Emma stared critically at her reflection in the mirror as she smoothed down the dress over her body. This was her big day, an interview for a job that she was really keen on. But how to 'dress to impress'? Without knowing the identity of the interviewers or the norms of the dress code, Emma was in a quandary about what to wear...She had finally settled on a simple black dress, but now her brow furrowed with uncertainty as she looked again at her reflection. The dress clung to her slim, lithe body like a second skin, so tight that the line of her bra straps and even the bumps of her hip bones showed through. Stopping just above her knees, Emma knew that the dress made her look good, but was it sufficiently formal?
"Emma!", called a voice from downstairs. "Are you ready yet, Emma? We've got to go soon!"
The voice belonged to her father. Neither Emma's mother, nor Sarah, her sister, were home for the week, and Emma's Dad, Chris, was taking her to the interview. Looking at herself once again, Emma this time enjoyed the reflection that she saw -- pretty young woman, brown hair piled on top of her head, ruby-red lipsticked mouth, she looked the epitome of the young professional. Sure, the dress was tight, but she knew, she had the body to carry it off...there was no way that she was going to have a 'visible panty line' and had therefore selected one of her flimsiest thongs (navy blue, not matching black with her dress, but nobody was going to see it anyway, she calculated); it was just that bloody bra ruining the effect, she thought as she looked at the visible straps and even the cups. Impulsively, Emma quickly unzipped the dress and shrugged her shoulders out of it, and before she could give it any more thought, unclipped and tossed away the lacy black bra. I'll get away with it, she thought -- her petite little tits, 32a, would surely fit neatly inside her dress. One last look in the mirror confirmed it -- with her pert breasts now bare, she noticed that the tiny, tight mounds of her nipples were just visible through the material of the dress, but Emma preferred that to the strap-line. Giggling, she blew a kiss to her reflection, before dashing downstairs to her waiting father.
********************************
Chris drove carefully through town, eyes alert with exaggerated concentration. Concentrate on the road, he thought, focus on the road...ostensibly because, although in good time, having an accident would delay them. But the real reason was less acceptable...concentrate, he repeated mentally, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter.
Just minutes earlier, Chris had given his daughter the classic double-take as she had hurried down the stairs. Always proud and inordinately fond of his eldest daughter, he had become used to seeing Emma in her jeans and t-shirt combination, and had forgotten just how good she could look when she was trying to impress. The sight of Emma's body, petite and moving with lithe grace, dressed in what he privately thought a too-tight dress for an interview, had certainly distracted him. And when she slid into the seat next to him in the car, Chris's gaze had instinctively fallen to his daughter's thighs encased in sheer, dark nylon as the dress inevitably rode up, disturbing him further, his thoughts running away as if of their own accord, reacting to his daughter as any man would to a confident, young attractive woman...any man other than her own father ought, anyway, he thought.
The journey progressed smoothly, Emma reading through her notes in preparation and not therefore her usual chatty self. Chris drove on with sure competence, but in spite of his best efforts, his mind was not fully engaged...snatching quick glances at Emma's legs, Chris's thoughts wandered.
Chris remembered the first time that he had given full vent to his feelings. Emma had come home late from a night out with a boyfriend, who was staying the night. They were both a little merry, and Chris watched them as they half sat, half lay on the sofa. The boyfriend, a strapping young mixed-race lad, was idly stroking Emma's hair as they stared blankly at the television. As Chris watched, the lads hands at first rested on the curve of his daughter's hip, and then slowly moved to cup the pert curve of her bottom. For her part, Emma was running her hands gently up and down her boyfriend's thigh, before lifting her head to gently kiss him. It was just a soft kiss, held for a few seconds but with no tongues apparent, but Chris was captivated as he watched his daughter behaving as sexual woman, however briefly. Chris had been staring intently, and at one point was surprised to see Emma open her eyes while kissing her lover and briefly glance over at her father -- and it was at that point that Emma clearly opened her mouth and slid her tongue into her boyfriend's mouth, transforming the situation into an openly sexual kiss. Chris had stared for a moment longer, as if to burn the image into his mind, before tearing his gaze from the scene. A few seconds later, he heard Emma's soft voice say 'let's go to bed', and the two disappeared upstairs. Almost involuntarily, as soon as he heard his daughter and her boyfriend close the bedroom door upstairs, Chris found himself imagining his young daughter performing with her boyfriend, the thought of her semi naked, perhaps allowing him to undress her...Emma, his own daughter, aroused and ready to give her body to a man. Chris, his head spinning as if he were drunk, had gripped his cock and started to masturbate, steadily and firmly, picturing Emma in his mind, the soft curves of her mons, her labia swollen and parted, her clitoris perhaps just slightly protruding, pushing its way out from between her moist lips, signalling her readiness for cock. Pumping his engorged cock harder, Chris whispered his daughter's name through clenched teeth as he wanked himself to completion, his sperm jetting out obscenely as a result of his incestuous wank.
After that, Chris could not deny his own feelings, but would occasionally make half-hearted efforts to fight his urges. However, Emma's demeanour and occasionally her outfits fought against his resolve -- there was often just something about the interaction between father and daughter, sometimes a glint in Emma's pretty eyes or a slightly risqué conversation, that would drive Chris to distraction. And then, if ever doing the laundry, he would catch sight of a pair of his daughter's knickers, invariably skimpy, flimsy thongs that he could easily imagine decorating his daughter's most intimate parts, his resolve would weaken further, until it would break -- and then he would go through periods, weeks long, when he would actively search out Emma's used knickers, breath in her taboo aroma, and be driven to a masturbatory frenzy, guiltily filling his daughter's flimsy knickers with his rich sperm before making sure that they were quickly washed. His orgasms would be tremendous, the strongest of his life, as he would let his imagination run wild, depicting lurid fantasies of his eldest daughter as some sort of porno-queen, wanton, cock-hungry, with a sexual appetite as voracious as any whore...nothing would be too outrageous, not even -- he trembled as the thought crossed his mind -- not even sex with her own father. Chris would supplement the pleasures of his imagination by watching Emma around the house, her slim figure allowing her to make even normal clothes sexually appealing; and he would enjoy the fact that Emma seemed to be a little bit of a tease, even with her Dad, and was also naturally tactile, allowing him to revel in her hugs and kisses...until, incredible as it was, Chris found that his daughter was rapidly becoming the main object of his sexual urges.
Arriving at their destination, Chris's thoughts snapped back to the present. "Ok, here we go...good luck -- 'babe'". Emma giggled, and Chris was embarrassed -- why had he called her 'babe'? 'Darling', 'love', or simply 'Emma' would have been normal...he felt self-conscious. But Emma just laughed, in a friendly manner thankfully, saying "thanks Dad"...and leaning over to peck him on the cheek. Just as she did so, Chris had turned his head slightly to check his parking position, and Emma's lightly puckered lips bumped and then brushed against his own. It was as if Chris had been jolted by electricity...the soft sensation of his daughter's lips was simply incredible. For a moment, time stood still...and then the instant broke, Emma leaning back.
"Whoops!" she said, still smiling. "If anybody saw, they'd think that you were my sugar-daddy or that you'd picked up some young tart!"
Now it was Emma's turn to flush slightly...why had she said that? There was an awkward silence for a moment, and then Emma made to get out of the car. Just as she was doing so, she exclaimed -- she suddenly noticed a ladder in her tights, running from her knee to where the hem of the (by now ridden up high) dress, quite high on her thighs. She couldn't go in to the interview like that! Without a word, Emma slipped off her heels, shimmied her hips and pulled up her dress (not without a struggle, it was so tight), and reached to her waist, pulled down her tights. "Good thing I noticed the tear!" she said to her Dad, but as she did so Emma did a double-take at her father. He was staring...really staring, transfixed. Emma suddenly realised what a spectacle she'd be making, dress up around her waist, bare feet, and a long expanse of bare leg on show. She suddenly had a flashback to the number of times that she'd been on dates with men and been in exactly this position, but then it was purely sexual, either after or before a heavy kissing session, the man's fingers perhaps about to delve between her legs, her hand maybe about to stimulate his penis...again, time seemed to stand still and the inside of the car was suddenly thick with atmosphere. Emma's words tumbled out of her mouth now, her usual poise gone -- "gotta go dad, sorry about my tights, they got torn, can't go in with them", and so saying exited the car, tossing down her ruined hosiery on the passenger seat. She needed to regain her composure for the interview, and as for Chris...well, he was left in the car, stimulated and aroused, with his daughter's used and casually discarded tights. Somewhere deep inside both of them, father and daughter knew that those tights would be further used and abused before they were discarded...
*******************************
