the thoughts and dreams in my mind. Or so I thought.