Daddys Obsession

Here is the definition of MIXED EMOTIONS:

Hiding breathlessly in my 18-year-old daughter Vanessa's bedroom closet, peering out of the slits in the door, holding my aching erection in my hand with my shorts at my knees, while I secretly invaded her most personal private moment of her life, finding myself staring at Vanessa nude except for her bra lying on her back on her bed spreading her legs to her sides, while a big-titted, topless blonde (her red thong raising above her low-rise jeans over her skinny ass) bent forward and drove her tongue into my daughter's bald hairless vagina; meanwhile, my daughter was sucking the mammoth, rock-hard cock of some adult ethnic stud, her eyelids half-closed as she moaned lost in delight.

THAT, my friends, is mixed emotions. GUILT, for violating Vanessa's trust; DEPRESSION, that I'm so pathetic I can't help but watch; LUST, for my daughter's almost-nude body, clothed only in her bra; MORE GUILT for that reason too, come to think of it; MORE LUST, seeing Vanessa's topless, busty female friend; and an INTENSE DESIRE to shoot my cum watching these two sexy high school senior sluts fuck each other and this hung adult stud. You know, I should add another emotion that should be mixed into there -- ANGER, for Vanessa violating her long-standing promise to her mom that she wouldn't ever invite more than one other girl to the house, and here, she has a girl plus a very not-female, adult stud.

But, under the circumstances, I was going to give Vanessa a pass on the rule violation.

* * * *

I do wish I wasn't Vanessa's father, at times. She's fucking incredible. "Straight-B" student, I proudly can say; hey, she's not a geek. She's a bad volleyball player (well, bench-rider), practices piano too infrequently to be any good at that, and normally spends all her waking time on the phone, iPod, in front of the TV, or some simultaneous combination of all three. But she's a sweetheart, she wouldn't hurt a fly and is willing to help others at a heartbeat.

And she's, well, ridiculously cute. Maybe not a hottie or model, but, she's my daughter. Short and decently petite, not a skinny rail but a size 6P, delicate smallish breasts and a round (not fat, not tiny) bubble-butt. I love her shouldesr -- bony, wide, not frail. Her thighs are a bit thick, although it looks proportionate on her frame, and her waist and hips are still free of flab. Nice flat tummy for sure, super-soft (well, so it looks). Her dark-brown hair is about shoulder-length and on any given day is in a pony tail, two ponytails, a "whale tail" (what I call it, it's pulled together like a pony tail but then sort of cascades out in a fan-like shape), or just straight down her back. Her brown eyes are big orbs and she usually has a lot of mascara and makeup around her round face. Her nose is small, but her lips are pretty thick. Mmm, yes, thick lips.

My fascinations with Vanessa are my own business, but the reality is, two months ago I let my depravity get the best of me. It was really late at night, I climbed out of bed quietly so as not to wake my sleeping bitch of a wife whom I can't stand anymore, and I snuck to the bathroom to jerk off. I don't know what had me horny that night. As I passed Vanessa's closed door, I saw a dim light, and I put my ear to the door. I heard muffled noises, and fuck, my state of horniness went from a "7" to, like, "50." Maybe "500." I heard her distinct, sweet voice whining as she panted rhythmically, she was masturbating. I couldn't stop myself from holding my breath and listening more. A few moments later, though, she spoke -- into a phone, no doubt. She was quietly describing how her two fingers were stretching her cunt, which she said she'd shaved just earlier for the call. I mean, fuck, that's so hot. She was having phone sex!

To this day, I have no idea who was on the line. And I don't know what else happened with her. I felt a wave of guilt, plus anxiety at being discovered, plus lust, and I just ran into the bathroom and jerked off hard. Didn't take long. Sat there on the bathroom floor, well more laid on my back (I like to be flat when I jerk off), with hot cum dripping down my hand and stomach, imagining Vanessa nude with a bald slit and finger-fucking herself. I got hard again in seconds and jerked off a second time not even five minutes later.

I could picture her soft, fleshy pale thighs parting; her teenage mound all pink; her slender fingers rubbing that swollen pink clit, then pushing into her hole, her wrist turning as her fingers entered her twat. Her eyelids closed and her jaw open as she gasped and whined. Her ass cycling on her bed, her hips pumping, her fingers fucking herself. Fuck, I'm so hard even typing this right now.

That image lingered in my head a week or two, and it became the dominant obsession of my daily sexual fantasies. Not just Vanessa fucking herself; but her having phonesex. Or, even real sex. Wow, just to think, some guy's hard cock entering her wet pussy. It's so fucking hot to imagine it. Ooh, even better, how about MY hard cock . . . now I'm really getting vulgar and perverted. They can lock me up for mentioning it, right? But . . . she's so cute, and so tight, and so sweet. She's kissed my cheek a billion times whispering I'm the best daddy. God, what a disgusting sicko I am, I can't be a "best" daddy if I start to get images of my 5 1/2 inch erection sliding into Vanessa's dripping wet, shaved teenage pussy.

You better believe, late at night I'd go to the bathroom now and then, hoping to catch another free audible show. No luck. It began to torque my depravity, because the hot but brief memory of that phone sex created a desire to catch her at it again. And not just to hear it; to see it. How sick is that?

I started telecommuting a couple of days a week (I'm a copyright lawyer), so I often spend the day hidden in the no-windows work room in the basement. I came up one afternoon and scared the shit out of her in the kitchen, she was just back from school and had no idea I was home. So, it became her practice to ask in the morning if I would be home that afternoon. With my little head squarely controlling all decisions, one day I decided to lie to her. I'd be downtown, I told her, all day, home after dinner time.

Now, I didn't have a clue how I'd pull it off, I mean, how do I "get home" when I'm already home? So, here is how depraved I was. Before Vanessa got home from school, I parked the car a couple blocks down, around a corner. I'd just have to sneak out, walk to get it, drive it home. How weird would that be? And what if Vanessa or my wife called me at the office, and was told I was home all day? But, you know, horny males don't think logically.

That afternoon, I turned into a dog when I heard her get home. I snuck up the stairway low to the ground; kept my head poking around corners to see where she was; kept tabs on her time to time as she stayed in the living room and kitchen, doing her overlapping iPod/TV/phone activities. I was getting stressed and depressed that I was waisting time for something that wouldn't happen, when finally after nearly an hour she went up to her bedroom. And, to my delight, locked her door shut. Who locks a door when they are home alone?

And, yes, I pressed my ear to it. I didn't much hear anything, for about twenty minutes. Fuck, if Vanessa opened it to go to the bathroom -- well, I was a dead man. That would have to be some clever explaining; I decided, kneeling at her door, face pressed against it, I'd just confess my sins. What I heard, what dirty thoughts I had in my head. I don't know, maybe my self-deprecative decision to confess was actually a plan to see her reaction, see if she was disgusted or turned on. And thinking I was thinking that made me more depressed about myself.

I only heard the clicking of a computer keyboard, time to time, in that twenty minutes. I got sore kneeling there, and scared at the risk of being discovered, so I went back to the basement with a semi-hard cock. I was very disappointed I didn't hear her masturbating, and mad at myself for being disappointed about that.

And that's when I got this fucking disgusting idea. Vanessa had been complaining for months that her closet door needed to be fixed; it wouldn't close correctly because it had shifted over the years on its hinges, so now the top corner of the door was a bit higher than the doorframe. She could force it shut, but that would wedge it into place and it took a grown man (namely, usually me) to pull it open again. So she'd stopped using it for her day-to-day clothing, instead using it just for long-term or out-of-season storage. If I could get myself into that closet before she came home, I might have a pretty good image of her bedroom -- the closet was in the middle of the wall across from her bed and computer desk.

Some of you reading this will be saying, Billy, you're a prick for thinking that. Others of you, the freaks, will be saying, good fucking idea you asshole. But I'm a freak and an asshole, so the next available day when I didn't have to be in the office, I stayed at home and basically ignored real work to work on my plan.

I fixed her door, first of all. I got it to jam into place, but with very little effort. That way I could go in and out at my leisure, and if she wasn't in the room, she'd have no idea. Then, I arranged the big plastic containers and hanging clothing inside so create a little seat for myself in the middle. I could hide the seat by pushing the hanging clothing over the containers; then make the seat by jamming the clothing to the sides. And, here is what a real jerk I am. I put a couple of tools in the closet, so just in case she came into her room while I was leaving it, I could claim I was trying to fix it. (If she caught me IN the closet, well, I'd need a worm hole and a time machine to get out of that predicament, although I hear, worm holes ARE time machines, I guess.)

The rest of the day I was nervous as fuck, pissed that I was going to do this. I rearranged calls with people at the office and laid excuses that I wouldn't be available later in the date. About the time Vanessa should be getting home, I was light-headed and even sick to my stomach. But my cock ached, and like I said, it was running the show. I snuck into her room, sat carefully on the storage bin I'd arranged, and shut the door. Peering through the horizontal slits of the door, depending which one I selected, I could spy the surface of her bed pretty well; and another slit a little higher let me see her computer screen.

Daddy's a pervert and a loser, I thought to myself, but I wasn't going to stop now.

Boy, what a bad plan this was. It felt like an hour passed before Vanessa even got home; and when I heard her come into the house, it was like another hour, it seemed, before she came to her room. Next time, I told myself -- if there is a next time, which I told myself there wouldn't be -- I would bring a clock.

Watching, er, spying on Vanessa in her private bedroom turned my sick stomach into full-blown nausea. I saw her move around her bed, getting something from her desk, a book or something, then a pen. Ok, horny man, I thought, this isn't very sexy. And, of course, she left the room then. Didn't I feel stupid?

But I didn't move. How could I? Maybe as punishment to myself for acting like such a prick, I scolded myself saying, I'm staying right here in this closet until I hear my wife get home, then I'll sneak out and get my car. My back and knees were aching, and holding still for that long seemed impossible, but the pain was my way of getting back at myself for doing this in the first place.

I wasn't even concentrating on the room, I was trying not to pass out and softly rocking without making noises to keep my knee from stiffening too badly. This was something of a torture test, and I whispered out loud, is anything worth this?

It couldn't have been five, ten minutes later before Vanessa came back into the room, and answered the question affirmatively. She shut and locked her door. My heart jumped, I leaned forward and glued my face to the closet door, eyeing out of the slits. Vanessa wasn't moving quickly, but it was like she had a mission. I saw her back, then saw her lifting her sweatshirt over her head. Ooh, daddy's dick got hard. I looked lower, and saw her unfasten her bra from the back. Jesus, there was my daughter's naked back. Turn around, baby, I thought. But instead, she unsnapped her jeans, and pushed them off. She had on a black thong. I'd never seen her in a thong; it was divine. Her ass was fucking perfect. Meaty, soft, fleshy, not oversized, would nicely fill two male hands. Perfect over her fleshy thighs.

She half-turned now, and her perky little titties appeared. Daddy was in love! Her nipples were small and pink, but rockhard, knobby points on the fronts of her soft small sacks. A-cups, I would say. But soft and young.

Daddy stared at her nude breasts for a second, then saw her reach down to push off her thong. I wasn't breathing now. I looked through a lower slit, and saw her step out of her thong. I looked higher again. And I saw her perfect, naked ass. Vanessa was naked for me. Well, okay, not for me. But she was naked.

Vanessa slid onto her bed, propping up a pillow against the headboard. She crawled over to the nightstand and bent over, giving me my first look at her pussy from the backside. It was slightly hairy; she hadn't shaved, it seems, since that phone call three or four weeks ago. But it was an 18 year old pink vagina, and it was moist. It looked delicious.

From the nightstand, Vanessa pulled out a thin stack of papers, like something she'd stapled after printing a bunch of things. Maybe emails, something like that. My naked daughter slipped onto her back and butt against the propped-up pillows, holding the papers in one hand, and her other hand slid between her nude thighs. Inside my pants, my penis was on fire, aching to pop free. I watched in lust as my brunette daughter slowly fingered her clitoris and read several pages of this stack. I couldn't see her pussy directly, just her spread thigh and her hand digging into her crotch. But I focused on her perky little breasts as she breathed heavy, and watched her face as she read whatever work of porn was written on those pages.

Vanessa's fingerfucking was incredible, it took a while for her to get very wet, but eventually she tossed the papers down, slid flatter on her back (apparently, she masturbates like her father), and pulled her knees up to open her legs more. That hand over her cunt pumped hard and she moaned louder, wiggling her hips furiously. Her eyes were open as she stared at the ceiling, fantasizing about something good as she stuffed fingers into her cunt. Daddy was so turned on watching it; I could hear her wet pussylips, the sucking, sticky noises of her fingers working in and out of that wet pussy. I couldn't help but rub my cock through my pants, and seeing and hearing and even smelling Vanessa fucking herself was the best sexual event of my life. I came in my underwear, if you can believe it. Then Vanessa came too, on her bed.

She is multi-orgasmic, I found out. Vanessa had a loud orgasm but kept fingering her cunt about another good 15 or 20 minutes, and had at least a couple more orgasms. And, she's slutty too; she pulled her fingers out a few times to suck them clean of juices. Daddy loved that, and was jealous -- I wanted a taste too.

When the show was over, Vanessa dozed off to sleep, nude, on her bed. I came a second time in my pants myself, then had to be content to stare at her nude ass and tits for about 30 or 45 minutes until she woke up. When she climbed out of her bed, I got another look at her cunt. Beautiful. An eighteen year old pink pussy, with short dark hairs growing around it.

Eventually, Vanessa left her room for the bathroom. I sprang into action, and jumped out of her closet then down the steps. A minute later, I was panting out of breath sitting in my car two blocks down the street. My guilt was pushed to the side, as I rubbed my still-hard cock in my messy-wet underwear, thinking to myself, that was sooo bad, but sooo worth it.

Later that night, with my erection subsided, I thought clear-headed. I hated myself and told myself never to do that again. I emailed colleagues and made in-office appointments every day in the afternoon that week, and for the next week. I also avoided Vanessa, although of course she didn't do anything wrong whatsoever. But you know how things go. I couldn't get the image out of my head, and I masturbated about a half-dozen times a day picturing what I saw. I started to fantasize about Vanessa getting fucked, wondering what she was imagining when she was fucking herself. What turned my daughter on? What horny ideas was she picturing as she brought herself to those hot climaxes?

And, I didn't forget about those papers she had stashed away. I was home alone a few mornings later, I was going into office later and later to avoid traffic. I had twenty minutes to kill, and Vanessa was at school while my bitch wife was at work already. You know, I had no business going into her room over to that nightstand. No business at all. But I still did it. Opened it right up, looked for those papers. Whew, they weren't there, she'd moved them or disgarded them.

That should have been the end of it, right? Not for Vanessa's perverted, asshole father. I started going through her other drawers. I have never been a guy to stare at a thong and get hot, but seeing those thongs in her dresser made me remember her stripping one off, and THAT got me hot. There wasn't anything overtly sexual in the other drawers, until the bottom one. It was packed with jeans and capri pants -- overpacked was the right word. Those jeans were shoved in there tight. But still, I pulled the drawer out and poked around, and sure enough I found the folded-in-half stack of printer papers buried at the bottom.

My heart thumping and my cock suddenly engorged, I didn't look at the papers as I ran into my bedroom. I pulled my pants down and jumped onto my bed, much as I had watched Vanessa do, and I read what had gotten her so hot. Talk about guilt? Make it tenfold.

These were email printouts indeed. She had a private Yahoo! account ("mysteryslut18" -- go ahead, look at it on the Internet, you'll find it, you can even fucking email her at mysteryslut18@yahoo.com), and these were emails she was exchanging. There were about ten or more of them, and my first time through, I read them all rapid-fire back and forth. Most were from males, trading sex stories of how they'd fuck each other. I took it as stuff people who meet in a chatroom or through myspace or something might do email cybersex. Nothing was incredibly personal or accurate to lead me to believe she'd actually met any of the guys. But there was an email from one girl, actually a string of them. The girl's name was "Foxannah" (oh, that's SO real), and she and Vanessa were exchanging emails about the taste of pussy. Foxannah wrote this long, descriptive passage of how she'd spread Vanessa out and lick and eat her cunt with Vanessa grabbing the girl's hair to pull her mouth deeper into her pussy, and Vanessa would cum so hard in the girl's mouth that she'd almost pass out. Fuck, I had my orgasm jerking off reading that.

The emails about guys sticking their hard cocks into her mouth, pussy and ass were really intense, because the knowledge that boys or men out in the world wanted to fuck my daughter (even if they never met her) was insanely sexy to me.

One guy wrote something that caught my eye. He had seen pictures of her, I guess, not naked ones, but something to generally know what she looked like, and he complemented that she was "fuckably cute." Hmm, I might have to agree with him about my daughter.