My daughter had always had a drinking problem. From the time she was a teenager and would come home late after just a "few" beers, through both of her marriages. She just didn't know when to stop. Occasionally she gets slobbering drunk and passes out, but more often she just gets crazy when she's drinking. She's either on the fight or on the make and there doesn't seem to be any in between. She was thirty years old the night she drove me crazy and just divorced from her second husband. She just had to get away so she came to spend a few days at home, in spite of the fact that her mom was in Arizona visiting our son. It wasn't a big deal, my daughter and I had always been pals, and over the years she seemed to confide more in me than her mother.
Not being a drinker, myself, I was naturally reluctant to go out to the local pub with her that night. But daughters always know how to get the best of their dads and out we went, agreeing to have a nice supper first. I figured if she had a full stomach, the booze wouldn't have so much effect. I was wrong. It didn't make a pinch of difference. A couple of hours after dinner and five or six beers later, she was stirring up trouble with the locals. Now my daughter is not a slut, in spite of the multiple marriages. Actually she has always seemed to me to be somewhat of a shy person. This was the first time I had seen her true colors. Understand that my daughter is a looker. She is quite slender, probably not much over 100 pounds and only five foot, one inch tall.
She's a natural blond, just like her mother, and keeps it bobbed short. On this fateful night she wore pale blue skirt that rode just above her knees, and a white blouse with no sleeves. I knew she was also wearing pale blue bikini panties because I had caught a glimpse of them as one of her many dance partners twirled her that evening. When I had finally had enough and she was on the verge of a fistfight with a jealous girlfriend, I drug her out of the bar and walked her to the pickup. Her fight turned to giddiness and she only giggled at me as I chastised her for her performance. I opened the door of the truck for her, whereupon she turned to face me, then leapt backwards, like a high jumper, onto the seat of the truck, giggling the whole time. I laughed at her antics but was also shocked when her skirt flew up to her waist, exposing those frail panties. With her legs hanging, her body was arched, pushing her bulging pussy upward to an extreme.
"Very lady-like," I said, as she turned to her side and sat up in the seat.
"Oops, can't let my Daddy see my panties, now, can I," she mused.
On the ten minute ride home she had me in stitches, making fun of the locals and talking about being married to a "farm boy". When we got to the house she wouldn't get out of the truck. She just sat there staring at me through the windshield. With the glare of the yard light, I couldn't see her well. Finally I went around and opened her door. She jumped from the truck, wrapping her arms and legs around me. She caught me off guard and I fell backwards, landing on my butt with my daughter on top of me. With both of us laughing like school kids, I pushed her to one side and stood up. She lay on her back, with her skirt once again up around her waist, legs spread and knees bent up. In spite of the humor, I couldn't help but fix my gaze on those very revealing panties. Through the gymnastics, they had pulled up tight into her pussy, and even in the poor light I could make out all the details of her lips and clit.
"Well now, that's really lady-like," I chuckled, and reached for her hand to pull her up.
We finally made it into the house, where she threw herself on the couch, spread eagle, her skirt covering her crotch.
"You sure are worried about me being a lady tonight. What's the matter, Daddio, don't you like my panties?"
I was speechless as she pulled her skirt up and looked down at her own panties, as though she had never seen them herself. She grabbed the waistband and pulled them up tight. Never have I seen such a perfect cameltoe. I tried to scold her, but no words came.
"Don't be such a prude. At least my pussy is still covered." Without hesitation she hooked her fingers in the leg of the panties and pulled them hard to the side. Her naked shaved pussy was there for all to see. It was fabulous! The puffy outer labia forced her inner lips close together and her luscious clit poked out at the top. My already hardening cock jumped to attention and I sat down to hide my excitement.
"Sara, please, you're drunk and out of line," I finally muttered. But my eyes never left that outrageous pussy. I had to get myself together. This was my daughter and I was sitting with a hardon, gawking at her pussy.
"I need a beer," she said as she rose and headed for the kitchen.
I didn't respond, but sat there trying to regain my composure. I could hear her rifling through the frig as I stood up, finally deciding that I would go to bed. My hardon was still an issue and bulged under my pants. She chose just the wrong moment to come back in, a beer in hand. She stopped mid-stride and stared at my misshapen pants. Bursting into laughter, she said, "So you did like my panties, or was it something else. And you're telling me that I'm out of line. Looks to me that you're out of room…..in your pants." At that, she fell on the floor in fits of hysterical laughter. Her beer fell from her hand as she grabbed her stomach and rolled. "My dad's got a woody," she chanted over and over amid the laughs.
Once the embarrassment passed, I was angry. "You're not funny, Sara. I think you should go to bed now. We'll talk about this in the morning."
"Not so fast, there, Stud Muffin. Was it the panties …. or the pussy?" She lay on her back, spreading her bent legs wide, once again exposing her crotch. Simultaneously she would pull the panties aside, then re-cover her pussy. Then pull them aside again. The whole time she chimed, "Is it panty… or pussy, panty… or pussy?"
In spite of my anger, I could only stare, and my cock filled my pants to the point of bursting. I turned and stomped up the stairs to my bedroom, leaving her still rolling on the floor. My mind was swirling, common sense struggling against the lust of my loins. Dare I even go to the bathroom and jack off? Would that be incest?
I turned the bed down, stripped and climbed in. I must have lain there for two or more hours, thinking. Sara hadn't come up to her bedroom, and I dreaded the thought of her appearing in my room to continue her teasing. As time passed, however, I grew concerned. I put on my robe and went downstairs. Sara was curled up on the couch, sound asleep. Besides the first one that spilled, four more empty beer bottles strew the floor. I shook her, not-so-gently. "Wake up, Sara. Go to bed." She didn't respond. I shook her harder. She stretched out and turned on to her back. With eyes closed and in a stupor, she slurred, "panty or pussy," then fell silent. My anger was renewed. There she lay, passed out and still teasing me. But just maybe, I could have the last laugh.