After a few minutes, she got up and went into the kitchen to get herself something to eat. I offered to make her something, but she said she could manage. I am guessing that she probably hadn't eaten at college and had waited until she got home where she knew there would be food available.
I think that having eaten, she must have gone up to her room to do whatever young girls do there, as I was still watching TV a couple of hours later when she finally came back to the living room. A horror movie was just starting, something we both enjoyed watching, either because it was good, or so bad we poked fun at it. She sat down at the other end of the couch drawing her bare feet up underneath her. In my peripheral vision, I could see that she was spending more time looking at me than at the TV. It was a little unsettling, given the previous odd behavior last Sunday, as I still didn't know what was going on in her mind.
"Daddy," she said, "do you remember how I used to watch 'Sesame Street'?"
"Sure! Stretched out on the couch with your head on my lap." I said.
With this, she scooted across, lifted up my arm and put her head in my lap as we used to do when she was little. It was such a natural position, that we had been in many times before, that without thinking, I began to stroke her hair with my left hand. I smiled to myself at the remembered evenings we had watched TV like this as she grew up, enjoying each other's closeness and warmth. My self-indulgent reminiscences were short-lived when I realized that my other hand holding the remote control, had nowhere that I thought 'appropriate' to rest. I tried resting it on her leg, but it felt wrong, then her tummy, but that was all bare skin and definitely felt 'wrong'. It wasn't comfortable to just hold it up near her shoulder, so I was not sure what to do, when suddenly she came to the rescue.
"What are you doing, waving that remote control around?" she said, without taking her eyes from the TV.
"I'm trying to find a comfortable place to put my hand."
"You mean you're trying to find a comfortable place to put your hand without touching my boobs?"
"Yeah, you didn't have those when you were watching 'Sesame Street'." I mumbled trying to laugh it off, embarrassed that I was so transparent.
"It's just fat tissue, Dad." she giggled.
"It may be 'just fat tissue' to you," I thought to myself, "but these are real live breasts and not only that, they belong to my daughter."
As I was thinking these thoughts, she grabbed my hand and wrestled the remote control away from me, dropping it on the couch. Taking my hand in hers, she placed it on her top, in the center, just under her breasts.
"Emily!" I spluttered, trying to remove my hand from the warmth I could feel radiating from her breasts just a finger's distance away.
"It's okay! Watch the movie." she said and held my hand there with both of hers.
I wasn't sure I should be touching her there at all, but as it was she who had placed my hand there, it wasn't as though I was stealthily trying to 'feel her up'. I was just resting my hand and it wasn't touching anything it shouldn't I convinced myself. Oh, how easy it is to convince ourselves of anything if we want! I went back to stroking her hair, so soft, silky and warm, as we continued to watch the horror movie.
It obviously wasn't one of the better movies as I felt my mind drifting rather than concentrating on the plot. I heard Emily make a few comments and I think I responded in a like manner, but I wasn't really watching it. As I continued to run the fingers of my left hand through her hair, without thinking, I let my right hand move in small circles around the spot where she had placed it. It seemed that there was a rhythm to the one hand in her hair and the other moving in a circular motion. I gradually widened the area until I touched the underside of her right breast. In almost automatic mode, I stroked up between her breasts and cupped the right one in my palm. I felt the nipple harden under her T-shirt and poke between my fingers. It was just a reflex action then to squeeze it between my fingers. Emily didn't make a sound or movement to stop or distract me,
The erotic feel of her nipple becoming erect and squeezing it, rolling it round in my fingers, sent messages to my cock which also started to become erect. Although I was looking at the TV, my mind was elsewhere, enjoying the sensations of early arousal and the feel of Emily's breast and nipple. My cock was getting harder by the second, my mind further from the truth than ever, that I was enjoying this and shouldn't be. As I caressed Emily's breast, moving her nipple this way and that, I felt the weight of her head on my now fully erect cock and for a moment I sort of enjoyed the sensation.
A 'warning' thought wormed its way through the erotic thoughts and sensations I was experiencing and into my mind, "Oh my God! I have an erection touching my girl's face, she must be able to feel it. I am also touching and stroking her breast, what will she think of me? How am I going to explain this? What explanation can there be for being a pervert?"
Beginning to panic and come back into the real world, I focused on my surroundings and knew I had to get out of the situation before it went further than it already had.
"Uhh, I've got to uhhh, got to go to the bathroom," I muttered, pushing her off my lap into a sitting position and making my way out of the room with my back to her.
I went straight up to the bathroom, locked the door, dropped my pants and boxers and took my penis in my hand. I stood facing the mirror over the washbasin and pulled the foreskin back watching in the mirror as the large purple head emerged, leaking pre-cum as if it was crying. I couldn't help myself, I moved my hand faster and faster up and down the shaft, the head appearing and disappearing with each stroke. In my mind, God forgive me, I could still imagine the feel of her breast and nipple and wondered what it would be like without the T-shirt. What if I had gone further and put my hand down over her tummy and unzipped her jeans, would she have let me or been disgusted. At that moment I didn't care, I stifled a groan as I came, spurting the first strings of my hot seed right over the washbasin and onto the mirror. The next few went into the basin, gradually diminishing as my orgasm passed, leaving me emotionally drained and beginning to think more clearly.
I am not sure I welcomed or liked the clear vision that I saw. No matter how it happened, here was I, a supposedly respectable and caring father, masturbating, while thinking about his daughter's body.
After cleaning up the bathroom and making sure I looked 'normal' I went in trepidation back down to the living room. I wondered what I was going to say to Emily, but to my relief, the TV was off and she had obviously gone to bed.
I wasn't sure I was looking forward to seeing her at breakfast.
