I look back to see if I can catch you watching me. I can feel you watching...tingles at the base of my skull as if you are already pulling my hair; an ache at the base of my spine where your hand presses to make my ass arch up to you; throbbing pulses in my pussy that crave to be filled by you. No, no one need tell me how wrong I am to feel these things. At 18, I shouldn't feel them for anyone - much less for you.
Well, as it turns out, looking back is exactly the wrong decision. When I see you standing there squeezing your cock through your pants, I swear I nearly cum without even a touch! My nipples stand at attention, inviting your hands-mouth-teeth to own them.
Delicious
I run my hands down the front of my dress and look down shyly. I know what I want. Know what you want, too! But it can't be - daddies don't do that with their daughters.
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I shouldn't think this way. I shouldn't imagine these things. I used to change your diaper and bathe you. Now you're a woman of 18. A very lovely woman with larger than average breasts, hips that are full and an ass that no dress can hide. Shit. Did you just catch me? Did you look back in time to see me rubbing myself?
It's agony for me. When you cuddle next to me on the couch as you did last night. My arm goes around you to hold you and it should be innocent and sweet but I feel, as I did last night, your breast pushing into my arm and my mind wanders. I start thinking things no father should think about his baby girl. But I do and so I grab a blanket to throw over us not to keep you warm but to hide my erection that inevitably happens. I try to think of anything else to distract myself but it doesn't work.
And now you're wearing that dress again. The one you know is my favorite. I try not to stare as you run your hands down the front of the dress. I've got to sit down for this or I'll end up grabbing my cock again. Where's that blanket?
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You're staring. I can tell. Oh this is wrong. These thoughts need to get out of my head. You're my daddy. I can't feel this way about you. I can't. But I do. There goes the blanket. He thinks I don't know why he uses the blanket. He's been putting it over us when I cuddle with him on the couch. At first I thought he was being sweet but then last night. Oh god last night it slipped off his lap and I saw it. I saw the bulge. I got so wet. I wanted you. Why do I torture myself so? But it feels so good being close like that. Being protected. Being made to feel safe and good.
Okay, leave. Just walk out the door and go to school. Grab your backpack, head out the door, and go. But I don't want to. I want...I want...
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I want you. There. I said it. I want my daughter. It sounds awful but I can't stop these feelings. Why won't you leave? You're going to be late to class. Of course it's college so does it really matter? So stay. Stay and come over here. Stay and come over here and let me touch you. Stop. Stop. Stop. Margaret Thatcher Margaret Thatcher. Think of Margaret Thatcher. Thatch. I bet your thatch is red like the hair on your head. I bet it glistens in the sun. I bet...damn it.
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